Page 43 of Butter My Biscuit

“You were in the shower, and I didn’t want to interrupt!”

“This weekend just keeps getting better,” she huffs.

My back is still facing her. “Listen, it’s nothin’ I’ve never seen before. Your body is beautiful.”

“You don’t have to lie,” she mutters.

I cross my arms over my chest and turn to face her, knowing she had enough time to cover herself. “I wouldn’t lie about that, okay?”

I’m being serious as fuck, and she knows it. Her breath hitches, and then she breaks our intense eye contact, her face softening.

“Okay. I just?—”

“I won’t listen to you talk down about yourself, Gracie. Some of the things you say just aren’t true. Bruce Lee once said something about how one shouldn’t speak negatively about themself because the body doesn’t know the difference.”

“There are just days when I don’t feel … pretty. Or wanted. I’m seriously Jan. In real life!” She shakes her head, and it’s hard for me not to laugh, mainly because I’m confused.

“Jan, like inGrease? The musical we did in high school?”

“Yes, exactly like that. The awkward, fat friend who doesn’t have a boyfriend and is forced to go to public events as the third wheel.”

I walk over to her and let out a breath, placing my hand on her shoulder and squeezing. “Well I’m not datin’ anyone so that ruins the entire third wheel theory. You’re a good person. Smart. Attractive. Funny as hell.She’s a ten, but she dates douchebagskinda energy.”

She snickers. “Oh, like,he’s a ten, but he won’t commitkinda energy?”

“Okay, I deserved that. But know that if you were a sucky, negative, unfun person, I wouldn’t be around you. So, have a little faith in my choice of people. Especially my best friend.”

She cracks a smile, then laughs. “We became besties when we were six. Your brain wasn’t even fully developed then. Maybe you don’t see how awkward I am because it’s normal to you.”

“You’re not. But the resting bitch face sometimes.”

“I don’t have an RBF,” she says.

And she doesn’t. It’s just something I tease her about because she always says she doesn’t want to look mean. She never has. Grace is the approachable, fun friend who loves to throw a party.

“Now, you don’t,” I say, lifting her chin when she smiles. “Cheer up. Being single gets worse.”

She playfully smacks me. “I’m just in a mood.”

“No? Really? Had no idea,” I sarcastically say, but it makes the smile return. One thing I’ve always been good at is making her laugh.

“Joey texted me this morning. It’s thrown me off.”

I remove some jeans and a T-shirt from my bag so I can change into some clean clothes, then stuff my dirty clothes inside. “Do I need to drive over to his house and beat the fuck outta him before we leave?”

“No,” she whispers. “He was nice and apologized for disrespecting me. He also weirdly thanked me for everything. Then, he mentioned that he and his wife are moving forward with their divorce after this weekend.”

My brows are raised as I listen to this bullshit because that’s all this is. “And then I hope you blocked his stupid ass.”

“I did.”

I don’t want to listen to her blame herself for this. “Look, what happened shouldn’t have, but don’t discredit what you just went through. There’s loss there, and you need time to heal. That shit hurts.”

“He apologized, and most men don’t do that so it makes me think that maybe he does have an empathetic bone in his body.”

She removes the towel from her head and dries her long hair while the other one is still tightly wrapped around her body. When she digs through her suitcase and pulls clothes from inside, I turn my back.

We can communicate without speaking at this point.

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