We haven’t seen each other since we took molly together. He left in the morning, and I asked him to give me some space, and he has surprisingly obliged. It also took me by surprise how much I actually missed his repeated texts. Not that I would ever admit that, gun to head.
“Bodhi…” Jules’s voice is a broken whisper through the speaker.
“I’m here.” The chilly night air greets me as I step outside, where I can hear him better.
His breathing is loud, like his mouth is too close to the phone. Shaky. A sense of dread swirls deep in my gut as I wait for him to speak.
“Everything’s gone to shit,” he mumbles, the words coming out slurred. “Nothing’s right.”
“What do you mean? Jules, what’s wrong?”
“Just… everything.”
Yeah, that helps. “You’re not making any sense. Are you drunk?”
“Bodhi, Ineedyou,” he pleads. “I need you, my pretty boy.”
Mypretty boy.
His.
“Where are you?” I ask, already knowing I’ll go wherever he’s at.
“My house.”
“I can’t go there.” My heart plummets.So much for that.
“Please, Bodhi.”
“Jules, I cannot go to your house,” I snap. “The one you share with yourwife.”
“It’s fine.” He’s definitely drunk. “I promise. I need you. I need to hold you and touch you and smell you.”
Smell me?
This is such a bad idea. But—“Fine. Text me the address. It’ll take me at least forty minutes to get there.”
He sighs as if I just took the weight of the world off his shoulders by agreeing to come. “Thank you, Bodhi.”
Such. A. Bad. Idea.
After I shoot off a text to Camden and Elias, letting them know I have to take off, I order an Uber to bring me home to grab my car.
******
With a little speeding, I’m able to make it to the address Jules gave me in about thirty-five minutes. His house ishuge. Easily the largest house I’ve ever seen. Pulling out my phone, I let him know I’m here so he can come out. There’s no way I’m knocking on his door.
I shouldn’t even be here.
I’m so stupid.
Jules lives with his fucking wife, and here I am, the man helping him have an affair at his doorstep at fucking midnight. God, how fucking pathetic.
Just as I consider getting back in my car and driving home, the front door opens, and Jules comes into view. He looks… wrecked. The top three buttons are undone on his shirt, there’s a dark stain on the front of it—spilled alcohol, maybe—and his tie is loose, hanging around his neck.
Wordlessly, he takes my hand once I make it up the stairs, leading me inside. It’s just as nice as the outside. So spacious and clean. It’s warm and smells of oak and mahogany—just like Jules, but also with a hint of lavender. At the top of the wide staircase, we turn, going down a long, dark hallway until we get to a door that’s slightly ajar, dim lighting peeking out just barely.
Nerves eat at my stomach lining as we walk in, confusion heavy on my mind. This is clearly his bedroom, but where is Lorelei?
