Page 96 of His Good Girl

“He told me if I wanted more that I was to wear a black pencil skirt tomorrow.”

Silence.

Then Jules whispered, “Oh. My. God.”

“And…” I pressed my fingers to my eyes. “And he said to wear nothing underneath.”

Jules did not speak and that was how I knew the situation was catastrophic.

I peeked at her. She sat frozen, lips parted, eyes bright with horror, delight, concern, and a level of intrigue that belonged in a congressional hearing.

Finally, she said, “I am going to need the wine after all.”

She picked up her glass and drank half of it.

I laughed despite myself, and the laugh broke something open. It was not funny, not really. It was too big for funny, but over the few minutes we sat there on my couch with wine and gummy candy and the Thai food in a paper bag that smelled like basil and garlic, I let the impossible thing become a story told out loud instead of a secret burning a hole through me.

Over noodles, she asked the questions I knew she had to ask.

“Do you feel pressured because of the job?”

“No.”

“Do you feel like you have to go along with this because he helped you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I looked at her then, really looked. “Yes.”

She nodded once. Then, softer, “Do you trust him?”

“I trust him not to punish me if I say no,” I said. “I trust him to mean what he says. I trust him to try to do the right thing, even if…” I trailed off, pushing noodles around with my fork.

“Even if?”

“Even if he wants me.”

Jules’s face softened. “And do you want him?”

My body answered first, a low tightening at the memory of his hand in my hair.

“So much,” I stated unambiguously.

“Not fantasy want? Real want?”

I exhaled slowly. “That’s what scares me.”

“Because of the job?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the godfather thing?”

“Yes.”

“Because if it goes wrong, it goes spectacularly wrong?”