“I’m so sorry,” I tell the room, not making eye contact with anyone.
“Sorry,” Charlotte adds quickly, pressing her hands flat against the table. She waits until the attention drifts away before she slowly leans toward me, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
“He did what?”
Wendy takes that as her cue. “Layla had him between her legs,” she says, “and he got her to come.”
Charlotte’s eyes go wide. Then wider.
She extends one hand across the table, palm up, fingers spread, and just holds it there.
“I’m having goosebumps,” she runs a finger over her skin. “Actual goosebumps.”
“It was a spontaneous mistake,” I lift my head. “And it won’t happen again and it doesn’t mean anything.”
Charlotte hits the table gently in my direction.
“Girl, mistake?” She gives me a look. “Are you
