I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Lillian on her knees in the kitchen, her sleep shirt hanging open, tits bouncing as she gagged around Dan’s cock. I saw his hand in her hair, forcing her head down, making her take more than she could handle.
Well, I had not actually seen that part.
Not his hand. Not her mouth. Not the way my brain kept inventing the wet, choking sounds.
But I was fairly sure that was how it happened.
Lillian Dwyer, the Cock Gobbler of Astoria, patron saint of thin walls and bad decisions.
By the time gray morning light leaked through the blinds, I felt raw, under-slept, and pissed off that my brain had kept replaying the same three seconds all night.
I pulled on an old tank top and a pair of loose shorts and shuffled into the kitchen. Lillian was already there, barefoot in her ratty sleep shorts and a faded university hoodie, pouring coffee like it was any other Tuesday. The smell of toast filled the small space. Everything looked painfully normal: the chipped mugs, the stack of unpaid bills on the counter, the faint hum of the fridge.
She didn’t look up right away. I hovered in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Coffee?” she asked, voice neutral.
“Yeah.”
She poured me a mug without meeting my eyes and slid it across the table. The same place where I’d caught her last night. I took a sip, burned my tongue.
Ow, fuck!
And set it down harder than necessary.
Lillian finally glanced at me. “You look like shit.”
I pressed my burnt tongue between my lips, because apparently I was too stupid to drink coffee correctly.
“Thanks. So do you.”
A beat of silence. Then she let out a short, nervous laugh. “Walls are thin, huh?”
I stared at her. “Don’t.”
She shrugged, but her fingers tightened around her mug. “What? I’m just saying. I heard you two going at it. Same as always.”
“Except this time you decided to get involved.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “In the fucking kitchen, Lin. While I was still in the next room.”
Lillian’s fingers tightened around her mug. “You saw me.”
It wasn’t a question.
I looked down at my coffee.
“Mia?”
A beat passed.
“You were crying,” I said.
Lillian stared at me for a second, then let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Yeah, Mia. Having an eight-inch dick down your throat tends to do that.”
I almost choked on my coffee. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked. “Because it sounded a lot like you were deciding what happened before I got to.”
“I was worried.”
“No,” she said. “You were guilty.”
That landed harder than I wanted it to.
“You looked at me,” Lillian said, quieter now. “Then you ran.”
“I panicked.”
“You left.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you did.” She looked up at me then. “You went back to bed.”
My mouth opened, ready to do something clever, then betrayed me by having nothing in it. The memory of the feelings I had, the anger, jealousy, shock.
“He’s my ex, Lin. We’re complicated. You know that.”
“Complicated,” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “That’s what you call dragging him back here every other night so he can bend you over and make you moan loud enough for the whole building? I’ve listened to it for months, Mia. Months of you treating this apartment like your personal sex den and me like background noise.”
I flinched. “I never meant—”
“You never thought about it,” she cut in. “Because I’m your best friend, right? Safe little Lillian who doesn’t have anyone, who just gets to hear how good he makes you feel and then go to bed alone.”
Her eyes were bright, angry. I saw the hurt underneath, the loneliness I’d brushed off a hundred times with a laugh and a “you should get laid.”
“I didn’t think you wanted him,” I muttered.
Lillian gave a bitter laugh. “I didn’t think I did either. But then he walked out naked like he owned the place, started talking to me, and I wanted to know what it felt like not to look away. And it felt good, okay? Being the one he wanted for once instead of the audience to your fucking highlight reel.”
We stared at each other across the table. My chest ached. Part of me wanted to hug her. Another part wanted to scream.
“So what now?” I asked finally. “You just… go after my sloppy seconds whenever you feel like it?”
She rubbed her face. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to steal him, Mia. He’s not even yours to steal anymore. But I’m not sorry it happened. Not completely.”
I hated that answer. I hated it even more because some treacherous part of me understood.
“Okok,” I said, holding up my hands. “Let’s put down some ground rules.”
Lillian raised an eyebrow. “Rules?”
“Yeah. Okay. We are adults. Strong women. Emotionally mature, probably. We can handle this. If this is going to keep happening, and I’m not saying it will, because it probably won’t, but if it does, then we do it like adults. Not like high school girls sneaking around and being weird about it. No sneaking around behind each other’s backs. If one of us asks, the other tells the truth. No using my bed. Dan doesn’t get a key. We don’t let him pit us against each other. And if it gets weird, we say something. Immediately.”
She considered me for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “No lying. No pretending nothing happened if the other one sees or hears it. And nobody’s dating him. He’s… whatever this is, but not that.”
“Deal,” I said.
We shook on it like it was some ridiculous business agreement, both of us half-laughing, half-cringing. The tension did not disappear. It just stopped actively trying to murder us over breakfast. For now.
I let myself feel relieved, which was obviously where I fucked up.
My phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Dan.
I turned the screen toward Lillian without thinking. Almost immediately her phone lit up on the other side of the table. She glanced at it, then at me.
Neither of us had to ask who it was.
She didn’t reach for her phone right away. I didn’t answer mine.
I took another sip of coffee. Lillian picked up her toast and bit into it, eyes still on mine.
Neither of us answered him.
Not yet.