Page 101 of Play With Me

But before I can answer, Jude plants his mouth on mine, his tongue in a proprietary sweep against my lips. I hope Cap and Farrah are already out of sight, not just because of the very public kiss, but because right there in the lobby, Jude’s free hand slides down and squeezes my ass hard enough to have me squealing against his lips.

“Wait for me,” he says as he walks away from me.

“We’re not meeting up until dinner, remember?”

Jude points fingers at his eyes and then me. “I remember. You better be ready.”

He grins and winks, then turns around, a little skip in his gorgeous step. And me, I just stand there in the lobby of this fancy hotel, my insides having gone to complete jelly. Jude Kelly’s a fool if he thinks there’s anyone on this planet sexier than him.

* * *

A day on my own is just what I need. I consider doing something relaxing like a pedicure or a massage, but my mind is running all over the place, and I know I won’t be able to relax. Instead, I call Christian to check in—he seemed tight-lipped about his own life when we’d last talked, but he doesn’t pick up, as usual. Probably over an ocean somewhere. I write a ridiculously long text telling him about our progress with Eleanor and ask him to check in when he has time. Then I spend an hour swimming laps in the pool, then order a sandwich and sit down to go over the notes and footage I took the other day in town.

There’s so much to read, but as I go through all the articles, I grow a little more deflated with each. There’s some good information, especially around the specific dates Eleanor and her husband were here, and some mentions of some of the other towns they visited. But there’s nothing that doesn’t tell us more than we already know. Worse, there’s nothing pointing to the specific location of that cottage. For all I know, it could be an image of them anywhere.

But it’s not just the lack of useful information making my heart sink. It’s that when I turn in frustration from the articles and notes to the video, after taking some of the spread of articles on my table and go back to yesterday’s, I realize almost all of the footage is of Jude.

My hands tremble as I rewind and fast forward through Jude on the train leaving London, laughing at the town hall, and later, zooming in on that photograph of Eleanor Cleary and her mysterious lover in the window reflection.

I’m not even properly editing the footage yet—I have lots more to take—but I already feel sick knowing I’m going to have to keep looking at it long after this trip is over.

Even though I’ve already decided the video will only comprise a portion of my thesis, I feel so ridiculous for having switched from the seniors’ stories project to this romantic ghost story.

It’s not too late to switch back.

I consider the possibility of going back to the old project. It’s a good project, and I loved talking to the seniors about their pasts.

But as I pause the video player on my laptop, first to Jude’s face, looking at me with that mischievous grin, knowing the pain he holds on to underneath, and then pausing again on the photograph of Eleanor, I know this is the project I need to do.

It would make an incredible entry for that contest, too.

I shake that thought off. This is purely for my thesis, no matter how good a fit this is for the contest’s theme. It’s highly unlikely they’d even accept my proposal let alone that I’d win. Even if I did, the mere thought of standing up on stage and talking all over London about not just my work, butJude, feels like actual death.

No, I’m going to use it for my thesis. This is the project that speaks to my heart.

I heard Jude switch from family tounitat the last minute when he spoke about us. He might have some feelings for me, but they’re not the big heart-ripping feelings I have for him. He doesn’t have those with anyone.

But giving up on this project would be the chicken thing to do. And I won’t keep doing that, not when there’s this much to lose.

I get a text from Jude an hour before we’re supposed to meet for dinner saying they ran into Gerrard again in town. Jude suspects it wasn’t a coincidence.

JUDE: I don’t think I can take his moony eyes. But he’s invited us to dinner and like, I can’t say no if he’s going to be looking after my kid for two nights??? Remind me why I said yes to this trip again!

NORA: Because you’re loosening up and being a cool dad.

JUDE: Excuse me, I’m already THE cool dad. But fine. I’m sorry. Do you want to join us still? I can come and get you? Or you can bail on us. I might forgive you.

NORA: You go ahead and have fun with double-O Gerrard. I’m going to go on a date here instead.

JUDE: ???

I was kidding—was going to add the caveat that my date was going to be with myself. I love having dates for one, just me and my book at a nice restaurant.

But suddenly, the joke feels off.

What if I did go out and get a date? Or at least go out and flirt with someone? There are plenty of handsome European men all over the resort. I’ve been so lost in the dreamy part of being with Jude, I keep forgetting that we’re not really together. That’s not what friends with benefits are. We’re just two friends having sex. Who won’t be again in a matter of days.

My stomach does a strange little drop at that.

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