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In other words, please do. If she was going to be a bitch, he could play that game.
Lucy smiled at him as if she had figured out life’s greatest secret. “Oh, my goodness. Fletcher Dufort. You’re in love with someone. Who is it?”
The temptation to tell her to mind her own fucking business was on the tip of his tongue. Still, he had to maintain a good relationship withFive Stones, so he bullshitted his way out of the conversation.
“No, you’re right. I’ve been on some medication and shouldn’t have drunk as much as I did tonight.”
She patted his pecs and let her hand sit there. “Well, if there’s no one else, then I’m sure I can work you into a much harder state.”
Fuck, he had to get away. She might be a beautiful woman, but it was Olivia’s eyes he wanted to be gazing into, not Lucy’s.
Or anyone’s.
It was going to take him a long time to get over Olivia Miller, but he would. One day.
Fucking love.
––––––––
THE NEXT MORNING, THENew York Timesran a photo of him and Lucy. It wasn’t unexpected. He was photographed every time he went out and with every woman he spoke to.
Still, this one looked sexual. Not posed.
Which was correct.
Except nothing had happened.
Not that a photograph gave you the opportunity to explain yourself. He was used to it, and normally didn’t give a shit. Today, though, Fletcher wondered if Olivia had seen it. No, he knew she would have.
Had it upset her?
He was tempted to text her, but his head was pounding.
What would he say, anyway?
Oh hey, I know you don’t care, but if you did, I didn’t fuck Lucy Belladonna. Hope you aren’t fucking anyone either. Love Fletcher.
No more gin.
Ever.
