My Guilty Pleasure

Brooke set her cup on the table. “Joey—”

“Don’t say it.” Joey dropped a sugar cube into her cup and stirred. “It was a one-time thing and trust me, one that won’t be happening again.”

“Did you know who he was before you slept with him?” Brooke asked, adding a splash of cream to her Earl Grey.

Joey scrunched up her nose and nodded. “Not one of my smarter decisions.” But one she wouldn’t apologize for, either. Regardless of the ethics involved, and no matter how plain stupid her choice had been, she simply could not regret making love to Sebastian. Not completely.

“Joey, how did this happen?” There was no accusation or even judgment in Brooke’s tone, only concern.

Joey leaned back and pulled her feet up onto the chair. She recounted how she’d gone to Rosalie’s last night and had been rendered temporarily insane by the instantaneous attraction between her and Sebastian. When she finished, she set her empty teacup on the rosewood side table and let out a sigh. “I plead hormones,” she said. “It’s a valid affirmative defense.”

“I doubt that.” Brooke tapped her fingernail against the side of her cup. “So what happens now?”

“Nothing,” Joey said adamantly. Molly hopped into her lap and rubbed her head against Joey’s hand, demanding affection. She smoothed her hand over the cat’s thick fur. “Monday morning I go into the office and pretend Friday night never happened.”

“For your sake,” Brooke said, “I really do hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Joey said firmly. She dropped her head against the back of the chair, hoping she was right.

“SO HOW DOES IT feel being back in the old neighborhood?” Hunter McAllister asked around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

Sebastian twisted the cap off the bottle of beer and chucked it halfway across the living room into the cardboard box pulling temporary duty as a trash bin. “Cold,” he said to his childhood friend. “I’d forgotten how freaking cold it can get up here.”

He didn’t bother to remind Hunter that the revitalized North End of Boston was hardly the rough South Boston neighborhood where they’d spent their youth. Even though Sebastian had decided to live in the North End, in his heart, they would always be Southies.

Hunter balanced his beer bottle on his knee. “Why you’d give up year-round bathing beauties for Beacon Hill snobs is beyond me.”

“Right,” Sebastian said. “If a woman has a pulse, you’re interested.”

“Hey, is it my fault women have a thing for a man in uniform?”

Sebastian seriously doubted Hunter’s Boston P.D. uniform had anything to do with it. His friend had been a chick magnet for as long as Sebastian could remember.