♫ I'm a creature of habit, I'm hooked once I have it
In my habits, you, always you ♪
{Jojo—Creature of habit}

Exhausted by the day's events—and the remnants of memories from last night—Coralie barely made it to four o'clock, when Nikita peeked in to tell her to go home. She thanked her lucky stars that Nikita had come in then, and not a few hours prior, when she sat on the desk while Ryan fucked her. Though, in truth, she imagined Nikita would have given a thumbs up and categorized the situation as research for work—but Coralie was glad it hadn't happened. She didn't need issues with H.R. on top of her personal woes.

On her way home, she fought the thoughts jarring her; the haunting images of Ryan, the whispers of Chester reverberating in her mind, the doe-eyed Michael glancing at her in all his docile, dreamy ways. She knew she had to resist them all, and yet her body wouldn't obey her. Was it from all those years of sexual tension with Jayden? All those moments of hating sex, of being repulsed by it—was she subconsciously catching up for that lost time? Or did the universe hate her so much that it had stuck her in a situation she couldn't escape?

She could escape it, she knew. There was a way to prevent her urges, to steady her heart, to trick her mind; but she didn't want to acknowledge it, not yet.

And in any case, she was certain her friends, waiting for her at home, would shove that solution into her face sooner or later. They'd suggest the harshest option, which was likely the smartest—cut everyone off, for good.

She'd expected angry glares and crossed arms and tapping feet when she entered her apartment. Two stern women with stern opinions, who'd scold her until they were blue in the face and she'd been reduced to huddling on the floor. Delilah and Bella were upset with her, and with reason; and she had no doubt they'd make their emotions felt tonight.

But to her surprise, there was no irritation in the small, stuffy space when she opened the door. There were smiles, soft music, kind words of welcome. On the sideboard by the TV was an array of bottles of wine to choose from—deep reds, fruity whites, zesty rosés—and on the coffee table, a cheese and charcuterie board confectioned with exquisite taste. Delilah and Bella had gathered all her favorites—Swiss, Camembert, brie, cheddar, among others—and spread them out in a circle on an oversized wooden block. They'd collected delectable jams, wheat crackers, chopped baguette pieces, almond bits, and some mouth-watering meats that made her salivate.

"Holy shit," said Coralie, dropping her purse near the entryway and kicking off her shoes. "Why so fancy?"

Delilah, who'd been nestled on the couch with a heavy blanket over her knees, holding a glass of red wine, gestured at Bella. "It was all her idea. I said you deserved maybe a pizza and some beer, but Miss luxurious tastes over here said we should create a charcuterie board. Ambiance for our soirée." She spoke in mockery, in a sloppy accent of French mixed with English.

Bella, seated a space away from her, flashed a quick smile at Coralie. "I know you love your cheese. And I assumed you'd need alcohol tonight, for our girl's night... it's okay that we chose tonight, right?"

All traces of her earlier fatigue were gone. She was luminous, eyelashes coated in a sparkly mascara, lips colored an aubergine shade—though whether that was lipstick or caused by the wine she was drinking, Coralie couldn't tell. She was relaxed, much less tense than she'd been that morning. Sprawled out on the sofa in tight leggings in a loose sweater, chatting with Delilah as if they'd known each other forever. Sure, they'd partied together in London, last year; but Bella hadn't been too receptive to them at that time, going through her own issues.

If those issues were still ongoing, she didn't look affected by them. She was jovial, comfortable. Clearly, she'd needed a vacation, and the opportunity to travel to New York had fallen into her lap at the perfect occasion.

Coralie still wondered how she'd traveled so fast, with no warning, and apparently, with no consequences.

"Yeah, it's okay," said Coralie, approaching slowly, hypnotized by the delicious aroma of the cheese and meat platter. "I'm not working at the bar tonight." Delilah stood to pour her a glass—somehow she guessed Coralie was craving rosé—and Coralie gaped at Bella. "You put all that together? Since when are charcuterie boards your area of expertise?"

"Since my best friend is in need of a reprieve and I know she loves them. Hey, that's what Pinterest is for, right?" She patted the spot between her and Delilah. "Come, sit, take a load off."

Delilah handed her a filled cup of pink wine, and Coralie lowered onto the cushions, letting them engulf her with a loud, lengthy sigh. Oh, how she'd needed the plush perfection of her sofa, the cozy pillows, the soft blankets.

Yet she couldn't quite unwind. Something was off in Bella's behavior—in Delilah's, too. They were too nice, inviting her into their coziness as if nothing was amiss. As if Coralie hadn't fucked her life up, and they weren't left to pick up the pieces.

Why weren't they berating her? Why were they so calm?

"Has it been a day?" Bella leaned back and tipped her glass to finish off her drink. Delilah, who hadn't returned to her seat, motioned at Bella to give her the cup for a refill. "Oh, thank you, sweetheart." Bella's cheeks flushed, and she refocused on Coralie. "No pressure if you're exhausted or not in the mood to talk. We can sit here and drink and eat; a simple girls night, no need to unwrap the details now."

Coralie snorted into her glass. "Weren't you about to bite my head off this morning for not having told you everything?" She sipped a few swigs of the beverage and smacked her lips in delight. Sweet, but with a tart aftertaste that melted her tongue. Perfection. "And Delilah?" She swung to her other friend, who'd finally retrieved her spot on the couch and was pulling her blanket back over her. "Why are you so chill about all this? You're pissed at me. You've been pissed at me for weeks. What's going on?"

Rolling her eyes, Delilah jutted her chin towards Bella. "Again, that's all her. She told me to back off, to give you space, to stop being so... judgmental."

"Right, because you've done worse things, haven't you?" Bella raised her glass, motioning at Delilah. "Hypocrisy isn't friendly. It's fake. There's no room for it here."

Delilah pursed her lips, and yet her gaze was soothed, not glowering as it would have been were she looking at Coralie. She muffled her protest by shoving the rim of her cup to her mouth and swallowing half her drink. Her lacy tank top held a few bits of cheese near the neckline, but she didn't seem to care; another off-putting demeanor from her.

"Anyway," Bella touched Coralie's thigh and smiled, "I was irritated this morning, but that had nothing to do with you. The flight was atrocious, I had a raging migraine, and I needed coffee. I took that out on you, and I'm sorry. After a long nap, a bit of window-shopping, and several mugs of java—I'm good. Oh, and a few of these," she swirled her wine glass, "helped, too."

Coralie smirked, settling deeper into the cushions, savoring her own drink. "Ah, so you're drunk?"

"Hell, no," said Delilah, snickering at her. "We'd need way more for that. We're... lightly buzzed. Refreshed."

Coralie wasn't sure how she felt about her two closest friends starting the drinking session without her—but if that meant they'd be more receptive to her problems, so be it. She needed their warmth, but also their honesty—and alcohol would assist with both.

Bella nodded. "And it'd be great if you were to catch up, so drink, dear. The more you have in your system, the easier it'll be for you to explain to your best friend what the devil has been happening here."

***

Bella promised no judgment, and she delivered. Even Delilah kept her lips sealed during most of Coralie's explanations—to Coralie's shock. She didn't burst out during the parts she knew of, and only grunted once or twice. What did Bella have over her, to keep her so obedient? What had she said to her while Coralie was at work?

Coralie glossed over the beginnings of the affair with Ryan, as Bella already knew those. What she had no information on was Chester—this ravishing, ravenous blond boy that Coralie had tangoed with in the past, and who'd reappeared out of nowhere to swoop her off her feet and leave her dizzy and deranged from his touch. Bella knew who Chester was—Coralie had mentioned him before, many moons ago—but she'd had no clue he'd affected her so much.

She refreshed them both on her situation with Michael—he was, technically, the boyfriend. The relationship she'd yearned for, the mature man she'd dreamed of. And now he was moving to New York, and it should have thrilled her, but instead, she'd asked him for a break.

"So, he's the only one you're officially on a break with?" Bella was lying with her legs on Coralie's thighs, and Delilah was massaging her feet.

"No," Coralie gulped down her bite of brie and cracker, "I'm on a break with all three."

"How did the break with Ryan come about, then? And with Chester?" Bella fanned herself. "Oh, that name. Why is it so sexy?"

Delilah giggled. "I thought it sounded like a name for a pet, but to each their own."

Bella threw a wadded paper towel at her, narrowly missing her head. "It's sexy because she had a threesome with him." She reverted her glowing gray gaze to Coralie. "Which I still can't get over, by the way. Not that you're a prude, but look at you exploring your sexuality! Good for you. I bet that was a blast—you'll have to spend another evening explaining just those details."

Sitting up and cracking her spine, Coralie reached over Bella's legs, grabbing another piece of cheese from the nearby platter. They'd polished most of the food off, and only a few scraps remained, but Coralie's stomach still growled for more. "Chester and I discussed it; he suggested it, sort of. He wants to be considered, and felt it was unfair if we were still sleeping together while I figured out what to do about the other two. And Ryan..." she cringed, and the edges of the cracker she'd swallowed seemed to slice down her throat. "He overheard my conversation with Michael, when Michael told me he was moving here."

"Ouch." Bella sneered. "Ryan is an arse, but that must have been rough for him."

"He basically kicked me out, saying he needed to think about things," said Coralie, after chugging down wine to wash out her sore throat.

"Yeah, and he moved past that real quick," added Delilah, pausing in her foot massage to drizzle more wine into her glass. They'd gone through three bottles, by then—two red, one rosé—and though all three women were tipsy, the food in their bellies kept them somewhat coherent.

"Ugh," Coralie groaned and slammed into the couch cushions, "I was getting to that."

"To what?" Bella batted her lashes, and a few specks of mascara fell onto her cheek. She flicked them away and peeped at Coralie, expecting a reply.

"He invited me to the grand opening of his store, in New York. A big, fancy affair. And I didn't want to go, but he persuaded me, and I..."

"Persuaded you?" Bella scrunched her eyebrows. "Did he toss a check at you, or something?"

"No, she was picturing him naked," chimed Delilah, causing Bella to laugh.

"I was not." Coralie glared at them both. "He swore it'd be a friendly thing and that he couldn't find anyone else, and going solo would make him look bad. And then..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Well, he cornered me on the balcony when I went out for air, and we... made out."

Coralie expected Bella to spew out her drink, but to her awe, Bella merely swallowed, nodded once, and raised her shoulders. "You're trying to tell me you didn't think that would happen?"

"She's so innocent, sometimes." Delilah nudged Coralie with her elbow. "Aren't you? Always giving these dudes second chances, always believing the best of them. They're men, Cora. They're pigs, all of them. Except Michael," she swooned, "he's adorable. A-dork-able, if you will."

Strangely offended at Delilah's comments, and at Bella's earlier surprise at her daring three-way, Coralie perked up and shifted in her spot. "I'm not innocent." Hadn't they been paying attention? She was a sexual monster. She hungered for physical contact, couldn't keep her hands to herself, and found herself in tight corners—constantly. And a part of her enjoyed it. Why weren't they mad? Why weren't they telling her to stop? "For your information, I ran out on him. And came straight home to... touch myself."

Delilah's eyes widened and Bella tugged her feet from her, and her legs from Coralie's lap so she could sit up straight.

"Oh?" they said in unison, angling closer, intrigued by Coralie's confession.

"I had to." Coralie's cheeks heated as she fixated on the crumbs in her lap, and the creases in her pants from where Bella's legs had been moments before. "I figured if I couldn't have sex with them, well, I'd... have sex with myself. Guys, you don't get it—my vagina will not shut up, okay? It's a problem. Like, a clinical problem. So yeah, I came home, stripped, and fingered myself while picturing Ryan. Didn't help much!"

"Cute." Bella stood and stretched, then grabbed a few bread pieces from the platter.

Cute? Seriously?

"But it wasn't just Ryan. Chester was in my thoughts, too. At the same time. Both... were working on me." Coralie swallowed. "And Lila—the chick from the threesome. Oh, and Michael was there, too. And we were being watched."

Delilah clapped and wriggled about in her seat. "My, my, now this is getting good. Where's the popcorn?"

Bella pressed a hand to her heart. "My little girl, all grown up, with fantasies of orgies and voyeurism. I'm so proud."

Their reactions were boiling Coralie's blood. She should have been pleased that they'd accepted her behaviors, and didn't ask her to justify them. But she needed to justify them.

She wanted them to react, to yell at her, to shake some sense into her. Didn't Delilah know someone who'd had psychological issues recently? Couldn't she hook her up with them, with their doctor? And Bella—she saw shrinks on the regular. Why were they being funny, mocking her serious condition?

She got up and kicked off the pillow that had been at her feet. "If only it were just that! I bumped into Chester in the elevator and it took all my might not to fucking eat him! He was being distant, and I taunted him! I told him we could be friends, then he glued me against the wall and told me we couldn't. I swear we almost fucked right there, but the damn elevator ding stopped us."

Delilah's eyebrows shot up. "Jeez, that dude needs to stop stalking you. He put you in that position, Cora. He provoked you by being in there, he—"

"—no, he wasn't stalking me. Not this time. He swore it." Coralie marched over to the kitchen and fetched a water bottle from the fridge. Her frustration was drying her throat, and the cheese wasn't sitting well in her stomach. "Because I provoked him. I keep asking for it, don't you see? I need help. And it gets worse."

"Wait—you did have sex? Just not in the elevator?" Bella perched near the coffee table with her hands on her hips, looking like a frantic, grade-school teacher about to dish out detention. But her auburn curls were wild and bushy, and her reddened cheeks and swaying posture took away all her credibility.

"I did." Bella and Delilah gasped. "In my office." They gasped again, and Delilah now stood up as well. "With Ryan."

"Whoa, what?" Delilah seemed ready to run over and grab Coralie's shoulders. "Ryan came to your office? Today?"

"When the fuck did Ryan show up in this scenario?" Bella's eyes were narrowed, then they turned round as saucers, and her lips bunched side to side. "Am I that drunk? Did I miss something?"

Finally, they're reacting!

Coralie's intoxication was dimming with every confession she made. She eyed the other bottle of red wine they'd left unopened, desperate for a few drops to dull her senses. To make her too weak to crave anything other than sleep. And to drown her memory so she didn't have to recount what she and Ryan had done.

"He surprised me. Came to visit because he wasn't happy with how I left him last night, so he wanted to finish it. He gave me the option to say no, but he smelled so good, and his words made sense... saying we needed to curb our appetite and fuck to get it out of our systems. It kind of worked." She scratched under her chin, lingering in the kitchen doorway, distancing herself from her drunken friends. "I'm not as horny anymore."

Bella fell to the floor and huffed. "They really do keep coming to you, don't they?" She extended her arms and legs and lay there, like a kid about to make a snowman in the snow.

"Yes," Coralie groaned, "but I keep letting them. How do I stop this? Guys, please, guide me."

Bella blew out a heavy breath. "What do we need to do, lock you up? Take away your phone?"

"Oh," Delilah jumped up and lifted a finger to the air, "that's it! Her phone—that's the most dangerous thing in all this. That, and Chester working in the same office, but there's little we can do about that."

"Okay, so..." Bella rested her head to the floor and gawked up at the ceiling. "What do we do with her phone? Confiscate it? She needs it for work, no?"

"No, not confiscate." Delilah zeroed in on Coralie. "Block. You need to block their numbers." She flipped her gaze to Coralie's phone, that sat on the couch.

Coralie dove from the doorway and plunged onto the sofa, grabbing her cell before Delilah could snatch it. "No. No. I can't block them."

"You can, and you must." Delilah snapped at her. "Cora, honey, come on. Text them that you're blocking them for the rest of your respective breaks. Three weeks, yeah? And you'll unblock them when you've received a revelation or something." She swept a finger over Coralie's chin, then squeezed it. "It's the best solution. To avoid them, to give yourself space, to review your options without them interfering and turning the tides. You need an unbiased opinion, a real decision—and if they can't call or text you, that'll help. I'm sure of it."

Clutching her phone to her chest, Coralie abandoned the couch and wobbled over to the bedroom door. "I'll think about it. Michael... I can't block Michael, no, not yet. But the others... let me sleep on it."

She didn't wait for their reply, and hobbled over to tumble onto her bed, her phone still pressed to her heart. Her brain and body were exhausted, and she needed a restful sleep. Maybe she'd get answers in her dreams—or maybe she wouldn't dream at all.

The idea of a dreamless slumber was what finally aided her in closing her eyes and passing out, forcing thoughts of Ryan, Chester, and Michael out of her head. From exhaustion, soreness, or drunkenness, she couldn't tell—but she was grateful.

♥♥♥