Page 68 of The Backup Plan

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Not the kind where the call drops or someone gets distracted, but it’s the time taken for the best friend to choose her words carefully. She’s about to systematically dismantle you and all the reasons you’re giving yourself not to react.

“Imagined it? Absolutely not,” Trish finally says. “No way. Hard stop.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the driver’s seat. “Trish—”

“No,” she says. “Listen to me. What man goes shopping—let alone for home décor—buys you ridiculous things, spends an entire day laughing with you, and then almost kisses you if he doesn’t like you?”

“Then why stop?”

“Because he respects you and your professional capacity and doesn’t want to put you in jeopardy?”

“I think you’re overthinking this,” I say.

She snorts. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“I assure you in that moment, he wasn’t thinking about official capacity in the least.”

“Then what was he thinking?” she asks with a hummed sound. “Because it was most definitely that he wanted to kiss you.”

I bark out a laugh. “You don’t even know the man, so how would you know what he’s thinking?”

“I know the fact that you telling me about it is enough. You’re an intelligent woman, Em. One who doesn’t like gossip or need grand gestures and you thought he was going to kiss you.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about a man and his intentions,” I say dubiously. “Besides, he could have just wanted something else.”

She groans dramatically. “The man is an NFL player with a hot body and shoulders the size of a small country. Of course, he wants something.” She pauses and then answers my question about how she knows what he looks like. “I’m googling him right now.”

“You are not.”

“I absolutely am.”

“There’s a reason I held off for so long telling you about this whole . . . situation.” Not to mention the whole initial meeting that we’re not going to get into yet.

“Why? Because you don’t want to hear me say what I’m about to say?” Another dramatic pause. “Girl, that man is fine. You need to hit that.”

I laugh despite myself. A little dose of Trish is all I need to straighten my head out. “So much easier said than done.”

“Why?” she asks.

My job. My reputation.

“I have reasons, and all of them have to do with my professional life.”

“Professionals need to get fucked good and hard too,” she says matter-of-fact. I burst out laughing and she follows suit. But before I can respond, she continues. “You’re making excuses—valid ones, but they’re still excuses. And you only do that when you’re lying.”

“I don’t want him,” I blurt out. “I imagined all of it.”

“Uh-huh. The almost kiss. The look in his eyes. The feel of his body against yours.”

My breath catches because she’s repeating the thoughts I have in bed at night. The ones I’ve had way too many times.

“All imagined,” I repeat, digging my heels in.

“You keep telling yourself that. But hey, if you need permission? Or a push? Or someone to remind you that you’re allowed to want things even if you are a professional? You’ve got it. Stamped, sealed, delivered, from your bestie Trish.”

“Like I said, it’s a line that could have serious implications if crossed.”

She hums as she thinks. “Then I guess you better invest in a damn good vibrator to relieve some of that pent-up sexual frustration, because it’s going to be a long-ass season having to put your hands all over him—professionally speaking—and not be able to act on it.”