Page 182 of Catfish

Me: You suck.

Emmy: You swallow.

Me: Cute.

Emmy: *winks*

Chase: Question number 11: What is the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?

I burst into laughter. The irony of that question couldn’t have come at a better time.

Me: I’m a virgin.

And no one will know about my first and last night with Wade—ever.

* * *

I finally got the receptionist’s name right today after multiple tried and failed efforts. So many that she has Wade giving him a run for his money on the glowering effect she can lay on people.

After getting my first smile from the woman, my attention lands on Wade's office down the hall. His door is closed like it usually is, and my feet want to march to it.

Which would be the opposite of what I would do on a typical night after sex.

Casual—that’s what it always is. So what makes the governor of Connecticut so much different, beats the hell out of me.

Oh, you dumb hoe, you know why.

Nope, sure as hell don’t!

Emmy’s office isn’t far from Wade’s, two rooms down actually, so I coerce myself to stay on course and in the direction of her space—where she’s nowhere to be found.

And I never noticed that her desk looked like Lisa Frank exploded all over it. Bright blues, purples, and pinks flood her desk. From a rainbow, zebra-print pencil holder with every color pen you can think of in it to a neon green stapler, an orange vase full of vibrant flowers, and a yellow frame. I feel like I just walked into a detonation that happened at Sherwin Williams.

“I didn’t know you were coming into the office today.” The chest that presses into my back, I know exactly whose it is. I'm aware of the octave that begins the start of goosebumps to prickle along my arms. Aware of how perfectly my ass aligns with his cock that just twitched.

Holy mother of God.

“Can’t look at me, Miss Shelton?” There’s amusement outlined in that question as I take a sharp inhale before turning around to face him.

Is it possible for someone to become more attractive overnight?

That his eyes look bluer today? That the maroon suit he's wearing outlines every muscle I traced with my fingertips last night to where I already memorized them?

My gaze flickers to his face, wearing a genuine smirk of gratification. I feel weak, numb, turned on, and so utterly fucked as he stands in front of me, looking so goddamn him that I'm not sure that I'm worthy of such allure.

“Maroon?” I blurt out, watching the corner of his lips lift higher.

“It’s my new favorite color.”

“Your new favor…” I trail off as it hits me like a punch to the gut. Those butterflies, they’re losing it, fluttering and knocking into each other as I realize what he means by it.

My violet eyes—he wouldn’t pull himself from them last night. And now he’s wearing a fitted suit that is as close as he can get to the purple in my irises.

Wade takes a step forward, pulling Emmy’s door behind him, and the lock clicks.

My eyes widen. “We’re in Emmy’s office.”

“And we’re in my building,” he retorts, looming closer. I glance at the ceiling-to-floor windows, towards the cubicles outside, but the curtains are drawn closed.

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