CORINNE
City streets blurred past and cab lights reflected off the windows, but I haven’t been able to stop laughing the entire drive back to my apartment. The paper bag containing his shirt and that ridiculous file was tightly clutched in my hand even when my mind was completely tangled in him—Lucian Delacroix.
I had barely pulled his shirt off me, ready to storm out of his house like a sensible adult, when he’d glanced at the fabric and said, “Take the trash with you.”
I snorted so hard at the memory that the cab driver shot me a concerned look again, like maybe I’d lost my mind. I didn’t even have the decency to apologize. Why would I? Amongst everything else… nothing about today—or last night—made sense.
Did I actually say something when I was drunk that gave my identity away?
Wa
