A little sweaty underneath the hot blankets? Oh yeah.

Knot in my stomach? Gone.

Shame of my actions? Non-existent.

Hmmm. I felt brave enough to prop up on my elbows and look around. I was pretty certain, given his full dress and … I peeked under the covers … my own jeans and top, that we didn’t have sex. Or get even close to it. I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. The memory came fuzzy through the grip of a headache.

I’d told Carter about Vic and me. Then, I’d vomited. Apologized while … crawling to the bathroom? I winced, and Carter shifted. He opened his eyes and saw me.

“Chloe.” His hand lifted, rubbing over his face. “Good morning.”

“I slept with Vic. In Joey Plazen’s trailer.” It was like my vomit from last night. It just wouldn’t stop coming out.

He smiled. “Yes. I know. You mentioned that, several times.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

He considered me for a long moment. “I wasn’t. But … you’re pretty hard to stay mad at when you’re bent over a toilet.”

I winced. “Sorry.”

“You said that a lot last night.” He met my eyes. “But you also told me it was over, with you and him.”

“It is.” My words were firm, no hesitation in my gaze. “Definitely.” The words rolled out strong and confident. And I was sure of myself, positive that I wanted it to be over. What I wasn’t as confident about was if it actually was over. It took two to tango, but it also took two to part.

“Why do you seem surprised that I’m not mad?”

“Well…” I kicked off a tangle of sheets. “It was after we hooked up. That’d bother some guys.” It definitely would have bothered Vic.

“I didn’t exactly walk away from that night expecting loyalty.” He reached for me, but I rolled away. Mainly because I was pretty sure my morning breath was horrific. But also because he was so casual about this that it was raising my own questions.

“Did you have someone like that? An ex who was still around? Or who still is?”

“You mean, like Presa?” he raised his eyebrows and I fidgeted with the edge of the sheet. “Before that show, I hadn’t seen Presa in months.”

Months? I would have preferred years. “Anyone else?” The memory of the brunette—Brit—came to mind.

“Someone who gives me exorbitant gifts and drags me into isolated places for impromptu sex?” He shook his head with a smile. “No.”

“I’m serious.” I faced him squarely, wanting a straight answer. “Do you?”

“No.” He pulled at the front of my shirt and I was forced into a kiss. “I don’t. You’re it.”

“Vic and I are over.” I said the sentence a second time, because surely that would make it true.

Something flickered in his eyes. “I think you should tell him that.” The suggestion was simple, no edge to the words, but they still cut me to the bone. I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.

“No.” I stood up and headed to the bathroom, beelining for my toothbrush.

“Chloe.” There was enough command in his voice to cause me to look over. “You tell me that it’s over, but I’ve tripped over this guy since I met you. That car … you hooking up with him…” He took a deep breath. “Speaking as a man, I can tell you that we are dense. We miss subtle clues and tend to ignore things we don’t want to hear.”

I frowned. “Then he’ll just ignore everything I say.” Perfect logic.

“Talk to him.” He pushed the subject, ignoring my logic, and I looked away, giving full concentration to the application of my toothpaste in a proper manner.

“Okay?” He poked me, and I looked up with a snarl.

“Fine.” I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth with a scowl, and the conversation was over.

My stress, on the other hand, was just beginning.

61. Is Closure Really Necessary?

“It’s unnecessary.” I shook my strawberry shake, trying to unclog my straw. “Why do we need a conversation to confirm the fact that we broke up? He knows we broke up.”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cammie interjected from across the table. “Especially after you let him…” She eyed me. “You know.”

“Chloe can’t handle it,” Benta said. “It’s asking for disaster. That man will give her one wink and BAM.” She slammed her hand on the table, and Cammie and I flinched.

“Jesus, Benta,” Cammie chided. “You’re gonna break the table.”

“He can wink his damn eye off,” I stated. “It won’t matter.” It was one thing falling for Vic when I was single. But now, in a relationship with Carter, everything was different. Loyalty in a relationship—especially for me, especially after what I’d been through with Vic—was sacred. Which was just one of the reasons I was struggling so hard with Nicole’s affair.

“Oh. Right,” Benta said. “Forgive us. I didn’t realize that so much had changed in … what? A month?”

“She did give back the car,” Cammie pointed out.

“Hey!” I said sharply. “She is right here. And yes, things have changed. I’m with Carter.”

“Okay, but he doesn’t know they’ve changed,” Cammie said slowly. “Which is why you need to tell him. Clearly and in person. So the idiot gets it.”

“In person is stupid. You should just call him.” Benta argued, and my gaze darted between them before landing on my phone. A call certainly would be easier. And risk-free.

“Chloe can handle a face-to-face without falling on the man’s dick,” Cammie snapped. “Short and sweet.” She set down her milkshake and gave me her full attention. “Just tell him you’re exclusive with Carter and that he needs to back the F up. Forever.”

“Forever,” Benta repeated, and they both stared me down.

I straightened in my seat. “Okay.” I could do this. A clear face-to-face conversation where I would end any lingering expectations on Vic’s part, part ways amicably, and emphasize we would never-ever-ever get back together. *cue Taylor Swift* I set down my empty milkshake cup. “I think I should do it in person,” I decided.

Benta leaned forward, pushing my cell toward me. “So set it up.”

“Right now?” I shouldn’t have drunk that milkshake so fast. I felt nauseated.

“It’s noon. The pretty boy will be awake.” She nodded to the phone. “Call him.”

My eyes jumped from her to Cammie, not one ounce of sympathy in either face. I groaned, grabbed my phone, and stood.

“Fine. But stay here. I’ll call him from outside.”

I leaned against the brick of the building and closed my eyes. Went through a breathing exercise, which didn’t help at all, then tried a pep talk.

The call wouldn’t need to be long. Short and simple would work just fine. We’d agree on the time and location, then hang up. Morning would be best, and I would keep the meeting short. There was a French cafe just off Central Park that would work. I scrolled down to Vic’s number and took a deep breath. Then, my finger hesitant, I placed the call.

62. Calling the Enemy

“Hey baby.” So casual, so confident. Vic’s familiar greeting was painful, and I swallowed the urge to point out that I was not his baby anymore.