"Him?"
"Drogo. The memory. The ghost." I lower the heat on the stove. "I need to fuck an actual person, Luce. Not a dildo. Not a two-year-old memory. Someone real."
"Even if it's the wrong person?"
I pause. Stir. "Even then."
"That's my girl." Lucy's voice softens. "What are you wearing?"
"Want to see?"
"Obviously!"
I switch to video call. Prop the phone against the fruit bowl. Step back. "Ta-da."
Lucy's face fills the screen—eyes wide, mouth open. "Fuck, babe. Dress."
I spin once. "Yeah. I'm determined. All I need to do is lift it up and sit on his cock!"
We both laugh—loud, genuine, the kind that makes my stomach hurt.
Then the pot explodes. Not literally. But the sauce boils over violently, hissing and spitting, red liquid everywhere. Flames lick up the sides of the pan.
"FUCK!"
The fire alarm screams to life—that piercing shriek that makes your brain want to leak out your ears.
I grab the pot, burn my thumb, curse, yank it off the burner. The alarm keeps going. Of course it does. I grab a chair. Climb up. Punch the alarm button until it finally shuts up. Jump down. Rush to the windows. Throw them open. Cold night air floods in.
Lucy's laughing so hard on the screen she's crying. "Romantic dinner going well?"
"So my romantic dinner," I say, gasping between laughs, "would be with pizza."
"Perfect! Nothing says 'fuck me' like pepperoni!"
We're both losing it now. Bent over. Wheezing.
Then—knock at the door. My heart stops. I check my phone. 9:00 PM exactly.
"Oh shit. He's here."
"Go!" Lucy waves at the screen. "Text me after! With details! Lots of details!"
"Love you—"
"Love you! Now go get laid!"
I blow her a kiss. End the call. Take a breath. Walk to the door. Open it.
Oliver stands there looking like a fucking cologne ad. Dark jeans. Navy button-down. That devastating smile.
"I burned the food," I say immediately.
He laughs. "Of course you did."
Then he steps in, arms sliding around my waist, pulling me close. His mouth finds mine—confident, practiced, the kind of kiss that's probably melted a hundred women. I kiss back. Force myself to think: Yes. This is good. This is okay. I like this kiss.
Close my eyes. And there he is. Drogo. Blue eyes. That mouth. Those hands. I'm wet instantly. Fuck.
