Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
"Which one?"
"Either."
"I guess both were about that," I say.
"They suit you."
"Thanks." My cheeks flush. "Did you apologize? To your sister?"
"Eventually," he says.
"I can't imagine my kid sister reading my journal. I'd feel so… exposed."
But it would be a relief, too. Because I wouldn't have to explain all this to her.
She'd know.
She'd get it. Or, at least, she'd have as much insight as I can give her.
Is that why I keep my online journal? A secret hope Julie will stumble on it and understand?
A secret hope someone will stumble on it, understand, realize it's me, love me.
Maybe. It's an impulse more than anything. A desire to understand myself, to feel understood.
"But maybe it would be good in some ways," I say. "If she read my ugliest thoughts, if I didn't have to worry about whether or not I should share them with her, if she saw me at my worst and loved me anyway."
"You don't think your sister loves you?"
"I know she does. But there's plenty I don't tell her."
"Maybe you should."
Maybe.
"It would make sense, if you did like something about it."
"Huh?"
"Someone reading your private thoughts," he says.
"It would?"
"You are an exhibitionist."
"I am, aren't I?"
"Is that really a question?" He laughs.
It's an easy laugh. Sex is easy for us. Less fraught. And I need to talk about something less fraught. "Okay, yes, it's pretty obvious. But you?"
"Baby, don't tell me you're not sure if I enjoyed that."
"I know you enjoyed it."
"Good."
"But I'm not sure which part."
"Every part," he says.
"You liked being watched?"
He nods.
"Watching?"
"Fuck yeah."
I like to be watched. He likes to watch. It's a match made in sexual Heaven. It's almost too good to be true. Except for my total inability to take our relationship outside the bedroom. Well, the metaphorical bedroom. "Would you ever want to watch me with someone else?" Where the fuck did that come from?
"No. I don't like to share."
I nod.
"But on your own, with other people around… maybe."
"Where would we do that?"
"A sex club."
"Do those really exist? Or are they just a thing in the movies?"
"No idea."
"Damn. And here I thought you ran the biggest sex club on the West Coast."
"No, that's the other Patrick Murphy."
"The one?"
"I'm sorry. We can't all have Irish first names and Vietnamese last names."
"Imogen is Irish?"
"Hell yeah, it's Irish."
"So that's why you like me," I say.
"No, it's your tits."
A laugh spills from my lips.
Sex. Yes. This is easy. And easy is good. And, yes, I'm afraid of feelings, but at least I can admit it, here, to myself, in his car, while I contemplate how long I need to stay at his friend's party before I drag him back to his place.
Probably an hour, minimum.
That's another two until we're alone at his apartment.
"I liked the pictures." He interrupts my dirty thoughts. "And sending me to somewhere public while I talked you off… that was evil."
"Thanks."
"I've got plans for next time."
"I look forward to it."
"And for tonight," he says.
"Additional plans?"
"Oh yeah."
"I never took you for the planning type," I say.
"I guess you don't know everything about me."
Chapter Twenty-Four
IMOGEN
As we park, Patrick gives me the quick rundown of the dynamic at Luna's party.
In theory, the party is in her boyfriend, Oliver's, honor. Since Oliver and his best friend, Holden, were visiting Oliver's sister, Daisy at Berkeley. (Like me, she's staying to take summer courses).
Daisy is also Holden's girlfriend and Luna's best friend.
There's a lot of in-dating, apparently. Holden and Daisy got together first, on a four-person birthday trip to Mexico. That, understandably, made Oliver upset. (I should object to him deciding who his sister should date on feminist grounds, but, as an older sibling, I get it. Apparently, Holden was known for not taking things seriously, especially relationships).
Then, a little while later, when Luna's parents announced their divorce, she ran to her best friend Daisy's place for comfort. A sort of habit, since they were old friends. Only things were different now. They were in college, Luna at UCLA, Daisy at Berkeley, and who was at their house but Oliver, Daisy's brooding older brother.
Apparently, he promised Daisy he'd stay in their childhood home for her first year of school, so he always knew where to find her. He did. Even after Daisy discovered their relationship. (She took it in stride, apparently).
But Luna didn't stay. She went back to her parents' place. They're crazy rich. Rich enough, they don't need to sell the house to split assets in the divorce. One of her moms (she has two moms) is using her newfound freedom to travel the world (she and Luna are touring Southeast Asia together in August).
Her other mom works all the time, so she's not usually here.
And Mom agreed to a small party, as long as we keep things relatively quiet. And no underage drinking, of course. Which would normally be a non-starter at a party of twenty-somethings, only Luna's boyfriend, Oliver, is a recovering alcoholic.