The moment I step into Lily’s living room, my stomach is doing somersaults—and not the good kind. The kind that screams, “Carlie, you colossal idiot!”
I’m about two seconds away from a full-blown panic attack, and my brain is stuck on repeat: I used Adam for sex.
I used Adam for sex!
God, that sounds so bad, even in my head.
What is wrong with me?
Lily tilts her head, concern etching her features as she waits for me to explain my reason for barging in so early in the morning.
“Lily, I’m the worst human being on the planet,” I blurt out, collapsing onto her sofa like it’s my personal fainting couch. I’m half-expecting it to swallow me whole, which, frankly, wouldn’t be the worst thing right now.
Lily, ever the calm one, puts down her coffee mug and sits beside me, her eyebrows knitted in concern. “I’m going to need a little more to go on here. What’s happened, Carlie?”
Here goes nothing. Or everything.
“I slept with Adam,” I blurt out, and it feels like confessing to a crime.
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “Was it terrible or something?” Lily leans forward, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“God no,” I say, fanning myself. Definitely not. He was hot with a capital H. In a bizarre twist, my brain decides this is a good time to replay every steamy detail of last night, like a highlight reel nobody asked for. “I’m terrible.”
“At sex?” Lily counters with a soft laugh.
I level her with a glare. “Look, here’s the thing. What I’m about to tell you—you can’t tell anyone. Not even Tasia or Quinn. Especially not London.”
Lily’s face shifts from gentle amusement to serious attentiveness, her eyes locking onto mine. She sets her coffee mug down, giving me her full attention.
I itch the side of my eye, trying to find the right words. It shouldn’t be so damn hard. I’m an author, for crying out loud.
“I’ve had sex with him before,” I continue, my voice a little more than a whisper, as if saying it louder might make it more real.
Well, there goes my shot at the ‘Most Transparent Friend of the Year’ award.
Lily narrows her gaze. “I’m confused.”
“That makes two of us,” I mutter, trying to steel myself. If I can’t even tell one of my closest friends, what chance do I have with Adam?
“Carlie, whatever it is, I won’t tell anyone,” Lily offers, placing a hand on my knee.
I nod, blowing out a breath. “There was an event …” I chew on my lip, studying Lily’s face as if I can somehow telepathically send her the information she needs.
But then, just as I suspected, recognition flickers in her brown eyes. Lily’s fingers tap against her chin, a silent signal of her processing the information.
“Oh,” is all she says.
It sounds like a full sentence when’s he says it like that.
I swallow hard. “I think … you planned it, didn’t you? At Nocté?”
Lily’s face is a study in restraint. She’s always been good at hiding what she’s thinking, but right now, I wish I could read her mind. “Carlie, I—”
“Because if you did,” I press on, not letting her evade the question, “it means you understand how this is a little bit …”
Lily glances toward the hallway, and I remember that London is probably here, somewhere in this house. Her eyes flick back to me, filled with a mix of emotions. “Carlie, I can’t talk about ...”
Duh, Carlie.
The club has rules for participants. They probably have an NDA or something for the people who work the event.
I could facepalm myself right now.
“I get it,” I cut her off, my frustration simmering. “But I’m not asking for club secrets. I’m asking about my life, Lily. My mess of a life that seems to be tangled up in all this.”
She takes a deep breath, and I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. “I can’t confirm or deny anything about what goes on at Nocté. But Carlie, this is about you and Adam. Whatever happened—or didn’t happen—at that event, it’s your story to write now.”
“Oh, it happened. One hundred percent it happened,” I mutter, slumping back into the couch.
“How do you know?” Lily asks, her question coming out tentatively.
The memory of his tattoo is etched in my mind—impossible to forget.
“He has this tribal tattoo …”
“Oh,” she breathes out with a nod. Somehow, it’s like she understands just how powerful that damn artwork can be.
Come to think of it, London has tattoos.
Focus, Carlie.
I shoot her a pointed stare. “Right?”
“Okay, well …” She glances over her shoulder again, her gaze flitting to the back porch. When she turns back to me, she leans in close and whispers, “Then you know the rules, right? Is that why you’re upset? You want to go back to the club?”
My eyes widen in horror. “No—no. I have no intention of trying to hook up with someone else.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “Are you worried that Adam wants to—?”
I shake my head, though, if I’m honest, that horrific thought never occurred to me.
Thanks, Lily.
“Then, I don’t see the problem. You can just—” she begins.
A strangled breath escapes my lips as I blurt, “He doesn’t know.”
Lily’s expression is one of confusion and anticipation as she waits for me to continue my tirade. Before I can continue to pour out my heart, Lily’s phone buzzes on the coffee table.
She glances at it, her brow furrowing slightly as she reads the screen. There’s a brief flash of something—concern, maybe, or surprise—that crosses her face before she quickly flips her phone over, giving me her undivided attention again.
“It’s Anna,” she says, meeting my eyes. “She wants to talk about some social media situation, but it can wait.” There’s a pause, a fleeting hesitation in her voice, suggesting there could be more to it. “Right now, you’re what’s important. We can check on Anna’s news later,” Lily adds with a reassuring smile.
Despite her words, my stupid brain flits back to the drama-fest that happened with Adam’s Instagram a couple of weeks ago. God, if the internet trolls found out we were actually sleeping together, they’d have a field day.
Speaking of which …
“Lily, I slept with Adam, knowing who he was—knowing we’d already—” I swallowed the confession down like a bad pill as tears threaten to spill over. “I’m going straight to hell.”
If there’s a handbook on how to mess up potential relationships, I’m pretty sure I’m writing it.
Chapter One: How to Dig Your Own Emotional Grave.
Lily’s face softens—something I don’t deserve—as a mixture of sympathy and understanding dawns in her eyes. “Carlie,” she says gently, “I’ve been there. Remember everything that happened between me and London?”
I nod, remembering the tangled web of emotions and secrets that had surrounded the beginning of Lily and London’s relationship. It was like watching a rom-com but with the added tension of real-life consequences.
“Sometimes,” Lily continues, “we find ourselves in these complicated situations because we’re afraid. Afraid of the truth, afraid of what might happen if we’re honest. But let me tell you something I learned the hard way … The truth might be scary, but it’s also freeing.”
I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Freeing, huh? Right now, it feels more like I’m handcuffed to a ticking bomb.”
Lily chuckles, but her eyes are serious as she reaches out, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I felt the same with London. But hiding the truth, it’s like a slow poison. It eats away at what could be. Opening up, being vulnerable—it’s hard, but it’s the only way to move forward—to heal. And you’re not going to hell. You’re human.” Again with the pointed look. “When I was keeping secrets from London, I thought I was protecting us, but I was just scared. Scared of losing him, scared of facing my past. Scared of moving forward. I have no doubt you’re the same. So, maybe you made a mistake, but that doesn’t define you. What defines you is what you do next.”
“And what should I do?” I ask, feeling the weight of my choices like a heavy cloak around my shoulders.
“Talk to Adam,” she advises. “Be honest with him. Tell him about the past, about the event. Explain why you didn’t tell him earlier. It won’t be easy, but it’s necessary if you want to continue to have a relationship with him.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right. “But what if he hates me for it?”
“Then he’s not the right person for you,” Lily responds firmly. “But if he cares about you, he’ll listen. He’ll understand. And who knows, maybe he already knows and has been too scared to tell you, too.”
I ponder her words, feeling a sliver of hope amid the chaos of my thoughts. “You think so?”
Lily takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling in the motion. “In my experience, relationships are rarely straightforward. There’s always more beneath the surface. The only way to navigate them is through honesty and communication. You’re a writer, Carlie. You know people aren’t just characters in a story we write. They have their own stories, their own reasons. You need to talk to Adam. Get his side of the story.”
I nod slowly, knowing she’s right but hating that it’s not easier. Telling Adam the truth, knowing it could hurt him—or hurt our chances at a future—it’s terrifying.
“I just ... I don’t want to hurt him. Or me. Or us. If there even is an ‘us’ now,” I admit, more to myself than her.
“Then start with honesty,” Lily suggests with a shrug. “It’s the best foundation you can build on. No matter where the story goes.”
I stand up, feeling a little steadier. “Honesty. Right. I can do that.” I offer her a small smile. “Thanks, Lily. For what you could say, anyway. I hope I didn’t put you in a bad position.”
Lily grins at me. “We’re good. Thank you for trusting me with this. It means a lot. See? You’re already making strides at this whole honest and open thing.”
Snickering at her words, I feel a renewed sense of purpose, albeit a shaky one. “Well, I should go. I need to figure out what I’m going to say to him.”
She smiles, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Just remember, no matter what happens, you’re not alone. We’ve all been there in one way or another. And we’ve got your back.”
As I leave Lily’s house, her words echo in my mind.
Honesty.
Communication.
The truth.
They sound so simple, yet they feel like the hardest things in the world right now. But I know she’s right. It’s time to face the music, even if it’s a tune I’m terrified to hear.
So here I go, stepping into my own personal opera of awkward. Curtain up on the drama that is my love life.
Encore, anyone?