Free Beguiling (Tempting #2) by Alex Lucian Page B

wasn’t thinking.”
    “Wait,” Liza said, holding up a hand. “Was the drinking before the sex or after the sex. This is important.”
    “How is that important?”
    “Were you drinking because,” she raised her eyebrows and nodded solemnly, “it was bad sex?”
    “No. I got drunk before the sex. It was drunk sex.”
    “Oh.” Liza deflated, sitting against the cushions as she held the wine glass in her hands.
    “What?” I asked, wondering at her sudden disappointment.
    “I thought you had sober sex for once.”
    “Okay, first of all—I’ve had sex an entire two times in my life. ‘For once’ is a little bit dramatic, don’t you think? And second—just because I was drunk doesn’t mean I don’t remember it.” I looked down at my hands, which I had twisted in my lap. “Or that it wasn’t great sex. I mean, not that I know what great sex is when I’ve had it twice.”
    “Okay, hold up. Great sex is great sex. It’s like eating cheesecake from The Shoppe versus cheesecake from the grocery store. You just know it’s fucking delicious because it tastes fucking delicious. So if it was great, if you felt great, it was great. The end.”
    “I like the cheesecake from the grocery store,” I mumbled.
    “Yeah, well you haven’t had cheesecake from The Shoppe.”
    “But if I think grocery store cheesecake is good, then maybe I’m wrong about what great sex is.”
    “But you’re not, because you knew that the dipshit you first let up in your business was bad sex. This is good,” she said encouragingly. “So, spill. What was it like?”
    I leaned against the cushions. “Well, I do remember most of it. And the parts I remember…” my cheeks warmed and I tried to brush it off by shrugging. I was embarrassed by my inexperience, even around Liza. “Let’s just say he has a very talented mouth.” My cheeks burst into flames and I had to keep my hands locked together in my lap to keep from pressing my palms against my face.
    “Who is he? I mean, I get it—one night stand and all. But did he have a name you remember?”
    This was the part I was dreading—telling Liza who my mysterious lothario was, because she knew Leo to be a real-life asshole, someone whose mere presence in high school had made me feel so very small. As I racked my brain for an explanation or a way to break it to her easily, Liza’s own silence became very apparent. I chanced a glance at her, seeing her eyes narrowed on me.
    “Who?” she asked, her voice lower than before.
    “Leo.”
    “Oh!” she exclaimed, standing up with her wine glass as if her favorite team had just made a bad play. The metaphor wasn’t entirely off-base though. “You fucked Leeeo?” she screeched, pointing her finger out the window. “Leo, the dickwad?”
    I didn’t bother nodding, confirming her question. Liza was getting a bachelors in show production, which was perfect for her because she frequently displayed a large range of emotion, but bad for me at the moment because she was staring at me like I’d just told her I’d drop kicked a baby.
    When I opened my mouth to explain, she pointed a finger at me. “Oh, I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it!” She stalked back over to the couch, but didn’t sit. “I knew as soon as you told me you were giving him rides. I thought to myself, ‘Scarlet is going to combust from all that hate and yank him into her backseat and let him punt it right between your uprights.”
    “My uprights?”
    “Yeah,” she huffed. “Your legs. Up in the air. Field goal.” She said it so seriously, with such rage coloring her voice that I couldn’t help but laugh, much to her irritation.
    “We didn’t do it in my backseat. Chill.” Liza liked that even less.
    “It doesn’t matter. Scarlet. Ugh!” She set her glass on the coffee table. “I thought you didn’t even like him. He was a dick to you in high school.”
    But he hadn’t been, not really. I’d misunderstood—our childhood friendship was