The P.U.R.E. Read Online Free Page A

sooner did we start moving than Nicky latched back on to Jon.
    I shrugged from where I stood on the fringe of the group after he mimed a tragedy mask. He’d survive until I could save him after the tour.
    I backed up to lean against the oversized treadmill with its TV screen—bigger than the one in my living room.
    Something small and sharp dug into my heel. Recoiling from the spot, I spied a shiny gold object wedged between the mat and the baseboard.
    I scooped up a man’s cufflink. I didn’t know men still wore them except with formal attire—which, thankfully, no one had worn to Bob’s party. Gold with diamonds, it had to be worth more than what I earned over several months. I laid it on top of the stereo as we finished with a quick peek at Leslie’s office, a home cinema and the laundry room.
    • • •
    At dinner, Leslie seated Doug to my left and Darla to my right, and what matching pillars of social joy they turned out to be.
    Darla asked me if I played tennis, and when I said ‘no’, she turned and spoke for the entirety of dinner with Bob who did.
    Libby and Leslie sat across from me. Libby tried to include me in the conversation, but Leslie unfailingly steered the topics to those that excluded me.
    I exchanged a few ‘poor me’ looks with Jon as Nicky all but cuddled up next to him. A Texas gentleman, Jon would never intentionally be rude to a woman.
    Doug brushed his leg against mine more frequently than accidental, but less than I expected. Passing him the coffee pot, I said, “Whoa, heavy and hot. Hope I don’t spill any.”
    The leg grazes ended.
    That marked the high point of Doug’s and my next to nothing conversation and left me with my sole dinner companion—my wine glass.
    By the evening’s end, Nicky had tried her predatory best to cut Jon off from the herd. She’d isolated him and begun prepping for a Jon feast.
    Rather than watch him suffer, I insinuated myself between them and linked my arm with Jon’s. “Sorry, Nicky. I need to have a quick word with Jon here … about some boring Anderson-Blakely stuff.”
    Nicky’s main course shrugged as I tugged him away by the arm. She huffed and narrowed her eyes.
    I only meant to rescue him from her but kept going until we slipped into Bob’s home office.
    Jon closed the door behind us.
    Somewhere in those ten paces, I forgot why I needed to whisk him not just away from Nicky but into a private setting.
    “Thanks, Gayle.” Jon hitched a hip on the edge of Bob’s desk. “I never thought she’d be so persistent.”
    My head spun a little. I’d overestimated my alcohol tolerance by drinking a third glass of wine.
    “You’re weckum.” I blinked a few times and tried again. “Well-come.” I ambled over to him, snickering at how I’d botched such a simple word.
    “Gayle? How much have you had to drink?”
    “Nosso mush.” I swayed and thrust three fingers toward his face. I changed my finger positions, pantomiming holding a thimble-sized object.
    He stood and held me by the elbows. “Maybe I should take you home.”
    I stared up at his handsome face. I had to kiss him. A distant voice in my head warned, No, no, think chica, think! Remember where you’re at , but a much louder one urged, Do it! Kiss him, here, now! Do it!
    “You, Jon Cripps, are looking very … kissy … kiss-bull.”
    Traitorous arms slid up his chest and locked around his neck. His back stiffened, but I would not be denied. My body pressed and molded to his. He relaxed but didn’t touch me.
    Neither did he step back.
    I pulled his head down to mine and kissed his lips, parting mine against his. He separated his, too, the tips of our tongues touching and curling together.
    What am I doing?
    As if I’d been stung, I recoiled and released him. A faint pink stain bloomed on his cheeks. A wash of green had to have flooded mine as nausea clenched at my stomach.
    I ran to the powder room two doors from where we stood, grabbing my purse on the way. Good thing I