Lost on the Road to Love by Kay Harris

Author:Kay Harris [Harris, Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, contemporary
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2018-02-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Present day—San Francisco, California

Chelsea

I bite my lip and look up at Jack. As I expected, he’s making a face. I roll my eyes and turn to Candace. She waves a hand dismissively at him. “Ignore him. This is an important part of the story.”

“Ugh,” Jack finally says.

“Whatever, Jack. It’s not like you were a virgin when I found you,” Candace says.

I laugh.

“Not the same,” he protests.

I roll my eyes again.

“Okay, so,” Candace says, adjusting herself in her seat. “You were ‘intimate’ in London.” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “But you were both a little tipsy.”

“Yeah, but I think it had been building for a while, at least for me.”

“I’m sure that road went both ways,” Candace says.

“I hate to even talk about this, but I agree,” Jack says.

“Yeah?” I question.

“Did you honestly think you were the only one feeling the attraction?” Candace asks me.

“Well, yes. I did. At least at that point.”

Jack is staring at me like I’ve just spoken in ancient Greek.

“You wouldn’t understand a dorky girl’s basic sense of low self-esteem when confronted with a beautiful and perfect specimen of a man,” I tell him.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Candace says. “But I do.”

I rolled my eyes because Candace is basically a cover model for Vanity Fair as far as I am concerned. Of course, she doesn’t see it that way. I complain about being boney. She complains about having too much excess around the middle. We both know we should love our bodies for what they are. And we both know what a great idea that is in theory, but not so practical all the time in reality.

Candace ignores the face I’m making because she’s completely used to it and says, “So. You two got frisky at the hotel in London. What happened next?”

****

One month, three weeks, six days ago—Boston, Massachusetts

We’d taken a commercial flight back to the US on a great big jet. Henry and I had managed to sit in the same row, but we had Tom beside us and Gerry in the row in front of us. It hadn’t exactly been conducive to having a conversation about our accidental drunken make-out session.

The time together, but not alone, had been therapeutic, at least for me. From the moment Henry had left my room the night before, I’d been stressed out over what we’d done. I valued my friendship with Henry in a way I’d never treasured any other friendship in my life. I didn’t want to risk harming it in any way. So I’d stayed up most of the night worrying about the consequences of our actions.

On the plane, however, we’d easily fallen back into our previous arrangement. We’d been just Henry and Chelsea again. We’d laughed, we’d teased, we’d caused everyone around us to groan and roll their eyes at our antics. And I’d completely relaxed again, my stress nearly forgotten.

But the conversation Henry and I desperately needed to have had not left my mind. So once we were settled in our hotel in Boston that night, I went to Henry’s room.

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