Page 31 of Falling for My Son's Best Friend

And I giggled blearily despite myself. That was amazing, we were forty year-olds and I felt like giving your number to one guy was pretty good. Hey, age bias runs deep, old ways of thinking are hard to shake even though I was being biased against myself in this case.

“That’s great,” I said, blowing my nose. “Did any of them call?”

Angie squealed then.

“You know it! Three of them did, and honey, I’ve been going on dates every night of the week. In fact, sometimes I go out twice per night. Isn’t that incredible? I’ve been forcing myself to eat two dinners, it’s so hard with all that food, but it’s worth it, it’s sooo worth it,” she cooed. “These guys are amazing.”

I giggled again, wiping my nose and letting out another huge honk.

“That’s awesome Ang, I’m so happy for you,” I said into the phone, trying to sound peppy and supportive. “It’s so great that you found people, don’t worry about the two dinners, just don’t eat dessert.”

And Angie chortled happily on the other side.

“I know, I really got lucky at the party, I’m so glad we went,” she giggled. “But what about you Marie? I didn’t see you after twenty minutes, what happened? Did you go home? Or did you,” and here, her voice lowered, “did you go home with someone? Meet someone for a hot night of no-no?” she asked wickedly.

I laughed then. Because yeah, Trent and I had done anal our first time, did that count as a “hot night of no-no”? But even worse, I’d fallen in love with the alpha male, completely lost my heart to the big man, and was only worse for the wear now. So I laughed, a little brokenly, and sighed into the phone.

“Well, I’m not sure if I did any ‘no-no,’ but I met someone,” I admitted.

Angie squealed then.

“Oh my god, you did? Don’t say it was that fat blonde guy I saw you talking to. Honey, you can do better than that, that dude’s the type who goes to nude beaches even though he has a tiny pecker. That kind of guy, you don’t need,” she proclaimed authoritatively.

And I laughed for real then. Because where did Angie come up with this stuff? A nude beach? A tiny pecker on a nude beach? I giggled again before saying, “No, not that guy. I met someone else, someone amazing in fact …”

And Angie cut me off.

“Oh my god, that’s so great! What’s his name? What does he look like? Where does he work? Tell me everything,” she rushed.

Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. I wasn’t sure I could do it, the pain was so fresh, the wound still tearing me apart inside. But I’m not a fan of bottling things up, and it was time to let go. There was no hope for me, the show was over, so I may as well let it out now, this was a good time as any. Taking a deep breath, I recounted my tale to Angie, describing how I’d met Trent, fallen in love, and how our time together had been so meaningful, so life-changing, transforming me from plain old Marie into a woman of the world, a woman who appreciated life and everything it had to offer.

“So that’s great!” chirped Ang at the end of my story. “But I’m confused. Are you seeing him or what?”

I shook my head with frustration, tears welling in my eyes.

“No, we’re done. He’s done, he’s gone,” I said, the words so painful to speak, each one lancing through my heart.

But Angie wasn’t so sure.

“But how do you know? Don’t you have his number? Why do you say it’s over?”

And I sighed again.

“Because, Ang, we agreed on one week together, nothing more. And that week’s done, he’s gone. Left without saying goodbye in fact, no note, no nothing,” I added softly. Of course, I blushed remembering Trent’s semen, the warm cup of jism waiting for me, but that hardly seemed appropriate to add.

But my friend was on a different level. She snorted, a weird sound of exasperation and hilarity.

“A one-week pact?” she asked drolly into the phone. “What, are we in seventh grade where we do pinky promises? Did you cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in your eye? Is that it?”

I grew red then, even though she couldn’t see.

“No of course not,” I said, a little stung. “It’s just, well you know, we said one week, and the one week ended.”

But Angie wasn’t taking that as an answer.

“Girl, this isn’t the Dark Ages, you can call, you know,” she said. “You sound so sad, why don’t you make yourself feel better? Just call to say hello.”

I was taken aback.