Page 39 of A Game of Deception
“It was just sex,” I insisted, lowering my voice. “I needed to get him out of my system. And now I have.”
Chloe studied me over the rim of her glass, her artist’s eye missing nothing. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her skepticism was palpable. “And that’s why you’re positively glowing this morning? Because you got him ‘out of your system’?”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I am not glowing.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She reached across the table to pat my hand condescendingly. “You’re practically radioactive. I’ve known you for eight years, and I’ve never seen you look like this after sex. Not even with what’s-his-name, the CrossFit instructor with the eight-pack.”
“Connor,” I supplied automatically. “And that was different.”
“Yeah, because you weren’t in love with Connor.”
“I’m not in love with Xander either,” I snapped, more sharply than I intended. “I was... fixated. Obsessed, maybe. But that’s over now.”
Chloe’s expression softened. “Tara. Come on. You can’t close a book by skipping the middle and reading the last page. You just made yourself want to read it all over again.”
I hated how right she was, and I busied myself with my food, avoiding her too-perceptive gaze.
“Look,” she continued, “I’m not judging. God knows I’ve made some questionable choices in the name of great sex. Remember the fire dancers from Art Basel?”
I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “The ones who almost burned down your apartment?”
“Worth it,” she said with a wink. “My point is, if this was just a one-night stand to scratch an itch, great. But be honest with yourself about what it meant.”
“It didn’t mean anything,” I insisted. “It was... closure.”
Chloe snorted. “Closure rarely involves orgasms, honey.”
“Can we please change the subject?” I begged, glancing around the café again. “How’s the installation coming for your opening tomorrow?”
She allowed the deflection, launching into an animated description of her latest mixed-media project—something involving reclaimed driftwood, copper wire, and projections of ocean waves. I nodded in all the right places, but my mind kept drifting back to Xander’s hands on my skin. His mouth on mine. The way he’d looked at me in the darkness, like I was something precious.
“I never stopped thinking about you either. Not for a single day.”
I shook the memory away, forcing myself to focus on Chloe’s words.
“—and the lighting is still giving me fits, but I think it’s going to be amazing,” she was saying. “You’re coming, right? I reserved a special space for your brother’s piece.”
The mention of Jimmy brought me back to the present. “Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Jimmy had been an artist too, though his medium had been photography rather than Chloe’s eclectic installations. After his death, I’d kept several of his pieces in storage—moody black and white landscapes that captured something essential about his soul. I haven’t looked at them for years, but when Chloe asked about using one in her show, I gave her the key to the storage unit.
“You should bring him,” Chloe said suddenly, her eyes lighting up with inspiration.
“Bring who?”
“Ghost boy. Xander. Your one-night stand that definitely meant nothing at all.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
I stared at her, aghast. “Are you insane? I can’t bring him to your opening.”
“Why not? If you’re really over him, it won’t be a big deal.” She leaned forward, her expression turning sly. “Prove it. To me. And to yourself.”
She was daring me to put my money where my mouth was—to prove that last night really had been nothing more than physical release.
“It would be inappropriate,” I argued. “He’s a player. I’m his doctor.”
