Читать книгу Dirty Little Secrets - Kierney Scott - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Megan glanced at her watch. Getting a cab at this hour was not a great idea. All she needed was a driver to recognise her and feed the rumour mill. Lucky for her, her house was a ten-minute run away. Shame she was wearing heels. “Screw it,” she said. She took off her shoes and began running. The endorphins would do her good, because she was feeling pretty shit at the moment. What the hell had she been thinking? Who in their right mind has sex with the journalist doing a story on them? So epically stupid. And she would probably have done it again had the sun not started to come up and reminded her what was at stake. Funny how everything looked different in the cold light of day. No wonder so many crimes were committed at night—inhibitions and judgement go down with the sun.

She ran faster, her bare feet striking the hard ground. With each stride the concrete bit into the flesh of her bare soles. She picked up her pace, running at a speed she rarely achieved. She just needed to be home to speak to Ben. Her lungs were on fire but it felt good to feel the cool air on her skin, sobering, comforting.

Megan sprinted through her front door and into Ben’s room.

“I messed up,” she said as she collapsed beside him on his bed. “Wake up, Ben. I need to talk to you. I made a mistake.”

“What time it is?” Ben groaned, rolling over to face her, a crease from his pillowcase marring his otherwise perfect features.

“I had sex with James Emerson.”

Ben sat upright in bed, wiping his eyes. He blinked a few times to clear his vision.

“Seriously, Megan? Is that your idea of a joke? Go back to sleep.” He pulled the duvet over her.

“I am not kidding. I had sex with him. I really messed up. Talk about poor judgement. I guess I’m more like my mom than I thought.” She curled in beside Ben, seeking comfort.

“The Australian journalist?”

She nodded—who else would she be talking about?

“Try again. You’re not really his type.”

He was referring to the models James was usually seen with. Megan had a good ten years and 40lbs on most of them. “Fuck you and yes I had sex with him.”

Ben eyed her dubiously. “Where?”

“What do you mean, where? On the kitchen counter, against a wall, in his bed. You know, the usual places people make pisspoor decisions.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes I am serious. Why is it so hard to believe I had sex? We both know I’ve had plenty of it.”

“Yeah but it has been a while and he is…shit, he is hot. Sorry Megan, you know I love you, but you were punching out of your league with that one.”

She shook her head. “Go to hell, Ben.” She stood up to get out of bed but he pulled her back.

“Don’t be like that, Megan. You know what I mean. Only women can date down. It’s biology. He is a ten and you are a seven and a half, eight with make-up.”

“Fuck you. I don’t need this right now. I want you to be kind-and-supportive Ben, not bitchy-but-call-it-honest Ben.”

Ben pulled her into a tight embrace. His body was smaller than James’; Ben was lean and sinewy, while James was hard muscle. “Did you really have sex?”

Megan sighed in exasperation. Why was it so hard for Ben to believe she had had sex? When they first met, Megan had gone through several men, the encounters were too brief to be considered relationships. “Yes. I slept with James Emerson and if you ask again I will leave. Honestly Ben, you are not the only one who’s entitled to a sex life.”

She was stepping into uncharted waters by mentioning Ben’s sex life, but she was too upset to dance around the issue. Ben had a special friend, if he could have sex, so could she.

“Love, you are more than entitled, you just never partake. But well done you for getting back in the game. And with such a gorgeous man, the interview must have gone really well.”

“No, it was an unmitigated disaster. I’m not sure what happened. One minute I was getting a salad ready and the next I was up against the wall.” Her cheeks warmed at the memory. “Are you mad?”

“Should I be mad?” Ben asked.

“I had sex with a reporter.”

“And?” Ben pressed.

“And what? That is bad enough. I don’t need an ‘and’, do I?”

“He’s unlikely to say anything. There is no story there. He wants to keeps his nose clean as much as anyone else. After the senate hearings on the wire-tapping debacle, he wants to stay out of the spotlight as much as you. Trust me.”

She bit down on her lower lip as she contemplated Ben’s logic. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely. He is the perfect one-night stand.”

“Really?” she asked dubiously. “Someone could find out,” she pressed, still not convinced.

“I’m not suggesting you go out and sleep with a different man every night, but if you are going to have sex, he is a good choice. He’s hardly going to sell a story on himself. And if he does print anything, you deny it, we threaten to sue and we force him to relive the wire-tapping scandal.” Ben wrapped a protective arm around her and gave her a reassuring smile.

He looked happy, so different to the despondent man she had left last night. “Did you…?” She did not know precisely how to phrase it. “You don’t seem as upset about—”

“We worked it out,” Ben interrupted her before she could say his name. “He came over and we talked things out.”

The way he was smiling led her to believe that they had done more than talk. “I am glad you’re friends again,” she said softly. She wished for Ben’s sake that she could say lovers or partners or any other word that would acknowledge the depth of the two men’s relationship. But she wouldn’t. Those were words that were left unsaid. She had never even met the man Ben loved. Ben and Megan shared everything, apart from that. That was a secret that Ben kept just for himself. She did not press the issue because she knew about those kinds of secrets too.

Megan leaned over and kissed Ben on the cheek before she slid off the bed. “Good night, Ben. I’m going to go sleep off the shame.”

“Wait, are you done with your story? You sleep with the most eligible man in DC and you don’t give details?” Ben grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards him.

“No, I’m going to pretend it never happened.”

“That bad?”

No, that good. Megan said nothing. She did not want to think about it. She did not want to remember the way he felt or the way he smelled. She certainly did not want to remember the way her stomach went into free fall when he kissed her. She was going to curl into her soft warm bed and sleep for the entire weekend. On Monday she would worry about things like gorgeous journalists, and domestic violence cases that were never as straightforward as they should be.