I was a hot mess for my coffee date with Abby after I left Joel at my place. When I walked in the first thing she asked is if I had been crying. I don’t know how she even knew that, I put on dark sunglasses to avoid her seeing my eyes. Maybe I just answered my own question. I’m incapable of lying to Abby. Even when I’m feeling my coldest and most apathetic, I always come clean with her about everything. After I told her why I was tearing up she gave me the biggest, most comforting hug ever, and did her best friend thing by being super positive about the whole situation and saying all of the things that I needed to hear. Then we got to talking about my lunch with Brandon.

“Wait, wait, wait. You kissed him?”

“Technically, he kissed me. And I mean, he really kissed me, Abby.”

“And, how was it?”

“Sent shivers through my spine. My whole body was on fire. And he told me he was going to do it, and then made me wait for it.”

“I think I just had an orgasm,” she jokes. “But that’s fast for you, isn’t it?”

“A little, yeah, but something about it just felt right.”

“Does he know about. . .” She stops short and I already know what the ending of her sentence is going to be.

“No,” I answered. “My crippling clinical depression didn’t come up. Nor did my lack of feeling. Nor did my recently prescribed anti-depressants that I take every day.”

“You’re back on pills?” she asks. When I nod Abby makes a face—something not quite judgmental but definitely disapproving. “Things must be worse than I thought.”

I smile. It’s not a happy smile. It’s the kind you make when someone says something a little bit silly and you’re about to point it out to them. “Abby, I love you, but it’s always worse than you think it is. I tell you everything, but hearing about it and seeing it live are very different things.”

“I trust you. If you feel like you needed pills, then I guess you needed pills. I just remember what happened last time is all.”

Last time. What she’s referring to is a quack therapist I was seeing two years ago who was basically a medical drug dealer. Our ‘therapy’ sessions consisted of him spewing some positive self-help bullshit that I swear he read off the internet, followed by us talking about drugs. How are the meds? Still crying every day? Okay, we’ll increase by 25 milligrams. That was therapy. We just kept escalating the dosage of my meds and adding new pills, and three months into seeing the guy I was a complete zombie. I got just about every side effect they advertise on the side of the bottle, and some that they don’t. You name it—dry mouth, low sex drive, nausea, skin irritation, irritability, I got them all. Abby got to see me like that until her and my sister, Carla, forced me to stop seeing the guy. It took my body weeks to fully detox and get back to normal.

“It’s not like that, I swear.” I’m trying to be reassuring because I know that Abby’s coming from a place of concern. “My therapist is a good one, not like last time. She’s very conservative when it comes to meds, and I’m only on one pill, at the lowest dosage possible, once a day, or as needed. I swear it’s not the same, don’t worry.”

“Like I said, Lia, I trust you. I just get concerned.”

“I know you do. That’s why I love you.”

Coffee ends with me much more energized and Abby asking me to tell her all about the book club experience after it was over. I told her that I would, and now it’s evening and I’m headed over to Barnes & Noble. I never thought I’d say that sentence in my life. I’m not even that social. If it weren’t for the incredibly hot guy running the whole thing I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Friday night book club. I picture a bunch of old ladies sitting around reading books that I was supposed to read in high school, like Catcher in the Rye or To Kill a Mockingbird. Either that or it’s a room full of young, hot women, all in love with their gorgeous president. I guess I’ll see which it is.

When I go inside I ask a random employee where the book club meets, and she directs me to the back. It’s in a small back corner of the place, a little removed from the children’s book section. I see about ten people sitting in a circle on folding chairs, each of them holding a copy of It. They look like a pretty eclectic mix of people—nothing like I was imagining before. There are young girls, old women, middle aged men, and one person who looks like a college student.

I feel like I’m back in school, and I take my seat quietly, giant book in hand. Everyone’s page turning, like they’re studying before a quiz in math. I’m worried if I take my phone out someone may take it away from me and send me to detention. I take it out, but only to put it on silent, and after I click the little button on the side I feel his hand on me, his fingers pressing ever so firmly into the muscles in my shoulder. I don’t need to turn around, my body knows who it is. My body feels him with every fiber, and I have to use all of my self-control to not put my hand over his in front of everyone. “No cell phones, that’s a rule.”

“Sorry, sir,” I joke, turning around to his handsome face looking down on me. “I’ll put it away right now.” Brandon looks hot dressed up. I guess you have to look the part when you’re book club president, and he wears it well.

“Actually, keep it close to you, on your lap, just shut off the vibration,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” I say for the second time, and he smiles.

“I could get used to this.”

“Me being in your book club?”

He shakes his head. “You calling me sir.” We could arrange that, I think. And it’s the first really dirty thought I can remember having in a long time. It makes me happy to think dirty thoughts. He smiles at me one more time and then addresses the group. “Okay, everyone, so what did we think of It?”

We end up going in a circle, one at a time, everyone giving their opinion about the story. By the time we get to me I feel like I have nothing original to say, but I do my best. “I loved it,” I begin. “The prologue gave me chills when Georgie gets pulled into the drain, but really what I really loved was the detail he gets into about the history of the town, and each individual kid’s story.”

“The Loser’s Club,” Brandon interjects.

“Yeah. I can relate to that. I think that’s why I like it so much. I could take or leave killer clowns, but the idea of messed up kids with parents who don’t get them—that really stuck with me while I was reading.”

There are two more people left to give their opinions after me, but I notice that Brandon really focused in on what I had to say. I don’t know if that’s because he thought it was interesting or because he likes me. As the person next to me gives her two cents, my lap glows from the light of my phone.

You look hot tonight, my screen reads. I reach down, trying to not to be too obvious and peck away at my keyboard.

Are you saying I don’t always? Lol.

A few seconds later I see the light again. You’re normally at a ten. Tonight, you’re a straight eleven. I can’t even listen to these people right now I’m so distracted.

Bad president, I joke in my text.

Well we already established that I. What are you doing after this?

Nothing, I write back. What are you doing?

We’re going back to your place. Or mine. Doesn’t matter to me. But there’s zero chance that you’re not coming home with me. I want you so badly right now that I’m ready to abdicate the book club throne and take you right here on the floor.

Holy shit!

The words on the screen turn me on so instantly that I don’t even have time to smile before I start to feel a tingle between my legs. He doesn’t seem like the type to make such a bold statement. I could reject him, or tell him to screw off, but he took a chance and told me exactly what he wants. I want the same thing. There are layers to Brandon, and I just found the one that turns me on the most—the one that takes charge. I look up from my phone and he’s already looking back at me, the intensity of his eyes making me ache for him. I look at my phone again, but only to check the time. It’s too early!

My place, I write back. And I don’t want to wait.

I see him smile when he reads my text. He writes back—Waiting can be fun. Just imagine all the things I’m going to do to you later on. This side of him turns me on so much I don’t think I can wait any longer. I know I have to, so I start to fantasize sitting right there in the middle of the book store. Uhh, I hate waiting!

Eventually the book club ends, and Brandon puts on his presidential hat long enough to assign everyone in the group another two hundred pages of the book for next week before wishing everyone safe travels on their way home. I stay behind, of course, pretending to page through the book, when really, I’m still having the dirtiest thoughts ever. Brandon approaches me after the last member of the club walks away, and as he stands in front of me I notice how tall and imposing a figure he really is. He fills the space in front of me, and looks down at me in a way that makes me think I’m the only person in the whole building. I’m lost in his eyes.

“So, what did you think?”

“Best book club, ever,” I laugh. “But I’m sad it’s over, I was having such a good time.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Brandon jokes. It hits me in the face, even though he means it to be funny. Actually, I’m great at it. The fact that you don’t realize is evidence of that.

“No, I mean it, just not because of the book.”

“Oh, you know what I meant to ask you? What was it you were saying about being able to relate to being a screwed-up kid with parents who neglect you?”

I let out a deep sigh when he asks me that. I’m too focused on what he texted me after that to want to get into my family history right now. “Another time, I promise you.”

“Alright. So. . . whatcha doing now?” he jokes.

“You’re coming back to my place, remember?”

“Right. I almost forgot.”

“Now who’s the terrible liar, Mr. President?”