I can’t stop thinking about . . .

“I’m so hard. Fuck, I’m so hard for you. All the time. I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking think straight anymore.”

All I can hear is . . .

“You have the tightest pussy. Mm . . . fuck, so good. And you’re so wet. God, if you could see my cock right now.”

I run my hands over my flushed cheeks. I’m worked up, again. It’s no surprise. Just hearing the way he says my name, all breathy and desperate, has me pinching my legs together to ease the throbbing.

“Fuck, Beth. Beth. BETH.”

Why couldn’t I have been named something that didn’t sound so hot coming out of his mouth? Like Mildred. I doubt he says Mildred sexy.

My phone beeps on my chest, and I tilt it up to look at the screen. I don’t recognize the number, but I swipe my thumb across it anyway to open up the message.

Unknown: Hey, it’s Mia. Tessa is coming over to have lunch with me. Wanna come?

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, staring down at the phone in my hand.

I do need to get out of this room. Besides using the bathroom, the only time I’ve ventured out in the past forty-eight hours was to grab a quick snack from the kitchen. And I really like Tessa and Mia. I meant it when I said I would love to hang out with them. But these are Reed’s friends. Won’t that be weird?

My phone beeps again. Another unknown number.

Unknown: Come on, Clapton. Get your ass over to Mia’s so we can chat. I don’t bite.

The notifications begin firing off as text after text rolls in.

Unknown: What are you bringing, Tessa?

Unknown: I’m supposed to bring something? Get your life right! You invited me!

Unknown: I’m making shrimp salad, but I don’t have any rolls. Can you bring rolls? And a side? Chips or something.

Unknown: Oh crap. Beth, are you allergic to shrimp?

Unknown: Oooo is it my mom’s recipe? I love her shrimp salad! Do you have drinks?

Unknown: Yup. I have sodas and sweet tea. Beth, shrimp? Are you allergic?

Unknown: I think we lost Clapton.

I type quickly.

Me: I am so confused right now. Is this going to both of you?

Unknown: Yes, it’s a group text. Haven’t you done a group text before? And where are we at on the shrimp allergy?

Unknown: Have you been living under a rock? Who doesn’t know what a group text is? CLAPTON, SERIOUSLY?

Me: I need to program your names in here. Hold on.

I think I could get away with not assigning Tessa a name. Her messages are definitely . . . Tessa.

Tessa: Helloooo. . . .

I laugh as I type my response.

Me: Okay. No, I’m not allergic to shrimp.

Mia: Oh, good! Are you coming? You don’t have to bring anything.

Tessa: WTF. Fine. I’ll bring EVERYTHING.

Mia: HAHA.

Me: I don’t mind bringing something. It’s not a big deal.

Tessa: You are bringing something. Your chatty little mouth.

Mia: Next time we do lunch you can bring something. Can you come over at 2?

Tessa: Why are we eating at 2? Who the hell eats lunch that late? I’m going to have to eat something before I come over there.

Mia: The boys will be down for their naps by then. I’m not having girl time with a kid strapped to my boob.

Tessa: Nice change from Ben though, huh?

Mia: Shut up.

Me: I can be there at 2.

Mia: Yayyyy! Here’s my address: 79 Arrondale Drive. We’re the house with the blowup bouncy castle in the front yard.

Tessa: Have you and Ben had sex in that thing yet?

Mia: What? No! It’s in the front yard!

Tessa: And . . . I bet it’s like fucking on a water bed. That’s on my bucket list.

Mia: Is everything on your bucket list a different place for you and Luke to have sex?

Tessa: No. I also have skydiving on there.

Tessa: While having sex.

Mia: Nice. Okay, the baby needs me. See you both at 2!

Tessa: Don’t stand us up, Clapton.

Me: I won’t. Thank you for inviting me.

Mia: I just love her. She’s so much sweeter to talk than you.

Tessa: Mia, we’re still in the group text.

Mia: Oh . . . okayyy, see you soon!

I toss my phone onto the bed and grab some clothes. Even though I already took a shower today, I hopped right back into my pajamas after I dried off.

Pathetic, I know, but why bother getting dressed when you have no intention of leaving your bed?

I step into my boots, grab my keys, tuck my phone into my pocket, and head for the stairs. “Aunt Hattie?” I call out, peeking my head into the kitchen.

“I’m in here, darlin.’”

I turn around and walk back down the hallway.

Hattie is sitting at the computer with the shoe box I gave her in her lap, sifting through the pictures. She stops and looks up at me when I walk in.

“I was beginning to worry about you. You haven’t come out of that room much since Sunday.”

My eyes wander to the floor as I try and think of an excuse.

She can’t know the real reason why I’ve been shut away for two days. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Informing my sweet aunt that I had face-down, ass-up, hanging from the ceiling, spread across the table, do me faster, harder, has any man ever done you here sex might make this situation worse. But I have to give her something.

A sickness. Of course! I could’ve easily been sick.

I flatten a hand to my stomach and raise my head. “I think I had a virus or something. My stomach hated me.”