Page 29 of His Good Girl

I laughed, and it came out easier than before, some of the morning tension draining from my chest. This was why I had reached out to her instead of going home. Alone, I would have turned every moment into a legal proceeding and prosecuted myself until dinner. With Jules, at least the prosecution came with a tasty pastry.

She leaned back, eyes narrowed with wicked attention. “Did he hug you?”

I stared at her.

She gasped. “He did.”

“He asked first.”

“Oh, that’s worse.”

“It was not worse. It was respectful.”

“Respectful is worse when you’re attracted to someone. Disrespect gives you something to be mad at. Respect makes you imagine being very respectfully ruined.”

I choked on absolutely nothing. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you keep coming back to me.” She pointed a croissant flake at me. “How long was the hug?”

“Normal.”

“Normal for a godfather or normal for a man who smells expensive?”

“It was brief.”

“Did he smell expensive?”

I covered my face again.

“Avery.”

“Yes.”

Jules slapped the table softly. “I knew it.”

“It was soap and coffee and a hint of something cedar-ish. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means he was designed in a lab to destroy you.”

“He was not.”

“Did you feel safe?”

The question, dropped suddenly into the banter, caught me by surprise, and I looked up. Jules’s face was still amused, but somehow gentler beneath it. She knew how to do that, how toturn a corner inside a conversation without making a production of it.

“Yes,” I replied after a second. “I did.”

“And nervous?”

“Terribly.”

“And horny?”

“Jules.”

“I am asking as your friend and legal counsel.”

“You are not my legal counsel.”