“Eddie Redmayne?” I offer.
“No, no. The one with the scary eyes. Peaky Blinders.”
I yell, “Cillian Murphy!” enjoying the game.
“I’m picturing him next time,” says Max, mouth full of scone.
“What about you, Twyla?” Lamé watches me. “You get in there, close your eyes and picture, I don’t know, Zion Mason?”
“I’ll bet he pictured Twyla Hernandez,” Max says with an impish smile.
I go still, my insides buzzing. Why? Why would he pictureme, of all people? Vanilla good girl that he assumes I am.
No way. He thinks I’m a prude. And he told me I shouldn’t be here. So, no. He didn’t, for one second, imagine me in that closet.
But then my mind slides back to the first moment in the darkness, when he was nothing but a shape, a presence. Did I picture Zion when the stranger first touched me? Was that part of the appeal? I want to say no, but I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?
When I look up, they’re both watching me. Rather than face their open curiosity and whatever questions they’re about to throw my way, I swallow and say the first thing that springs to mind. “Cillian Murphy’s Irish.”
They exchange a look.
“Even better,” says Max “The man is humpable.”
“Total top energy, alas.” Lamé sighs with regret.
“Yeah.” Max’s sigh contains anything but regret.
“I met him recently,” I break in. “I mean, just a handshake, but… Oh, crap. You know what? He kissed me on the cheek.”
Max and Lamé are leaning in, identical expressions of awe on their faces.
“Seriously? How was it?”
“Okay, so…” I think back to the cocktail party where I’d been a total fish out of water. “He put his hand on my shoulder and got kind of close and…” I gasp, my eyes wide at the memory.
Max says, “Total top,” into her drink.
Lamé, however, is watching me closely. “Washethere?”
I know exactly who they’re asking about. Zion. “Yeah.”
“Who?” Max is a half step behind.
“He didn’t like it, did he?”
“Come on, who?” Max repeats, louder.
I shake my head, biting my lip at the memory. “He, um…”
Lamé’s watching me like a hawk now, like they know, theyknowexactly what happened, what Zion did that night.
My nipples go hard at the memory.
“He put his hand on me.”
“Cillian Murphy?” Max’s face is all scrunched up.
“Zion,” Lamé and I tell her together.
