“Right now,” he repeated. Not agreeing. Just... noting.
Purrsephone crept back into the room and jumped onto the couch, settling herself pointedly in the space between us. Her timing, as always, was impeccable.
“I think she’s trying to tell us something,” Farley said, scratching behind her ears.
“That her matchmaking services don’t extend to physical interference?”
“Something like that.”
We sat there as the evening darkened outside, the fire crackling low, neither of us addressing the elephant in the room. My phone sat silent on the coffee table, but I could feel it like a weight. Like a countdown I hadn’t realized had started.
December was half over. Soon I’d have to make decisions. Sign the contract for three more seasons or walk away. Figure out what this thing with Farley was and whether it could survive outside the snow-globe perfection of this mountain.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I leaned my shoulder against Farley’s, and he didn’t pull away.
Chapter Sixteen
Farley
Iwas in bed with my notebook, making lists.
This was not unusual. I made lists constantly—grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of manuscripts I needed to review, lists of authors I wanted to acquire. Lists were how I organized my thoughts, how I imposed order on a chaotic world, how I maintained the illusion of control over my increasingly uncontrollable life.
The current list was titledThings To Do When I Get Back To New York.It was depressingly practical.
1. Find new apartment
2. Update resume
3. Schedule appointment with therapist Dr. Reiner recommended
4. Find new personal assistant to replace fuckface (Roger)
5. Figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life
Number five was perhaps too ambitious for a list, but I’d written it anyway.
I stared at the page, pen hovering, and then—against my better judgment—flipped back one page.
To the other list.
The one I’d titled, in a moment of wine-fueled weakness two nights ago,The Naughty List.
It was not, to be clear, a list of people who deserved coal in their stockings. It was something far more incriminating. A catalog of things I wanted to do to Samuel Bennett, written in my own handwriting, in ink that couldn’t be erased.
If anyone ever found this notebook, I would have to fake my death and move to another country.
I read through the list again, feeling my face heat even though I was completely alone.
1. Kiss him until neither of us can breathe
2. Find out what sounds he makes when I bite his neck.
3. Watch him undress
I was pleased to have crossed off the first two items.
