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Maybe if I were fucking my wife right now, I wouldn’t be fucking with disaster.

Me: I loved spending time with you yesterday.

Jules: Me too.I can’t stop thinking about you.

I hesitate, fingers hovering above the on-screen keyboard.

Me: I was wrong to ask for friendship. We’re crossing all sorts of lines here, Jules.

Jules: The lines are getting blurry, aren’t they?

A smile tugs at my lips. I adore her easy-going spirit. Despite the heaviness underlying this whole exchange, she manages to bring out the light.

Me: They are. I don’t know about you, but I might need glasses.

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 poisonous 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.