Page 82 of Champagne Fizz

No—Thank you. No—I’ll consider it. No—I’ll be in touch. Just the same silent treatment she gave her son on the phone.

I lean back in my lounge chair and look at the stars. I need to refocus and relax, and think about something else. Or …someoneelse.

It’s the perfect balmy night, and that hint of heat is misting my skin like when I was in Simon’s car. I’ve never orgasmed because Iwanted tobefore. I’ve spent my whole life fighting that urge and telling my body to knock it off. But straddling him in the back seat of his car was the first time I gave into my pleasure. It was the first time it didn’t feel shameful. I was vulnerable with someone and I didn’t run away.

I sigh at the memory of Simon’s hands and that excites and terrifies me. There’s a euphoria deep in my bones, which I know is just oxy-hormones or whatever, but I can’t stop smiling. I can’t stop thinking about how gentle he was … and understanding … and sexy as sin.

Fizzy pop! I want to call him right now and thank him, praise him, ask him to touch me again. I’ve been avoiding him because I need to get my work done, but now all I want is to forget the wedding.

I want to invite him over to kiss me until my lips turn violet. I know I need to take this slow, but Simon makes me feel brave, especially when I’m lust-drunk and the chemicals of euphoria are swarming.

A zip lashes over my body as a dirty thought races through my mind. I can’t. I shouldn’t. I look around. My balcony is secluded. There are trees that block the view of me from my neighbors in the next building. Ireallyshouldn’t, but I’m feeling reckless.

I pull off my tank top and drop it on the floor next to my chair, then I unhook my bra. Lying back on the lounge chair, I lift up my phone and frame the image of me topless.

Snap!

I close my eyes and take a breath before I can look at the picture of myself. But when I do, it surprises me. I look beautiful and radiant: a portrait of myself I’ve never even seen before.

Foolishly, that seems like a good reason to send it to Simon—which I shouldn’t do—yet hormones and chemicals make you think all sorts of bad ideas are reasonable.

I act before thinking, shooting the half-naked image of myself across the internet.

Immediately, I drop my phone against my stomach, trying to quell the squirming sensation that I’m an idiot. Simon and I haven’t talked since the back seat of his car, and I just went from zero to a thousand like sending a sexy photo was part of my normal MO.

Deep breaths, Hart. Long deep breaths.

You’re gorgeous. And you should be proud of yourself for being brave enough to send Simon something so personal … and naughty.

My phone buzzes.

Deep, deep breaths, Hart.

Simon:Are you trying to kill me?

A ripple of heat races across my skin. Does my body really have that kind of power over Simon?

Simon: …and it’s great to hear from you.

Kendall:I wanted to say thank you for the afternoon in your car. It was perfect.

Simon:I think this is more than a thank you.

Dang. He has a point. Sending a naughty pic is really asking for something else.

Kendall:Uh … I’m new to all this.

Simon:You realize I’m at work, right?

Kendall:Of course. You work nights. I’m sorry.

Simon:I’m not. I’m just pissed I’m at work. That picture’s burning a hole in my pocket!

Kendall:Delete it. That will probably help.

Simon:Not on your life.

My stomach flips, my whole body igniting again.

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