On Saturday night, I offer to go and get Lucy from Brooklyn, but she insists on meeting me at a bar in SoHo. I would have been happy to stay in, order pizza, and watch Netflix, but I don’t want her to think I’m only interested in sex. Not that I’mnotinterested in sex—I most definitely am. Specifically, sex with Lucy. But I like hanging out with her too. She’s fun. And sweet and thoughtful. She makes me laugh. She makes me think.
I step into the bar and pull my phone from my back pocket. Everyone’s dressed as if they’re from the 1800s. Did I miss something? I scan the room and lock eyes with Lucy. My heart soars in my chest. She looks astonishing. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, she looks like a goddamn angel. Her hair is loose and wavy and hangs down over her shoulders. Her cheeks are pink and her sea-green eyes are quite simply dazzling.
I stalk over to where she’s sitting on a barstool, and her smile widens the nearer I get. When I reach her, I do the only thing I can: I cup her face and press a kiss to her lips. God, I wish it were just the two of us here and the rest of the people in this bar would just disappear.I only want to be with her. Here, in public, it feels like I have to share her a little.
“Hey,” she says on a little sigh as I pull back.
“You look gorgeous.”
“Hunter,” she says like I’m crazy, “I was studying. I lost track of time. I’ve been wearing this all day. I let my hair down and that’s it.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful.”
She smiles, but it’s not a confident smile. She smiles like she can’t quite believe what I’m saying is true, and the thought tugs at my chest. I really don’t understand why she’s so down on herself. I know she looks up to Katherine, but she and Katherine are just different. Katherine’s a teacher who lives in suburban Boston. Lucy is a paralegal in New York City. They lead opposite lives that are impossible to compare, but Lucy still thinks she’s not matching up to Katherine.
“This place is wild,” she says, changing the subject.
“Yeah. I’ve been to speakeasy places where the waitstaff wear costumes, but not a ... what? Victorian place?” I glance up. “Why is there a wolf on the ceiling?” I slide onto the stool next to her.
“I was wondering the same thing,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ve come to the conclusion that it must be a hound.”
I narrow my eyes, wondering if I’ve lost time somewhere, which might explain my confusion. “A hound?”
“As in Baskerville. The place is called Baker Street, right? It’s a Sherlock Holmes–themed bar. At least, I think it is. The cocktails seem themed after Sherlock Holmes books. Or something. My dad had the books and used to read them on a Sunday after lunch.” She grabs a menu from where it’s standing upright on the bar. “Five Orange Pips.That was a story, right?”
“I defer to you on all things Holmesian.”
She puts the menu down and grins at me. “Is it weird that I know this stuff?”
I shake my head. “I like you telling me things. It’s ... sexy.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah. You’re a badass. You don’t take shit from anyone. You protect the people you love. You know things about Victorian literature. It’s allverysexy.”
She leans forward on her barstool. Her T-shirt tightens, showing the outline of her breasts. It’s just a simple white T-shirt, but from where I’m sitting, her outfit is bordering on obscene. “I think you’re sexy too.”
My body starts to vibrate. I skirt my hand over her waist and down her thigh. I just want to be closer to her. No matter how close I get, I want to be closer still.
She links her fingers through mine, and we order a cocktail each. “I’m definitely getting the Sussex Vampire,” she says.
“Sounds bloody. I’ll take His Last Bow.”
“You want to take a picture to send to Katherine?” I ask when our cocktails arrive.
Our eyes snag, and after a beat she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Let’s just ... not.”
I take a sip of my drink to stop myself from smiling. We’re way past pretending, and we both know it.
“Are you going to grow fangs?” I ask as she sips her red drink that’s come in a martini glass topped with white foam.
“Oh, wouldn’t that be something?” She waggles her eyebrows mischievously. “Would you want me to bite you?”
I trail my gaze down her body. I want to bite her all over. “Not my thing,” I say. “But I think you know that. You knowallmy things.”
“Do I?” she asks. “I’m sure there’s loads about you I don’t know.”
I pull in a breath. “It doesn’t feel like that.” In fact, it feels like the complete opposite. It’s like she knows everything without me having to tell her. It feels like I’ve known Lucy much longer than I have—that we’re in a decade-old relationship or something. Maybe it’s because we started off hating each other and didn’t waste time trying to show carefully curated versions of ourselves to each other. Maybe it’s because the people closest to us love each other. Maybe it’s because it feels like she sees me. Really sees me.
