Page 90 of The Wild Card

“We didn’t have sex.”

“But you did something.”

I feel my face flush and hide behind my wine glass. Sadie shrieks.

“I knew it! I knew it!” She smacks my arm with a throw pillow. “Spill. Now. Every detail. Leave nothing out.”

“There’s not that much to tell.”

“Your face is the color of a tomato. There’s plenty to tell.”

I groan and sink deeper into her couch. This is what I get for having a best friend who can read me like a large-print book.

“Fine.” I set down my wine because I’m going to need both hands for this. “We got home. There was… tension. We talked about how we’re both attracted to each other and maybe the fake relationship should have some real perks.”

“Perks,” Sadie repeats, grinning. “I love perks. What kind of perks?”

“The, um… physical kind.”

“Go on.”

“He carried me to the couch.”

“Carried you?”

“Like I weighed nothing. Just—” I make a scooping gesture. “Picked me up. Carried me. Sat down with me in his lap.”

Sadie fans herself. “I need more wine for this.”

“And then we were kissing, and it was… God, Sadie, it was so good. Like, I’ve been kissed before, obviously, but not like this. He’s easily the best kisser ever.”

“I’m going to pass out.”

“And then there was some, um, grinding—”

“On the couch? Straddling him?”

“Yes.”

“With clothes on?”

“At first.”

Sadie actually squeals. “Emmie!”

“And then clothes came off. Some clothes. Not all clothes.” I’m talking with my hands now, the way I always do when I’m flustered. “And he touched me and I touched him and it was—”

“Was he good?”

“He was…” I think about his fingers inside me, the way he watched my face, the way he asked what I needed like my pleasure was the only thing that mattered. “Yeah. He was good. Really good.”

“How good?”

“Like, embarrassingly fast good.”

“For you or for him?”

“Both.”