Page 29 of Kiss and Tell

I pressed my lips together, clutching my bag to my chest.

“Is there another reason why you keep shooting me down?” Connor asked astutely.

“I mixed up my personal life with work once before and it…” I faltered. “It didn’t work out.”

“You’re afraid of something bad happening again?” he asked. “That has nothing to do with us.”

“Can’t you see how bad it would look if people thought I was having some sort of relationship with a client?” I said.

“Is that what happened before?” he asked.

“No.” It was worse. “I shouldn’t have suggested this bar hop thing,” I continued. “I should have known it would be a bad idea to get drunk around you.”

“Are you implying I’m trying to take advantage?” Connor asked, outraged.

“I'm saying I let my guard down,” I told him. “And right after I told you to stop flirting with me, too.” I fiddled with the strap on my purse, avoiding his eyes. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“What if I want it to happen again?” he said.

I stopped fiddling.

“What if I hire a different consultant?” he said. “Then we won’t be working together.”

“No,” I snapped. “This job is important to me. I can’t tell my bosses I lost my first solo client. I’m not going to have that black stain on my career just because you want to get in my pants.”

Connor clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching, looking agitated.

“Is that what you think I’m—”

“I’m going to call a taxi and go,” I cut in. “I’m going to give us a week to get over this. At our next meeting we’re going to be one hundred percent professional. Both of us.”

Connor inhaled deeply, then let the breath out through his nose. He nodded sharply.

“Fine,” he said. “Professional. Got it.” His face went stony. “Guess I’ll just go find that short cute girl and try to get in her pants.”

Connor’s words were biting.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I started to say, but Connor was already turning on his heel, marching into the crowd.

“I’ll see you next week,” were his parting words.

The acid in my gut simmered and boiled.

I’d forgotten myself tonight. I’d let the alcohol cloud my judgement. What if someone I knew had been here and saw? What if they said something? The thought was nauseating.

But even worse than the thought of being caught was the hurt expression on Connor’s face when he’d turned away from me.

Nine

The tea kettle whistled.I glanced at it from the living room where I sat in a heap of blankets with my sketchbook. The high-pitched whistling continued, loud and long. I lurched from the sofa and padded over to the kitchen with bare feet and flicked the kettle off.

With robotic movements, I got out a mug and a bag of tea, muscle memory leading me. My brain wasn’t on the kettle or the tea.

I’d been beating myself up about what had happened with Connor for days. I hadn’t heard from him — not that I’d expected to. I told him I’d give us a week to get our heads on straight. Still, some small part of me had hoped. A short text asking if I’d gotten home safely, or a quick email to confirm our next meeting.

Instead, radio silence.

I shouldn’t have expected differently. Only an hour after I’d told Connor to stop flirting with me I’d practically dry humped him in the middle of a club. And then I’d pulled away and told him unequivocally nothing was going to happen between us.