No, I lay here and go over things again and again in my mind. Like how amazing the kiss was. How into it I was.
And how he definitely ruined my mood by completely assuming that I would just fuck him. Like it was that easy.
Like it wouldn’t have effects on our friendship.
My mouth twists.
If I thought there was the remotest possibility of that, Lars and I would have gotten naked and sweaty together ages ago.
At some point, my eyelids drift closed. I don’t remember falling asleep. But when I wake up, it’s mid morning.
I roll over to find Lars’s bed made on his side. And a handwritten note on the pillow.
P —
Had to work out early.
There’s coffee in the kitchen.
See you later.
— L
Groaning at how casual his note sounds, I pull the blankets over my head. I definitely learned one lesson for the fiftieth time in our friendship. It sucks to be in love your best friend.
I roll over, squeezing my eyes shut, and try to pretend last night didn’t happen.
11
Pippa
The next couple of days are hellish. Lars seems to handle me with kid gloves, being very courteous while at the same time keeping me at arm’s length. Nika is angry at me for some slight I made when I was drunk.
And to top it all off, I have a lingering remnant of a headache that just won’t go away. I blame the champagne for it.
Actually, I blame the alcohol for a lot of things. Like French kissing my best friend, for instance.
After running all my errands Friday evening, I finally arrive home. I have to be careful when I carry my grocery bags upstairs because my entryway is absolutely bursting with thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing. I skirt the boxes and let myself into my flat, only to nearly drop the bags when I get the door open.
A small, dark-haired figure in a belted trench coat stands at the window. She turns and quirks an eyebrow at me.
Ms. Olsen is here, in my fucking flat.
I drop my bags unceremoniously, backing out the door. I trip on the boxes behind my feet, trying to get my cell phone out of my purse.
“Pippa, dear,” Ms. Olsen lets out the tiniest smirk. “I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I bloody mind!” I yell, looking at my phone screen. “Listen, whoever you are. I’m dialing the authorities right now!”
She steps forward, her lips quirking. “You can, if you wish. But I wouldn’t.”
I shake my head, pressing the call button. “You’re insane. You know that? Just totally daft.”
The phone starts ringing. Ms. Olsen smiles coolly. “Do you not care about Lars’s wellbeing, then?”
I glare at her. The operator picks up. “Emergency services. What is your emergency?”
I flush. “Yes, hi. I just came home to my apartment and there is an intruder,” I say quickly.
“What is your address, please?” the operator asks.
Ms. Olsen arches a brow. “We will tell him your secret.” She pulls out her phone, showing me a flash of a photo. In the photo is the same girl that I found on Facebook, my little sister Stella. “And we will hurt your sister, if we have to.”
I open my mouth, but that gives me some pause. My eyes slide over to Ms. Olsen’s face, which is both smug and superior.
Is she serious?
I cover the microphone. “You should leave.”
Ms. Olsen tilts her head. “You should hang up the phone, my dear.”
“Excuse me, what address?” prompts the operator.
Mrs. Olson scrolls through six or seven pictures of my sister, obviously taken when she was leaving the grocery store. I automatically reach for the screen, curious. She yanks the phone away from me, her tone threatening.
“Hang. Up.” Ms. Olsen looks serious now.
“Uhh… never mind. I thought it was an intruder, but I… was mistaken?”
The operator replies. “Are you sure?”
Ms. Olsen checks the elegant silver wristwatch she wears.
“Yep!” I blurt. “Sorry.”
I hang up the phone, a scowl on my face. I don’t know how to even approach this subject. How should one act when being blackmailed?
“What do you want?” I ask at last.
Ms. Olsen’s expression lightens. “For now? Not a thing.”
“Why are you here? Why are you waving these… these creepy photos around?” I ask, gesturing wildly.
She shrugs a single shoulder. “Those are questions that I do not have the answers to. I’m just here to ascertain if we believe that you can be loyal or not.”
I ball up my face. “What are you talking about?” I shout, exasperated. “Can you