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“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.
Harlow: Jules! You and your secret life! I want details.
Layla: I want dirty details.
Harlow: And I want to know how long you’ve been holding out on us, you bad girl.
Layla: Sounds like you’re going to be very bad tonight.
Harlow: The best kind of bad. Now, TALK. What are you wearing?
Layla: Um, my pet, the point is she won’t be wearing much of anything.
Harlow: I meant like right now.
Jules: I promise to share the dirtiest of details tomorrow night. That is, if I can walk.
I spend most of the quick ride texting with them. Each time we connect like this—like we did over poker, like we’re doing now—makes me hungrier for more friendship.
But when I reach Jane Street, I put my friends behind me. I thank the driver, get out, then stare up at the gorgeous brownstone.
Finn’s on the balcony on the third floor, watching me, a tumbler in his hand. He’s wearing a dress shirt and a tie, loosened. Playing the part. From down here, though, I can see the desire in his heated gaze.
