Page 36 of With This Lie

Dani

Lucas wokeme up in the middle of the night with his lips. I didn’t mind it. And while I could sit and pretend what happened before we fell back asleep was nothing more than drowsy sex, it was a bit more intimate than that, a bit more tender. My body reacted to his touch in a way I couldn’t explain. Pleasure was one thing. Complete and utter openness and vulnerability was another.

The thought of letting myself go like that frightens me. But each time I think of Lucas, I smile, and it feels like it could be okay. I lie there beside him in bed in the early morning hours and watch him sleep. I push his hair back and don’t remember a time I was this content with a man in bed. For me, it had always been about the sex. But this is more. I can feel it. I brush my hair back behind my ear and wonder if it feels like more to him too. Not that I had anything to compare this to. But it certainly feels different than say, Mark. That’s something, right?

Of course, he doesn’t feel something more. He’s fucking married, Dani. Why would you even think that? You know better. Married men never leave their wives. You’re just here for fun. Nothing more. Although sometimes, I think I could be wrong.

Lucas shifts and stretches his arms out with his eyes still closed but I can tell he’s awake.

“Good morning, you,” I say.

“Good morning to you. How did you sleep?” he asks.

“Not too bad considering someone is on my side of the bed.”

He laughs. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven,” I reply.

He groans and throws his arm over his eyes. “I guess I have to go to work in a little while.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah. Meaning I don’t want to. Meaning I guess I will even though I’d much rather stay here and ravage you three more times before lunch,” he says.

I gulp hard. “I mean I wouldn’t complain.”

“Don’t tempt me. I will totally call in sick,” he says.

I consider the notion for a moment and decide not to press it. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says.

“Well, I have a birthday coming up. It’s in a few weeks. And maybe it’s a little presumptuous, but would you want to come to my party? I have to have a party.”

“You have to have a party? Like have to?” he asks.

I shift a little. “Yes. I have to.”

“You’re not going to tell me why?”

“Um, I’m not sure you’d want to know. It’s heavy. You’re here for fun, right?” I ask.

He shifts a bit and clears his throat. Something about his movement strikes me. He doesn’t like my words.

“I mean, I guess you’re right. But, like, you can talk to me, you know?” he says.

“I can? About the heavy stuff, you mean?”

“Yeah. Of course. You have to have somewhere to unload it. I can handle it, you know,” he says.

I consider his words for several minutes. Is my past safe with him? “My mother is alive.” I say, finally saying it out loud to someone.

His face jerks to look at mine. “Oh, I’m sorry, just the way you’ve spoken about her made me think otherwise.”

“No, it’s not your misunderstanding. I give that impression on purpose.”

“Why?” he asks me.

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