Page 9 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“You really are a journalist,” I say.

“And you’re really secretive,” she says, amused.

“How about I give you three questions?”

“I’ll take what I can get,” she obliges. “Where did you grow up?”

“Born in Nebraska,” I say. “But we moved to the Bay Area when I was in high school.”

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone from Nebraska?” Lucy looks up in the distance like she’s trying to recall all the people she’s ever met in her lifetime.

“I’m happy to set the bar.” I take a sip of my beer.

She raises an eyebrow. “What was your first paid writing gig?”

“You know, I don’t think anyone’s asked me that before,” I say, surprised at how a simple question tometells me so much abouther.

There’s something about Lucy I can’t quite put my finger on. There’s an ease and a playful banter we have going. Lucy’s not dumbing herself down for the sake of a laugh; she’s being what I assume is authentically herself. Although our encounter has been short, I recognize that Lucy’s time is valuable and however she chooses to spend it gets her undivided attention.

“When I was a freshman in high school, seniors would pay me to write their papers,” I admit, pretty sure I’ve never told anyone else that. “English and history were my specialties.”

“Marsh!” Lucy’s eyes widen. “That’s cheating!”

“Iwasn’t cheating,” I correct her. “The football team was.”

“The perfect way to start a career in journalism,” she says.

“Ten bucks was ten bucks.” I shrug.

“That’s crazy.” She laughs, and I’m wondering for the first time in my life if I’m funny. “Was not expecting that answer.”

“Choose your last question wisely,” I warn.

Lucy runs a hand through her hair. For a moment the nape of her neck is exposed, and my eyes are drawn to every part of her skin like a moth to a flame. “Favorite sex position?”

I almost spit up my beer. My eyes shoot up to Lucy’s to make sure I didn’t mishear her—I didn’t—or that she wasn’t joking—she’s not.“Excuse me?”

“I’m a sex writer,” she says. “I’m not asking in a creepy way. It’s actually one of my favorite questions to ask people. It reveals a lot about their personalities.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I let out a scoff. “But some of us like to keep things sacred.”

“I see.” She takes another sip of her martini.

“Don’t do that.” I give her a pointed look.

“Do what?” she says innocently.

“You’re taking my refusal to engage in this topic as an answer in itself.”

“So what if I am?”

“Lucy, I could tell you what I like”—my voice lowers as I lean in closer, ensuring nobody hears us—“but where’s the fun in that?”

Lucy’s gaze meets mine and there’s a moment of mutuality, an unspoken respect that we have for each other.

“Touché.” She tips her glass, and I settle back in my seat.

“So, does this meanIget three questions now?” I ask.