Page 93 of A Taste of Vanilla

I shake my head. “Not of that.”

“You should start.”

“I hate you so much.”

She crosses her arms. “You slept with a tattooed, pierced stranger who got you coffee and worried about your safety. Hon. That’s not a one-night stand. That’s a whole event.”

I cover my face again.

But she laughs, and Marley’s laugh has always been infectious.

Within seconds, we’re both laughing at the counter like teenagers at a sleepover, except we’re grown women in a bakery discussing a stranger’s genital jewelry before seven in the morning.

The laughter eases something in my chest.

Grant made me feel humiliated in a way that touched everything I loved.

Even my desire.

Last night didn’t fix me, of course. I didn’t want it to. Sex is not a personality transplant. It doesn’t erase betrayal or build me a whole brand-new life. It’s definitely not going to magically transform a woman with a broken engagement. But it did remind me that my body belongs to me, and that wanting something is not embarrassing.

Marley wipes under one eye, still grinning. “Okay, important question.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“If it requires diagrams, no.”

“Did you get his number?”

“I didn’t even get his name.”

She stares at me. “You didn’t even get his name?”

“He didn’t offer it.”

“Did you ask?”

“Kind of.” I mean, yes. But I didn’t press the subject.

Her mouth drops open.

“In my defense, there was a lot happening.”

“You slept with a nameless stranger?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds irresponsible.”

“It was.”

“I know.”

Her voice drops. “And hot.”

“I know.”

She’s loud again. “And stupid.”