“Indie,” she says with wide, shocked eyes. “You’re like the dumbest smart person I know.” “What the hell does that mean?” I baulk. “Camden isn’t Penis Number One.” She reaches out and grabs my shoulders so I’m facing her more clearly. “He’s Penis Number Three.” My hands cover my cheeks and they feel as if they might melt off my face. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes! Indie, he is the perfect mix of One and Two. He said ‘Thou Art Mine’ right after he made love to you. That’s the stuff love stories are made of.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I’m capable of more yet. I always thought I’d
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