I THINK ABOUTdeleting the text. But Graham isn’t the type who looks at my phone, so I leave it.
Anxiety pools in my stomach and chest. What have I done? I breathe. Remind myself that I didn’t even really kiss him. Butstill. I can still feel his hot chest against mine; I can still picture myself standing there, half-naked in front of him. I wince at the image. I can’t believe I did that.
I promise myself I’ll never do it again. What bothers me, though, is the creeping sense that whenever I’m around Margot, I’m out ofcontrol.
23
WE’RE IN BEDfor the night—Jack is already zonked and Graham is rubbing small, careful circles of aloe vera into my sunburn.
“There’s this new product that’s out, you know,” he says, a hint of a grin in his voice. “It’s called sunblock. We could invest in some. You could use it next time you’re gardening all day in Texas.”
I nudge him with an elbow and he smooths my hair to one side so he can hit the back of my neck with it, too.
I didn’t tell him I’d been at the lake. I couldn’t.
He finishes, snaps the lid on the bottle, and blows on my shoulders to dry them. The chill of the gel is shocking, until it dries into a thin coat over my skin.
“Still in the mood to celebrate?” he asks.
His bid came through today; his bosses are thrilled. He picked up a bottle of nice champagne on the way home and we split it over pizza.
I turn and face him. Press him down against the mattress and straddle him. “I’m so proud of you,” I say, nibbling on his ear. I feel filthy-dirty from my trip to the lake earlier, but also, so turned on. And even though my stomach is riddled with guilt, I can’t resist Graham. I never could.
He slides a hand around the nape of my neck, kisses me, and with the other hand tugs my panties off.
Halfway through, I close my eyes, and out of nowhere, I imagine Margot in the doorway of our bedroom, watching us.
Later, we’re lying on our backs. My pink skin is cooking the cool sheets; I’m spent.
“Ryan texted me, asked if he should pick up a bottle of scotch for Friday night. Thoughts?”
I roll to one side, drag a finger up and down his chest. “About that. We’re going to have to cancel with them again. I’m going shooting. I didn’t know if I’d be invited back, honestly, and I just found out today, I—” I’m grasping for words, fumbling for the best explanation when he stops me.
“I think it’s safe to say this has been good for you,” he says, his eyes grinning, his fingers tracing soothing circles on the top of my head.
—
OH, GRAHAM, YOUhave no idea.
24
Saturday, March 31, 2018
I COME TOin the back seat of Margot’s Mercedes. My face is pressed against the glass, my mouth dry and parched. It’s freezing inside the car. I grab my coat off the floor and wrap it around me.
Callie is driving, Jill and Tina are passed out next to me, slung over one another, and Margot leans back in the front passenger seat. Relaxed but alert. We’re driving home from Dallas, winding through the lake roads. The frosty white display on the dash reads four a.m.
Four a.m.! Shit, shit, shit! I claw through my purse for my cell, dig it out. Six missed alerts. I swipe and read Graham’s succession of texts.
9 p.m. Just got J down. Whew!
10 p.m. Hello, Ms. Oakley, do you copy??
10:45 p.m. Heading home anytime soon? Gonna go to bed and read.
11:30 p.m. Thought I’d wait up for you but looks like it’s gonna be another late one. Be safe. Xx
2:30 a.m. Got up to pee and saw you weren’t here—check in, ok?
