The Husband Game

“Well, we could trade numbers,” Charlie suggests with a half-grin that nearly knocks me senseless, straight off my feet. “So then you can take a rain check on the pancakes?” He winks, and my heart nearly splits inside my chest.

Stay, a voice inside my head orders me. Just stay here. Forget about Fi and the article.

But I can’t do that. I square my shoulders and lean down to grab my jeans, already pulling them on before I answer him. “Listen, Charlie…” I don’t meet his gaze as I say it. I can’t bring myself to. Because the truth is, if I do the right thing, I shouldn’t ever see this guy again. He’s sweet, he’s a great listener, he’s sexy as fuck in bed, not to mention easy on the eyes. But he’s too young for me. He’s looking for hookups his own age now. He doesn’t need some late-20s, mid-career lady messing with his emotions.

Even if he’s messing with mine.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I finish yanking on my jeans and grab my bag from where it wound up near his front door.

“Lila.” He stops me once more, just before I can head out of the bedroom. This time, I’m powerless to resist, as he leans in and kisses me, slow and sweet. It’s a lingering kiss. The kind that leaves an open question at the end, begging you to come back for more. “I had fun last night. I hope you did too.” He gazes at me, deeply, steadily. Like he actually cares.

I can’t remember the last time a hookup stopped to ask me that. To check on me, and make sure I felt the same way. I did, I want to scream.

My chest twinges. “Definitely.” I smile, drinking in his gaze one last time, my eyes flicking back and forth between his. Memorizing them. “It’s just, I’m pretty work-focused at the moment.” True. Now, and always. “I don’t have a lot of time for, um…”

“A personal life?” He arches an eyebrow, grinning. Though behind the smile, I notice something like hurt in his eyes.

My chest aches even worse now. “Basically,” I admit.

“Life can’t be all work and no play, you know. Sooner or later, you’ll explode if you don’t have some kind of outlet, some way to relax.”

“I know, I just…” It can’t be with you. I bite my tongue on that last thought. “I’m sorry, Charlie.” That, at least, is one hundred percent the truth.

He steps back from the door to let me go, and this time, he doesn’t bother to hide the hurt in his gaze. “Take care of yourself, Lila,” he says softly, and it’s so damn sincere I nearly break right there and change my mind.

Instead, with a colossal effort of willpower, I turn on my heel and march out of his apartment, shoulders stiff.

Only once I’m outside in the corridor do I turn my phone back on. Sure enough, almost before it finishes rebooting, it starts to flash with missed texts. Three missed calls, and a full ten texts, all from Fiona. God. That woman does not know how to take a break.

How’s it going? Any updates on the scoop?

Everything okay? I didn’t hear back from you last night.

Just wanted to check that you’re okay, the last message reads, and my chest twinges with guilt. I didn’t think she’d be worried about me.

I fire back a quick message as I pile into Charlie’s elevator. Totally fine, don’t worry.

By the time the elevator hits the bottom floor, I already have a response. See you in the office soon?

Shit. I check the clock above the text chain and realize she’s right. My normal office hours start in 20 minutes. I won’t even have time to head home and change quickly first. Thank god I have some emergency supplies at my work desk—the obligatory work deodorant and toothpaste set. But I’ll just have to hope that Fi doesn’t notice I’m wearing the same clothes I left work in yesterday when I get there.

With a deep sigh, I head for the street, typing out a response as I go. See you in a few.

5

From the moment I walk into the office, I swear I must be giving off suspicious vibes. I can tell by the way Fiona’s eyes track me as I take my time, hanging up my coat and prepping some coffee at the little communal kitchen the co-working space shares with a few tech companies that also rent out the same office space. Fiona’s online magazine, pitched as a throwback to the 90s era of beauty tips, sex advice and gossip stories, has taken off recently thanks to a bout of 90s nostalgia run rampant in culture. But she still doesn’t make enough that she can afford a studio or private office of her own.