He sounds a little hysterical. Offended, I feel my inner Alphena rising up. “Virginity is the patriarchy’s attempt to control women’s actions through shame. And if you’re talking about loss of the hymen, I’ve had periods for over a decade and used plenty of toys.”

  I could’ve left the details out, especially about toys, but Samantha has taught me that they can be a vital part of pleasuring oneself and nothing to be ashamed of. Gritting his teeth, Carter asks again, “You weren’t a virgin, though? I mean, you’ve had sex before?”

  “Oral and fingers,” I admit, “but not . . . what we did.”

  It’s only when he pulls his now-soft dick out of me and deals with the condom that I realize this conversation has all been with him still inside me, post-orgasm. “Holy fuck, Luna! I would’ve been more . . . or less . . . if I’d known. That’s the sort of thing you tell someone beforehand. You should’ve told me.”

  I can feel the heat of a blush creeping up my neck, and lying here with my dress around my waist seems sleazy when he’s freaking out and already regretting this. I squirm, trying to shove my dress down, desperately wanting to hide. Or escape.

  “I wouldn’t have changed a thing, until this moment.”

  I swing my leg around him, sitting up and reaching for my heels. I dread putting them back on, but I’m going to strut out of here with every piece of my armor in place or die trying.

  “Luna, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. Your first time—” I hold up a finger to argue, and he begrudgingly corrects himself. “First time with someone should be special. Not a rough fuck on a couch. I would’ve . . .”

  I don’t wait for him to tell me all the ways that what we did was wrong. Because I know what he really means. “You would’ve stopped.”

  We both know it’s true. I really don’t think first times—with someone—need to be this rose petal covered bed, a special occasion. But Carter does. Or at least he thinks I should think that. Either way, the net result is the same.

  I’m wrong. For what I want, for what I’ve done, even for what I haven’t done. I stand, stepping out of reach as he tries to stop me. “Wait. Luna, wait.”

  “I’m gonna go. Good luck with . . . everything.”

  How dare Carter ruin what we did with a whole preconceived notion about what sex is supposed to be with some ‘should’a, could’a, would’a’ bullshit? Like I didn’t know what I was doing or what I wanted?

  I should’a slapped the panic off his freaked-out face.

  I would’a if I’d thought of it at the time.

  And I still could’a turn this car around and go back and do it.

  But I don’t. I go where I know I won’t be judged.

  A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Sam’s apartment building. I knock on her door, and she calls out, “Come in.”

  I open the unlocked door . . . except Samantha’s not alone.

  “I am not wearing a butt plug with a raccoon tail while he takes me from behind,” a female voice says.

  I stop, going deer in the headlights frozen at the group of people staring back at me.

  “Uh . . .” A noise of uncertainty is all I can muster.

  “Luna?” Samantha says in surprise. She’s leading the group, sitting crisscross-applesauce on the floor with the circle of people. “Sorry, everyone.”

  The apology is for the others, but her eyes are locked on me.

  “I–I . . . Sorry!” I try to backpedal and close the door.

  “Wait!” Samantha says, hurrying over to me. Lowering her voice, she asks, “Are you okay?”

  I should say I’m fine and go home. Or at the least, tell Sam to call me later. But what pops out is, “I had sex with Carter.”

  “Practice group’s over, people. Everyone out,” Sam says flatly, her eyes wide and jaw hanging open.

  There’s a mumble of voices, and I think I hear someone say ‘what?’ and ‘can she do that?’ But with Sam helping people up, the other group members take the hint and rise, walking past me. I apologize over and over, hating the attention until one girl confides that they’re not mad at the interruption. They’re mad they’re not getting to stay for the tea.

  “I don’t know your situation, girl, but there ain’t no shame in getting some when you need or want it,” she reassures me. She cuts her eyes to the man at her side, sassily adding, “As long as he doesn’t want you to be a face down-trash bandit while you do the deed.”

  “It was a fake scenario, Rebecca,” he says with an eye roll. To me, he says, “We do those to practice what we’d say when a client says something like that.”

  I blank for so long that Rebecca pats me on the shoulder and leaves before I can compose a response to her assessment. Way too late, when she’s down the hall, I call out, “Thanks!”

  She looks back and smiles, but it’s in that ‘what a weirdo’ way that I’m all too familiar with.

  Great, the raccoon-obsessed lady thinks I’m the strange one? Seriously?

  Once Samantha gets the apartment cleared—promising a makeup session to one guy who doesn’t seem to want to leave—she slams the door shut. “Tell me everything.”

  I start with the dinner—how Carter kissed me in front of everyone and kept his hand on my thigh the whole time. I kick my shoes off as I relive the foot massage with her, sit on the couch as I tell her about letting Carter’s fingers do the walking right up to my center, and then mindlessly bounce my knees as I reveal how we had sex.

  I look up to judge her reaction, but she’s wearing the blank, non-judgmental therapist’s face she’s been working to perfect, not her bestie face. “What?”

  She blinks patiently, letting the quiet grow. “What else?”

  “Huh? That’s everything.”

  She tilts her head curiously, still silent. I sigh and confess, “It was so damn good, Sam. Better than I ever dreamed. Carter’s got a filthy mouth, and I loved it. He made me ask to co—”

  Sam holds up a finger to stop me and asks tightly, “He denied you pleasure?”

  My eyes drop to where I’m fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “No, definitely not. It was . . . to show I was a good girl.”

  “Ooh, I like where this is going!” When I risk glancing up, Samantha’s therapist face is completely gone and she’s smiling widely. “And were you a good girl?” she teases.

  I giggle and nod. “A very good one.”

  “Then I’m confused. So, why are you here?”

  And poof, there goes my good mood again.

  “He, uhm . . .” I swallow, not wanting to say it aloud because it’ll make it real. Right now, I can pretend it was a nightmare. Why not? It’s no different than pretending I’m Carter’s wife.

  Except the way I felt with Carter inside me. That was real.

  “Luna?” Sam says gently as she scoots next to me on the couch.

  “Afterward, he flipped out.”

  She flinches. “Flipped out how, exactly? Are you okay?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Not like that,” I say quickly. Sam’s ride or die, and if I don’t call her off, she’d be busting down Carter’s door. With a kitchen knife and the Taser she carries on campus.

  “Okay.” She sighs in relief.

  I’ve told Samantha a lot, nearly everything. We’ve talked about sex for hours . . . in theory. I’ve helped her study for countless tests, read her research papers, and we’ve talked about past partners. Hers, obviously, though I’ve shared my paltry experiences. I’ve just never explicitly told her . . .

  “I haven’t done it with an actual person before tonight. Well, other than oral,” I confess quietly.

  “Hadn’t. You have now.” The correction is delivered with a waggle of her eyebrows. She doesn’t seem shocked in the slightest. When I look at her questioningly, she laughs. “Did you think I didn’t know that? It’s literally going to be my job to know the things people don’t tell me and lead them to discover themselves. For now, that’s easiest with people I know well—like my friends.”

  That makes sense, but I still feel vulnerable that she knew. What else does she know about me that I haven’t figured out?

  “I guess I thought it was kinda my secret,” I agree solemnly. Meeting her eyes, I confess, “It was amazing, Sam. But he regretted it. While he was still inside me.”

  “Shit. Ouch.” She’s thoughtful for a moment and then asks, “What about you? I don’t give a single, solitary fuck about Carter Harrington or his feelings. All I care about is you.”

  I search my heart, my body, and my mind. “The only thing I regret is that I left my panties on his coffee table.”

  She glances down at my legs, following them under my dress. “Alexa, remind me to clean my couch before class tomorrow,” she blurts to the room.

  The automated voice repeats the message.

  She laughs in shock, and then we’re both laughing. I flop back on the couch, and her eyes go wide as my legs flail.

  “Quit acting like I have my bare business on your couch!”

  She purses her lips, looking doubtful. “So you did take my advice and wax the wild jungle?”

  I swat her leg as I gasp in offense. “It was not wild down there.”

  “Well, obviously, not anymore.” She adopts a Steve Irwin documentary-style voice, “What was once natural bush has been tamed and civilized. Like a national park.”

  “Thanks. I feel better,” I tell Sam sarcastically, still laughing a bit. “I think I’m going to go home. I want a shower, my tablet, and maybe a good night’s sleep.”

  “You sure?”

  I am. Tonight might’ve been nothing like I thought it would be, and Carter might be nothing like I thought either, but sex with him was good and I’m going to hold onto that.

  “Let it gooooo . . . let it goooo . . .” I sing, holding my arms out wide. “I’m good.”

  Stealing the tune, she suggests, “Maybe try . . . Carter’s a fuckin’ hoooo . . . oh noooo . . .”

  About to walk out the door, I pause. “What’s the deal with Rebecca and the raccoon tail butt plug?”

  Sam zips her lips. “Patient-therapist confidentiality.” She winks and adds, “Except it’s not a real patient or real group, just a client study where we role play. However, on a completely unrelated note, you know how I said people discover themselves? Have you ever heard of a furry? Because someone in my study group has some shit to learn . . . about themselves.”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  CARTER

  It’s time to deal with what I’ve done. At least in one way, which is why I’m back at my parents’ house. The other issue with Luna? I’m not sure what the hell to do about it.

  I purposefully guide Dad to the living room for our talk, wanting to avoid his office and the power play inherent to it this time. Sitting on the couch, my hands clasped between my knees, I implore him to understand. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I told you the whole family dinner song and dance was overkill.”

  “You think the family dinner was the issue? That’s what was overkill?” he barks, leaning forward in the chair with his eyes drilling into me. “Not the lie in the first place?” He presses his finger into the coffee table. “Or not telling us before dinner?” Another finger press.

  He shakes his head, obviously frustrated. “What the fuck, Carter? We don’t do business this way. You know that.”

  The disappointment in his eyes cuts deep. As much as I hate to admit it, on some level, I’m still the boy trying to garner his dad’s approval. I look down at my shoes, then study the rug between them. It’s Persian, with swirling designs in various shades of blue. I think Mom bought it the last time she redecorated, or maybe it was the time before that. But the answers aren’t in the fibers beneath me.

  I look Dad in the eye, ready to take my lumps. “I wanted the deal. For Elena, for Blue Lake, and mostly, for me. I can bring in clients myself, manage my own accounts. I’ve been doing it for years. But this one? I knew it was a big deal and wanted it. I was . . . am willing to do whatever it takes. Including learning about art or taking in a ringer to seal the deal.”

  Dad listens, though he huffs in exasperation before he answers snidely, “You think this is how to show me what you’re capable of?”

  Throwing my arms wide, I shout, “It wasn’t just about that. But now that you mention it, well, nothing else was working!”

  “Neither is this!” he shouts back.

  We glare at each other, matching gritted teeth making our jaws sharp. I give in first. “I disagree. It was well in hand. But what do you want to do now?”

  He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, I see his age wearing on him. Dad has spent a lot of years at the helm of Blue Lake Assets. Maybe this stunt is the straw that broke the camel’s back?

  “I don’t know,” he mutters. “This is your mess. I’m inclined to let you fix it, except that you’ve dragged Blue Lake and the family into it too.”

  I bite back a snarky comment that technically, he dragged the family in by forcing the dinner. If he’d stayed out like I’d asked, this would be my issue alone.

  “I can fix it, though right now, there’s nothing to fix if you think about it.” He looks at me doubtfully, and I explain my thinking. “Dinner was fine, and Elena believes Luna is my wife. She likes us and is open to using Blue Lake for portfolio management. I’ll meet with Elena and her current finance guy, and we’ll go from there. There’s no need to do anything. I feel bad about it because she seems like a nice lady, and maybe I didn’t need to do all of this, but at the time, it seemed like a way in. For now, it is what it is.”

  “Seriously? You think continuing this charade is the way to go?”

  “You think telling her I lied is better?” I counter. “Then it would have all been for nothing.”

  Dad pushes up from the chair, and I have a split second of wondering if we’re about to take this outside again. Thankfully, he paces to the window and stares out at the garden instead. He’s got his thinking face on, and that’s never a good thing.

  “Look, I’m sorry. It all got out of hand so quickly.” I’m trying to talk him down and stop whatever mental journey he’s going on because it can’t bode well for me.

  Still gazing out the window, he declares, “You’ll tell Elena the truth. If it costs us the deal, so be it.”

  “What?” I balk. “I can’t do that!”

  He whirls, glaring at me. “You can, and you will. Even if it succeeded, it’ll be found out eventually, and it’ll be worse. Or did you plan a fake divorce too?”

  He makes it sound ridiculous, and maybe I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, but there’s no need to be rash about deciding right now, today. But Dad’s already settled . . .

  “This whole lie is always a bomb waiting to explode in the middle of the relationship you’re trying to build with Elena. I won’t have our reputation sullied. It’s not how we operate. Can I trust you to fix your fuck up? Or do I need to do it for you?”

  I shoot to my feet, facing him angrily. He’s tying my hands. And however this plays out, I’ve changed his opinion of me for the worse, exactly the opposite of what I was desperately trying to do.

  Tightly, I bite out, “I’ll handle it.”

  I don’t know why I go to Luna’s. She doesn’t want to see me, but there’s no one else who’ll understand, and she did tell me good luck with everything, so maybe she will want to know what’s happened. It’s an excuse and I know it, but it doesn’t stop me from knocking on her door.

  “Carter?” She opens the door with her brow already furrowed in confusion at seeing me. “What are you doing here?”

  She’s wearing baggy purple sweats with a smattering of stars along the left leg. A quick glance and I see the wording says Rewrite The Stars. Her cropped T-shirt hangs off one shoulder, and I’m reminded of the first time I came to her door for simple tutoring. It seems so long ago.

  “Greatest Showman?” I say, pointing at her leg.

  She smooths her hand over the print before adjusting the waistband, pulling it up. I think she’s trying to hide, but it only serves to accentuate the swooping curve of her hip beneath her smaller waist.

  “Yeah.”

  I walk past her without waiting for an invitation, knowing she won’t stop me. “We should talk.”

  “Carter . . . I don’t think . . .” she stammers.

  I sit down on her couch, her words—or attempt at them—not swaying me in the slightest. “At least listen, please.”

  “Fine.” She closes the door and comes over to the couch, but she sits as far away from me as possible. “What?”

  “I talked to my dad today.” That gets her attention, though she doesn’t ask questions. “He’s angry, of course, and worried about what happens moving forward. If we’re found out, what the consequences will be, or if we don’t say anything and Elena chooses Blue Lake, there's a perpetual risk of her finding out.”

  “That makes sense.” She shrugs, not seeming particularly concerned either way.

  “Which would also affect whether she’d be interested in showcasing Thomas’s collection at the museum,” I remind her.

  “Oh,” she says woodenly. “So, what are you going to do?”

  I move across the sofa, sitting sideways so our knees touch. “He basically ordered me to tell the truth. He said it’s the only way.”

  She searches my eyes, and I hold her gaze, not wanting to hide anything from her. “Are you going to?” she whispers.

  “I have another idea.”

  I left and came straight to Luna’s, but the time in the car was spent playing the whole scenario out in my mind with dozens of different outcomes.

  Luna raises her brows questioningly.

  “The truth. That’s what it’s all about. So what if we made it . . . true?” I take Luna’s hands in mine, holding them between us. “Marry me. For real.”

  She laughs in my face, wild and boisterous laughter bubbling up at the absurdity of my idea, which hurts deeply for a reason I can’t pinpoint.