Page 35 of Lovetown, USA
“Look at me.”
Well. Shit.
I do as I’m told, knowing exactly what I’ll find. Sure enough, those big brown eyes are fixed on me, heavy with heat, holding me in place.
“Would it be wrong of me to kiss you knowing I’m straight?”
She shrugs as her eyes drop to my lips. “It’s entirely up to you.”
Nadia’s voice echoes in my head, and so does the promise I made her. I’m supposed to keep an open mind. Say yes. Live life to the fullest. Experience new things. All the platitudes.
So I lean in.
Her lips are soft. The kiss is slow and lingering, like we have all the time in the world to explore. She’s patient with me, no agenda or destination in mind, just soft, sensual pecks kisses until I open my mind a little further—along with my mouth.
When our tongues meet, I feel it. A stirring. Heat. She puts a hand on my cheek, her palm hot, her touch tender. It’s me who tilts my head and deepens the kiss, because it feels good, andbecause why not? She follows my lead, gently gliding her tongue against mine, her taste sweet. We French kiss for a long, quiet, pleasurable moment, maybe more, and something blooms in my chest that’s not quite attraction, but definitely not nothing.
When we finally pull apart, I sit back and exhale.
“Damn,” I say softly. “That was…”
She smiles knowingly like she renders people speechless every day. “It did something for you?”
“I mean…it felt good,” I admit. “I think I’m still straight, though.”
“Fair enough.” She reaches into her clutch, digs around, then pulls out a business card. “If that ever changes, give me a call. I do private sessions.”
“Therapy, or…”
“Player’s choice,” she says with a wink.
I take the card, lean across the console, and kiss her cheek. “Thank you. I really enjoyed meeting you.”
“Same,” she says. “I’ll see you around.”
Inside my room, I drop my purse onto the desk and collapse on the bed. For a while, I stare up at the ceiling, smiling at the night’s events. Then I pull out my phone and call Nadia.
No answer.
Probably out somewhere with a guy on her roster.
But I need to talk to somebody. I kind of feel like I’m bursting at the seams.
Then I remember I have a friend here in town. Sort of.
Trey’s office is closed, but the voicemail message gives the option to press two for the after hours number.
It rings three times before he picks up.
“This is Dr. Montgomery.”
“Trey. It’s Lane. Something weird just happened to me.”
11
Lane
I open the doorto the warm, buttery scent of cornbread. I think I also detect the faint smell of barbecued meat and maybe greens. Trey stands before me holding takeout bags and wearing a faint smile.
