Page 131 of Let's Kiss and Tell

Marsh rubs my thigh. “You okay?”

“I hate you,” I breathe out but then fist his shirt and bring him in for a kiss.

Over the course of the week, Marsh and I spend just about every day together.

We keep our distance during work hours, but once sixp.m.hits, we’re glued at the hip. On Wednesday I go to his house, and we make his favorite veggie bowls. On Thursday he comes with me to my boxing class. Friday we go out for a date night with Jonah and his husband. But in between everything is the best part. Marsh holds me in ways I haven’t been held. When we’re cooking dinner, when we’re in the shower, or when we’re watching a movie on the couch. I want to analyze every part of his body—from wrinkles on his knuckles to testing just how bad his eyesight is. He makes me talk about my childhood—a part of my life Idon’t instinctively remember—and I ask him about his first crushes.

Everything almost feels like a dreamy haze, but at the same time…normal. It’s like all of this could so easily be real if we weren’t faking it.

As I’m working on a story about whether the bush is back or not, Eman pops by my cubicle. “Hey, Lucy! I just wanted to let you know that I’m going into our monthly leadership meeting this morning. I’m presenting your column as one of the wins for the month.”

“Really?” My heart skips a beat. Those meetings include all the senior editors for not justThe Ruebut alsoThe Journal.

“Yes! Your stories alone really boosted our CTRs and direct subscribers.”

I love hearing numbers. The best way to prove my worth is to show the facts—that’s all companies really care about. Knowing Eman is going to bring data to this meeting is a huge win. “That’s amazing news. Thank you for telling me.”

She takes an empty seat next to mine and lowers her voice. “I know you’ve been really pushing for this promotion. You are at the top of my list for when I submit names at the end of the quarter. Just hang in there.”

“I will.” I nod. “Thank you, Eman. Seriously, that means the world to me.”

“In the meantime”—her voice switches back to its normal decibel—“sprinkle in some of your old stuff. It doesn’t have to be all relationship focused. We don’t want tototallyalienate our audience that’s single.”

“Right.” I force out a laugh and then feel a tiny wave of relief.

“How are things with Mark, by the way?” Eman smiles.

I frown.Who the hell is Mark?

“Oh!” I say, realizing who she’s talking about. “We’re good…really good.” I try but fail to smile.

“I can tell you’re happy.” She pats my desk and then starts walking the opposite direction.

Saturday afternoon, I’m at my kitchen table in a pair of sweatpants and my oversize Metallica T-shirt while Marsh is wearing something similar, except his shirt accentuates his muscles. He wraps an arm around my collarbone from behind, then kisses the top of my head.

“Water,” he says, placing a filled glass in front of me.

“Thank you,” I reply.

Marsh takes a seat across from me. His glasses sit at the bridge of his nose, and he adjusts his backward baseball cap.

“Okay.” He places his phone in between us. “Do you, Lucy Reid, give consent to this interview conducted by me, Marshall Oakley, forThe Journal?”

“I give consent,” I say, and he presses record.

“Can you tell me about modern-day sex work and how it’s evolved over time,” he starts.

I collect myself the way I would before any interview and begin to share my knowledge.

“So, the phrasethe oldest professionisn’t an exaggeration. Most sex work started from the practice of sacred prostitution where women were dedicated to religious figures. It wasn’talwaysviewed as something that had to have moral disapproval,” I say. “Something thathasremained consistent through the course of time is that the person that’s condemned is thewomanwho chooses to give her body, not the person who’s seeking it out. The woman who is receiving payment in exchange for sexual acts.We’ve seen sex work in different forms throughout history: mail-order brides, escorts, prostitutes, strippers, porn stars. Society has become almost accustomed to women’s sexualization and objectification—it’s so readily available and people are giving it at no cost thatsex work,and a woman gettingpaidfor it, has flipped everything on its head and is now morally disapproved of.”

I momentarily stop for a breath. My answershouldsuffice, but similar to how it feels when you’re in a job interview, you never really know when exactly to stop talking.

“What do you find misconstrued when it comes to sex work?” Marsh asks, and I feel my shoulders loosen up.

“The dehumanization of women,” I say. “There are countless books and articles on it. Our culture from the 1960s onward was built on female objectification and hyper exposure. Women were persuaded by the idea that bodies were commodities to be fetishized.”

“Why?” he says with a fist against his mouth.