Page 63 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“I think we should call it a night,” I say.

Lucy’s brows knit, confusion written over her entire face. I hate myself right now. “What’s wrong?”

“This is a bad idea, Lucy.” The words feel like nails on a chalkboard.

“Aren’t you having fun?”

“I’m having a little too much fun.” I allude to the throbbing in my pants that’s thankfully dissipating. “And I think you know that.”

“It’s okay.” She smiles and takes a step toward me. Her hands go around my neck again, and I so badly want to believe it really is okay.

“It’s not.” I gently remove her hands from my neck. “We’re co-workers.”

“And we’re also adults,” she says.

“It would put both of our jobs at risk if anything happened,” I say. Maybe telling myself more than I’m telling her.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says like that solves everything.

It fucking kills me because Lucy’s really in front of me right now, telling me shewants me.She wantsmeand I don’t know why. I’m not right for her. She can do eons better than someone like me. On one hand, I want to go against my judgment and seehow many times I can make Lucy scream my name. But a bigger part of me knows what’s at stake.

“We can’t,” I say again. “I’m new toThe Journal.It’s too risky, and Nadia’s counting on me,” I huff. “It wouldn’t be good for either of us…We need to stick to our arrangement.”

There’s a look of embarrassment, maybe even hurt, in Lucy’s eyes. I should say what I feel. I should tell her that I’ve never wanted anyone more than I do right now, but eventellingher that feels dangerous.

“Do you understand?” I ask her.

“Yeah,” she says. “I understand.”

13

Lucy

There’s an unfamiliar wall in my view and a pain in my head when I wake up. I shift a little and then feel a shirtless body beside me.

Now I remember where I am.

“Shit…” I say under my breath.

Slowly, I lift the covers and see that I’m wearing an oversize graphic T-shirt and underwear. Thank god.

I move my hand underneath my pillow and feel the sheets around me for my phone. No luck. My eyes scan the room, the floor, the nightstand. Nothing.

Carefully squeezing myself out from the bed, I stand in the middle of the bedroom. Chris’s back is facing me, and based on his snoring, he’s fast asleep. I tiptoe toward his open door and then once I’m in the living room, quietly shut it behind me.

“Really, Luce?” I mutter to myself. As if last night wasn’t bad enough, I had to make the idiotic decision to reconcile with Chris.

Shuffling around the apartment, I see my phone sitting faceup on the kitchen table with my black dress from last night draped over the chair beside it. I grab it and see the time is 8:56a.m.I don’t have any missed calls, or emails, which makes sense since it’s a Saturday morning. I just have one unread text.

Marsh Oakley.

There’s a gross feeling in my stomach. While I wish the events at The Peppermint Club were fuzzy, I remember vividly what happened last night. The taste of my martini still lingers in my mouth. The smell of Marsh’s cologne is stuck to my skin, and the sound of the bass pounds in the back of my head. Obviously, I had more to drink than usual. Enough that I’m feeling the effects of it the next morning, but my actions can’t be blamed on the alcohol.

I wanted Marsh last night and I’m irresponsible for going against my best judgments. I throw my head back and groan at the memory of methrowingmyself on him like a drunk college student. Is it my fault that he looked hotter than usual last night? That he surprisingly moves like someone who could be onDancing with the Stars? That he’s been hiding a goddamn torso that feels like a washing board? Like a lucid dream, I go back to last night and feel my body molding into Marsh’s. The way his eyes looked drunk with lust and just how sexy it felt to feel his body move with the music.

“Fuuuck,” I groan.

I crossed a line. A big red line. A line that has me being unemployed on the other side. Marsh is probably rethinking the whole arrangement right now, and I made a total mess of everything before I could even get three articles out. Marsh is dangerous territory that will soon become very messy if I continue to allow myself to think of him as anything other than a co-worker. Preserving my column is more important than any urges I’m feeling. Wincing, I open our message history.