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“I’m gonna shower,” I tell him, loosening the sheet from around my body suggestively.

“Sounds good,” Jake says. He smiles, and then hands me a box. “I ah… made sure you had a change of clothes.”

“You just think of everything, don’t you?” I wonder as I take the box from him.

I ascend the stairs slowly, suggestively — or at least, I’m trying to. Jake doesn’t seem to take the hint, though, occupying himself instead with cleaning up his cooking mess in the kitchen. It’s disappointing, but I suppose I’m a little sore anyway. A break isn’t a bad idea, right?

But the seed of it festers, and by the time I come back downstairs wearing the gorgeous little strapless sundress he got me I can’t help wondering if maybe his interest just evaporated after we had sex. It’s not like he’d be the only guy who operated that way.

He kisses me when he sees me, and he’s dressed as well, having showered before I even got up. But it’s not the same kind of passionate kiss as before.

“I should probably get home,” I tell him softly. “Long day ahead and all.”

He nods. He does smile, but his eyes are shadowed. Something’s bothering him. I’m not sure I want to know, so when he picks up his keys and says he’d be happy to drop me off at work, I just follow him to the car.

All the way there, I remind myself: it was just a hookup. I’m not invested. So if we did this once and then never speak again, it’s no big deal.

Right?

Chapter 46

Jake

“Is it weird I can still smell you?” I text Janie a few days after our un-fucking-believable encounter.

I wanted to see her again the next day, but I’m trying to follow “the plan.” The whole method behind making a woman fall head over heels to the point that she craves my presence. I hate doing it to Janie; it makes me sick. Reginald expects me to reintroduce the idea of a PR relationship again, though, and he wants it soon.

So for three days, all we have is an ongoing text exchange to remind us both of what we had together at the beach house.

“Maybe you’re marked,” Janie sends back. “Good luck washing that off.”

I laugh. “Is that why the ladies keep sniffing me and moving on?”

“Definitely. Part of a secret code we all know about. Can’t say more than that.”

“Maybe I should mark you, then.”

“No need. The only other men in my life are either gay or related to me.” There’s a winking smiley face emoji attached to the end.

“Chester?” I send her.

“Yes, Chester.”

“Can’t believe anyone can stay gay with you wearing

those dresses to work every day,” I send. “He must be really committed.”

“His boyfriend is way hotter than I am in a dress,” she replies. “Miss Layla Fine. Drag queen at Mercury’s. Stunning. She even has better tits than me, the bitch.”

“Maybe I should drop by…”

“Good luck with that.” A laughing face emoji, followed quickly by a banana. I can almost hear her laughing.

“Am I distracting you?” I send.

There’s a long pause, and I wonder what she’s doing. It was hard, when we left the beach house. Opening up like that about my mother made me suddenly terrified, and made everything about our interlude seem somehow too real and at the same time cheapened. But keeping myself closed off from Janie is next to impossible. Every time we talk, it’s like there are hooks inside me, catching long-buried emotions and memories and dragging them up by force. It hurts, but at the same time there’s something cathartic about it.

I wish I could tell her everything — tell her about why I’m really pursuing her so hard, and what Reginald wants and what I’m risking if I don’t do what he wants, and what I’m risking if I do. The truth will come out eventually, I know that. When it does, who will I be at that point?