Page 85 of Electric Touch

“Are you really? He hurt you.”

“Don’t mention his name.” She holds up a hand, her face darkening. “That happiness was all a lie. His wife and kids deserve better too.”

“I know.” I walk over and one arm hug her, then drag her out of the chair. “Have you got over your desire to tell her that her husband is a scumbag? Or do you still need a wingman? I’m there if you do.”

“I’m too mortified to face her. Besides, in situations like that, the wife generally doesn’t appreciate the mistress showing up to chat. I’ll end up feeling even worse.”

“You’re not a mistress. He lied to you.”

“Do you really think she is going to see it that way?”

“Probably not. Come on.”

I lock the door behind us and we walk down the corridor. The staff have their own cafeteria. The coffee shop on campus grounds does better coffee and muffins, which I’m hankering for right now.

“Are we invisible?” she asks, sidestepping some students who are so lost in their own worlds they barely noticed barrelling through us.

“Yes,” I laugh. “They only think of professors when they’re in a classroom or lecture hall. You remember what it was like in college.”

“How can you say that? You stalked Professor Gilmore.”

“And look how that turned out.” I am working with Thomas Gilmore on my grant application. He influenced me a lot when I was a student. “Besides, I’m an anomaly.”

Sasha laughs. “You’re special alright.”

We head to the coffee shop, order our drinks and food, and get a booth in the corner. When a group of students diverts away from the table beside us, I chuckle.

“So, what are your plans for the weekend?” She asks, picking apart her muffin. Sasha has to separate it into eight parts before she’ll eat it.

There are a few things left on the list I could do locally. One of them I thought might be nice to do with Nash. I’m conflicted. We’re having fun, getting to know one another. Asking him to take part in a thing on the list seems wrong. Sasha sits in quiet contemplation when I ask for advice.

“If it is eating at you, you need to tell him. It will be better coming from you, rather than him finding out some other way.”

“There is no other way he can find out,” I frown. “Unless you or Apollo decide to tell him.”

“That will not happen. You’re our ride or die.”

“Both of you?” I lift a brow.

“For this, I will allow Apollo to be on par with me. For everything else, he doesn’t reach the best friend pedestal. Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s our thing.”

“The truth of the matter is, we’re all best friends.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she pulls a face. “Anyway, no one says you have to tell him. I mean, how serious is it?”

That is the question, isn’t it? I hate the whole labelling thing, the talk about whether you’re dating. This is different somehow. I’m not this chaotic about relationships. My thought processes are usually clear in my mind. Nash makes me feel different.

“Which one are you thinking of doing with him?”

“The sunset and sunrise.”

“Well, that is just spending the day with someone you’re dating,” she shrugs. “Although it’s really romantic.”

“I only met him because of the list. I feel bad.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” she admonishes me. “So what, you tried to get with someone in the band? The way you guys kept meeting, you weren’t pursuing him. It’s not a one-night stand. If anything, you need to sleep with someone else famous.”

I toss a salt packet at her and she laughs.

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