Free Filthy Gorgeous Lies: Book 1 by Sophie Night Page B

and no shortage of women. Thank God, the sexy surfer type isn’t my thing or I’d be in trouble.
    “Where’s Avery?” I ask.
    Nick shrugs. “I don’t know. I think she had to work tonight.”
    Damn. I wanted to talk to her about the Michael situation. In the six months since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve come to depend on Avery’s sage advice. She has an unflinching honesty I really need right now. I need the brutal, honest truth.
    “Why, what’s up?” Nick asks.
    I plop down on the couch next to him and sigh. “Michael’s flight was delayed. Do you think it was some sort of sign? Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me we aren’t meant to be together or something. That I shouldn’t even go down this path again.”
    Nick pinches his brows in confusion. “Remind me who Michael is again.”
    “My ex?” I say in a duh–you’re–an–idiot tone. I only mentioned his name about a zillion times after I moved here. He was my only topic of conversation for months.
    “Oh, right. That Michael, yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “I think it was just a delayed flight, Lex. You’re over thinking.”
    Yeah, he’s probably right. I had the habit of over thinking every situation. Driving myself crazy in the process. Not to mention everyone around me. If only I could live as impulsively as Nick. But even as a kid — I’d had to be the rational one, the one who made sure mom got up in time for work. By the time I was ten, I was making dinner and getting myself off to school. Impulsiveness never even crossed my mind.
    “You can’t waste your life worrying about shit that may never happen.”
    “You’re right.”
    Nick tugs me against him, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Just chill and watch some Andy Griffith with me. Everything will be okay, trust me.”
    I rest my head against his chest and take a deep breath. “Thanks, Nick. I really hope you’re right.”

    The next afternoon, I’m in the middle of frapping a mocha when my phone vibrates in my apron pocket. I dart into the backroom to answer my phone. It’s Michael.
    I answer. “Hey.”
    “Hey, honeybee. Sorry about last night. Can you come by the hotel tonight?”
    The old, familiar endearment makes me smile. The first time he called me honeybee, we were on our third date. He’d taken me to the park for a romantic picnic lunch. Just as I’d sat down on the thin sheet he’d brought, I felt a sharp sting and I’d nearly jumped out of my skin. Twenty minutes later, I was so swollen that Michael had to take me to the emergency room — where we’d spent the rest of our date. Turns out, I’d been stung by a bee and was highly allergic. Go figure. Ever since, he’d called me honeybee.
    “Sure, what time?”
    “I have a late meeting, but I should be back at the hotel about nine. I’m in suite 1403.”
    “Great.” I write the number down on a slip of paper. “See you then.”
    With a smile, I shove my phone into my apron pocket and head back to the front area, humming all the way. Nick is right. Life is too short to worry about another heart–wrenching breakup that may never happen. For the first time in months, I allow myself to feel excited about seeing Michael again.
    For the rest of my shift, my thoughts wander to what I’m going to wear and whether or not I should stop by my favorite lingerie shop on the way home.

    “Yes, that one, definitely.” Avery is lying on my bed, flipping through one of my Marie Clare magazines. “You look hot.”
    I stare at myself in the full–length mirror and wonder if the short red dress and plunging neckline is too much — even more so than the dress I’d worn last night. Nothing about this dress is subtle and I don’t want to look desperate. Desperate isn’t sexy. I want to look cool, confident and self–assured.
    I twist to look at my ass in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too slutty?”
    Avery steals one of the hair ties off my nightstand and twists her blond hair up into a