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Jules: You’d look sexy as hell in glasses.
Me: You’d look sexy as hell with a paper bag over your head.
Jules: Way to be original.
Now she’s got me laughing on top of being downright horny. And it feels good to laugh. Hell, it feels good to be wanted.
Me: I’m an architect. I’ll leave the wordsmithery to you.
Jules: Is that even a word?
Me: See? I’m hopeless.
Jules: Hopelessly irresistible. But I’m just an assistant, so what do I know?
The seconds on my wristwatch sound off in my ears as I think of how to respond. There’s so much I want to say to her. And so much that I can’t.
Me: Do you really want to know what I think?
Jules: Always.
Me: The moment I laid eyes on you, I swear a lightning bolt hit me.
Jules: That’s a little better than the paper bag line.
Good God, this woman. She actually stuck her tongue out at me via emoji.
Me: Your turn then, Miss Originality.
Two whole minutes go by before she responds. I know, because I counted every second.
Jules: I felt the same way. No one’s ever affected me the way you do. You could hold my hand forever, and I’d be happy.
Jesus, I’m a goner. Beyond gone. There’s no chance of salvation for me—not when she says things like that.
Me: I know I promised we wouldn’t do this, but I want you so damn much. I wish I’d met you a year ago. You’re the right woman at the wrong time, and I don’t know what to do with that.
As soon as I hit send, part of me wishes I can erase and rewind. Take back this entire conversation. We’re poking a rattler, and the strike will come fast and venomous enough to kill. A few minutes go by, and I’m guessing she wised up and put her phone away. I wish I had the fortitude to do the same. The thought has barely finished when another text comes through.
Jules: You’re married, so there’s nothing to be done about anything.
She’s right, but hell, how the utter truth in her words rips through me, as jagged as a serrated knife. I close my eyes and let out a ragged breath. I have no idea how I went from being devastated over Monica’s infidelity to falling for a woman I barely know.
But that’s exactly what happened. Something inside Jules spoke to the center of my being, almost as if our souls crashed into each other at first eye contact. I swallow hard, second guessing my next message to her, but in the end, I send it because I need her to understand.
Me: My marriage is a mess. I don’t even know if she’s still cheating on me. She won’t talk to me.
Jules: But you have a marriage, and that’s all that matters.
My fingers are flying over the digital keys, tapping out words that are only digging my shameful hole deeper.
Me: What if I didn’t?
Jules: But you do.
Me: Humor me.
Jules: If you weren’t married, I’d be all over you.
