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Finn: You smell incredible.
I read it twice because that’s what it takes to absorb his meaning. Heat washes over me. What the hell am I getting myself into with this dominating, dirty man?
No idea, but I can’t wait to find out.
But as I race down the steps of my building, I keep thinking about my dad’s text. I should open it. I should write back. He’ll worry I’m dead.
I stop on the landing, closing my eyes briefly, breathing past the flash of terrible images from years ago.
I open my eyes and click on the text. He sent me an article about the best mutual funds, along with a reminder:We need to talk about your retirement planning soon. You started an account, right?
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 aboutmeeither. I don’t want to think terrible, annoying, awful thoughts.
I just want to…feelall 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 anI’m waitinglook. “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 alsowantto 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.”
