Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Um, no, Dad. I’m focused a tiny bit more on that little thing known as rent.
As I head toward the foyer, I dictate a reply. Working on it!
He replies immediately. We can talk about it in the morning. Do a Zoom call after I run, and I’ll share my screen and we can look at options.
Dude, I am not zooming with you in the morning.
Surely, I’m an asshole as I reply. Too busy with script reading tomorrow! Gotta work on that track record. Maybe Sunday.
My stomach twists as I reread my lie. But it’s the cost of a cover-up.
There’s a text from my mom from earlier too. She sent me a social clip of a fashion designer making a Regency ball gown, one of those sped-up videos that shows the arduous process in fifteen seconds. Saw this and thought of you! What are you up to this weekend? I’m at a wine festival and it’s fabulous!
Without answering, I head to the street, feeling like I’m sixteen again and sneaking out with Willa. But I don’t want to think about my family. I don’t want to think about me either. I don’t want to think terrible, annoying, awful thoughts.
I just want to…feel all the pleasure I’ve denied myself for the last few years.
I push open the front door of my building and dart down the steps, scanning for the black town car Finn’s sending—when I walk right into a man.
Oof.
I blink, then shake my head, relieved. “Oh. Hi.”
It’s Ethan. He’s one of Layla and Harlow’s besties, and over the last few years, he’s become a good friend of mine too.
I set a hand on my chest, where my pulse is still racing. “Thank god it’s you. I thought it was my parents,” I say, which sounds ridiculous to say out loud, especially at eleven-thirty on a Friday night.
“Sounds like you’re up to no good,” he says, busting me just like that.
But one look at his stylish jeans, cuffed twice at the ankles, and tight shirt, clearly meant for a hot date, gives me playful ammunition. “I could say the same about you.”
He shrugs, smiling. “Just finished a gig. I’m heading to my girlfriend’s place for the night.”
“Say hi to Tessa for me.” She’s a drummer in another band that’s all the rage in the city—though his band, Outrageous Record, is pretty hot too.
“I will.” He takes a beat, giving an I’m waiting look. “I told you where I’m going. Your turn.”
Giving up secrets is so dangerous. They can slice your heart. Before I speak, I weigh this one.
I’m not going to tell him who Finn is or how we’re connected. But maybe I can say a little something. It felt good to share with the girls at poker the other week. I also want to tell my friends. It makes this clandestine fling feel more real—and more daring too. I like being naughty Jules, racing off to a sex-cursion.
“I’m going to a sleepover as well,” I begin.
His hazel eyes twinkle. “With a man?”
I laugh, half shy, half thrilled. “Yes.”
“Well, well. Virgin Society no more, I take it?”
That’s the name Harlow, Layla, and Ethan gave themselves a few years ago when they all carried V-cards. “Seems that way.”
“And who is this masked man?”
Ethan can’t know how close he’s come to the truth of how I met Finn. Still, I feel seen with this comment. Safely seen. Maybe because I can answer truthfully enough. “I met him at a party. He’s sometimes a gentleman and sometimes not.”
Ethan’s smile turns wicked. “The best kind of man.”
I laugh. “I’d have to agree.”
“And is there something more going on with him?”
“No. It’s just a one-time thing.”
“Nothing wrong with that, but he better treat you like a queen in bed,” he says, like a protective guy friend should.
“I think that’s at the top of his agenda,” I whisper salaciously.
“Smart man.”
The sound of a car parking has us both turning our heads toward the curb.
Ethan whistles at the sleek town car. “I like his style already.”
I’m giddy at the sight of the vehicle. But I’m really giddy at what it represents—Finn whisking me away to lavish me with pleasure in his bedroom.
When Ethan meets my eyes again, his brows lift with concern. “Should this stay between you and me?”
I love that he asks. That he’s conscious about what I would share with others and what he’s privy to thanks to a coincidental encounter. But this conversation has already given me a taste of what I’ve been missing for years—confessions with friends. “You can tell them,” I say, a little buzzed at the possibility.
Ethan pumps a fist, then leans in to kiss my cheek. “Get it, girl. Get it good.”
I say goodbye, then duck into the backseat of the car.
Not two minutes later, my phone lights up like a Vegas slot machine with message after message.