I woke up alone in bed this morning, feeling all wrecked and soggy. There was no sign of Johnny anywhere in my apartment—not even a lingering warmth or a dent in the sheets.
What else did I expect? That his so-called confession would be enough of a reason for him to stay?
Joke’s on me if I believed him.
He was desperate to fill a need, and I gave it to him.
Who am I to him anyway? If it weren’t for how familiar my skin and body felt to him, he wouldn’t have touched someone like me.
After all, I’m just his stiff, weirdo secretary—haunted by the past, unsure about the future, and constantly predicting it with way too much hope.
"Are you okay?" Tamara asked, eyeing me from head to toe. "Because you’re walking like a train hit you."
"Oh, yes, I was wrecked by the train between your son'
