Chapter Twenty-Two Lucy
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lucy
I feel like I’ve been in one of those Ironman competitions I hear the guys at work talking about, only I didn’t prepare.
Hell, even if I had trained for an Ironman, I don’t think I would have fared better.
The things Hunter did to my body last night .
. . He should be arrested. Or maybe I could put him under house arrest.
I left him this morning, reluctantly, but there was no way I was going into work in yesterday’s clothes.
My heading back to Brooklyn at five in the morning also let us avoid an awkward breakfast or any kind of talk about how we’d better quit while we’re ahead, because things could get messy with Ed and Katherine or he’s not ready to be exclusive.
Because I will not share him.
I’d rather never see him again. And the latter option is horrifying to me right now.
I don’t normally take my phone from my purse until lunchtime, but I’ve kept it with me all morning on vibrate. Not that I’m expecting him to message. But just in case he was to reach out.
Who am I?
Who have I turned into?
I’ve been dickmatized.
I attach a marked-up version of an NDA I’ve been reviewing this morning to an email and press “Send.” I literally jump back in my seat when I see Hunter’s name in my inbox.
“You okay?” the paralegal opposite me asks.
“Yeah, fine. I just . . . yeah, I’m fine.” I give her my best fake grin. Which is still terrible.
What the hell is Hunter doing emailing me at work?
I open the email.
“12:30. Stranger than Fiction.”
That’s all it says. I’m half irritated that he’d just summon me somewhere, totally assuming I don’t have plans or I’m not too busy at work to be able to make it. But the other half of me is delighted.
I check the clock. It’s just gone twelve. He hasn’t given me any notice at all. Arrogant prick. I delete the email and pull out my phone to text him I might be late.
I reply to a couple of emails, then shoot into the restrooms to check I don’t look as tired as I feel. I need at least another pound of concealer under my eyes, I’m sure.
Butterflies dance in my stomach while I take the elevator down to the lobby.
I slide on my sunglasses as I take the revolving door out into the sunshine.
Outside, I’m faced with a smirking Hunter, his arms folded, waiting for me opposite the door.
He looks impossibly handsome in the midday sun, his skin more golden than usual, his smile wider.
Did I do that to him? Or maybe I just see him differently now.
“Hey,” he says, lifting his chin.
“Hey,” I reply, trying to hold back a smile.
He takes a step toward me, slips his hands around my waist, and kisses me on the lips.
“Hi,” I say as he pulls back. The man laughs, giving sound to the same joy I feel in my own heart.
“Let’s go eat. I think we burned off enough calories to order one of everything each.”
My cheeks heat at his reference—in public!—to our marathon sex session last night. I don’t know why. We’re in New York City. No one cares what I did last night, and I’m sure no one can hear us over the beep of horns, the shout of street vendors, and everyone’s earbuds.
He scoops up my hand, and I glance across at him as if to say, Are you actually holding my hand? He grins back, silently affirming, Hell yeah, I am. What you gonna do about it?
I laugh and so does he, and we head to Stranger than Fiction.
Once we’re in line, I say, “Probably best to text me at work or message on my personal email.”
“What? And have you accuse me of playing Candy Crush Saga all day? No way. Lucy Jones, you don’t look at your phone during working hours. If I want to have lunch with you, how would I ever do that?”
I shake my head but can’t wipe the grin off my face.
“What are you ordering?” I ask.
“One of everything,” he answers. “I told you.”
“You are not. There’s no way.”
“Are you daring me?” he asks.
“Absolutely not. If I was going to dare you to do something, it wouldn’t be to overorder at a deli. It would be something far more . . . exciting.”
He raises his eyebrows like only the filthiest thoughts are running through his brain.
“And it wouldn’t involve any nakedness,” I add, narrowing my eyes.
He brings our hands to his mouth and presses a kiss on my knuckles. It’s such a small gesture, but it feels significant. Like all the push and pull between us from before has been forgotten and we’re two entirely different people with each other now.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out with my free hand.
“It’s just from Katherine,” I say. “She’s finished at the wedding place, and they’re heading back to Boston.”
Hunter sighs. “Do you think that’s the end of the endless meetings and wedding decisions? It’s so time consuming.”
“I doubt it’s the end of it,” I reply. “But the wedding is only weeks away. Then it will be over.”
“Then it’s the honeymoon. Then the move. Then she’ll get pregnant.”
“That’s life.”
“Right,” Hunter says. His mood has shifted. He’s developed edges that weren’t there a few minutes ago.
We get to front of the line. Hunter insists on ordering my sandwich and paying, and we grab a table in the little plaza in front of the store.
He very sweetly unpacks my To Grill a Mockingbird chicken club and opens my can of seltzer.
“You’re cute,” I say. “Thank you.”
“You’re cute,” he replies. “Thank you.” He leans forward and places a kiss on my lips, casually, like he does that all the time. I have to bite back a grin.
“Can we take a picture and send it to Katherine?” I ask. “She gave me a hard time while you were getting drinks last night. Says I need to make more time for you, make more of an effort.”
Hunter chuckles. “Sure.” I hold up my phone and shift a little closer to him. I lean into him and say, “Smile!”
He does, but at the last second, turns and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I laugh and bring up the picture. It looks so cute. I’m beaming and Hunter looks moody and brooding and . . . kinda into me.
I send it to Katherine with a note saying we’re having lunch, then I turn my phone to silent. I know she’s going to blow it up, and I don’t want to get into it with her. I just want to enjoy this moment.
“It’s so weird that we work in buildings next door to each other,” he says.
“So weird,” I agree.
“Did you always want to move to New York?” he asks.
I think back. “I’m not sure. I just knew I had to get out of Boston. I wanted to go somewhere that people didn’t know me.”
He narrows his eyes slightly. “You wanted to reinvent yourself?”
“I guess. I love my sister, and she’s my best friend and she’s amazing. But I just wanted to go somewhere where I could be me rather than Katherine’s fuckup of a sister.”
He pulls back. “What? How are you a fuckup?”
“You should have seen me in high school.” I grin at him, but he doesn’t smile back.
“How were you a fuckup? Did you have a drug problem? Did you get into trouble with the police? Did you skip school a lot?”
“No! I never skipped school, and I’ve never done drugs in my life.”
“Oh, so you spent time in the clink?” He knows full well I haven’t been to prison.
I burst out laughing. “Of course not.”
“Then how were you such a fuckup, Lucy Jones?”
I groan. “You know. Next to Katherine, most people are fuckups. I was a little disorganized. My grades weren’t as good as hers. I wasn’t as popular. Didn’t have any boyfriends in high school.”
“That was high school. This is New York. You just got told by a partner that you have a lot of potential and they want you to consider law school. You don’t sound like much of a fuckup to me.”
I’ve done some research on the possibility of law school.
It all seems so intimidating. The LSAT, then years and years of study if I even get in somewhere.
Then the New York bar, which is meant to be close to impossible.
I shrug. “It’s probably just something they say to fulfill a quota or something.
They don’t expect me to actually go through with it. ”
He takes my chin and turns my head so I’m facing him. “You know that’s bullshit, right? People don’t waste their time blowing smoke. Sounds to me like you might be afraid of law school.”
He releases me, and I prod at my sandwich. “Yeah, well, maybe I am a little. Super smart people go to law school.”
“Right,” he says.
“So that’s a lot of pressure, trying to keep up with people like that.”
“Maybe you’re people like that. Ever think about that?”
The fact is, I’ve never thought of myself as someone who would go to law school. Not since college. I pushed those ideas to the back of my mind and got on with life as a paralegal.
“And anyway,” Hunter continues, “you have to apply. It’s not like they let anyone in. Take the LSAT so you’ll know. If you’re not going to keep up, you won’t get a place.”
“Yeah, so I probably won’t get in.”
“You won’t know until you try.”
He seems invested in this, and I’m not sure why.
I sigh. “But I don’t want to go through telling my parents and everything and then not get in.”
“So don’t tell them.”
I laugh. “You think I should just make the decision to go to law school and not tell my parents? They probably have to cosign my application.”
“I doubt it. You’re an adult. And yeah, you can make the decision without telling anyone.” He picks up his sandwich. “Why don’t you just do it in stages? Start with the LSAT. Study for that, take the test, see whether your score is high enough. Then you can go from there.”
I take a bite out of my sandwich as I let his suggestion settle in my brain. He’s making it sound so easy. As if someone like me can end up going to law school and that’s just how it should be.
He stares at me for a beat, then takes a bite out of his sandwich. He looks so sure of himself. So confident. Even though I know he has worries and concerns, I don’t see any of them right now in his expression while he’s talking about me.
“I guess I could get a study guide. You know, for the LSAT. I could order one and take a look.”
“Right,” he says. “In fact, there’s a store a couple of blocks over on 46th and 5th. We could take a walk when we’re finished here.”
I take another bite of my sandwich to buy some time. Do I really want to do this? I haven’t talked about this with Katherine or Mom, or even really thought it through properly for myself. But I’m just buying a book, right? It’s not like I’m filling in an application form for Fordham.
Hunter is looking at me like he’s waiting for an answer. Like he thinks it’s perfectly normal for us to go to a bookstore together and buy an LSAT study book. Looking into his blue eyes, I start to think it might be perfectly normal too.
“I’ve not had time to think about this properly,” I say on a sigh. “‘But why not seize the pleasure at once?—How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!’ That’s what my mom would say. Well, she wouldn’t. Jane Austen in Emma would.”
Hunter shakes his head, incredulous. “I’ve never read any.”
“Really?”
“Nope. But she’s not wrong. Sometimes you have to jump in without thinking too hard.” He wraps up our trash and places it back in the bag our sandwiches came in. “Let’s go get you a book.”
He dumps our trash in the can, and we head east. “I’m going to be working late tonight. But do you want to get drinks later in the week? Or maybe this weekend?”
“So we can send evidence to Katherine?” I ask, enthusiastic. She’d really like to see us spending more time together.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “No, so we can hang out some more. Talk.”
A smile threatens at the corners of my mouth. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I guess,” he says, scanning the traffic heading north and watching for the crossing to change.
“A real date?” I ask. “Not a fake date.”
“No, Lucy. A real date.”
“We can do that,” I say.
“Good,” he replies.
“Good,” I tease.
The traffic stops, and he scoops up my hand as we cross the street, on our way to go buy me an LSAT book.
I’m not quite sure how Hunter and I got to this point.
He’s far from the man I first met, drunk at my parents’ house.
He’s kind and supportive and encouraging me to lean into a version of myself that has potential.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so happy to be out in the New York sunshine. Holding hands with Hunter.