But if the lady will permit,
I’ll seduce thee with mere words and wit.
OMG. You’re good.
Your turn.
“My turn?” I said out loud to the empty room. In iambic pentameter? Ugh, I was drawing a blank. Reaching for the orange chicken, I shoveled a forkful and chewed, hoping a clever response would come to me as I ate. Aha! I grabbed the phone and typed.
Thy words so sweet cause my pulse to quicken.
Or perhaps it’s just this fine orange chicken.
LOL. Well done darling. Well done.
;)
How’s the food?
Lovely. Thank you.
You’re very welcome. Goodnight darling, study well. Luck on your exams.
Parting is such sweet sorrow…
Good night Janiette. I’ll text you on the morrow.
Good night.
I threw my phone on the sofa, fell back into the cushions and sighed—audibly sighed, like Juliette on that freaking balcony.
Oh boy, I thought as I picked up the Riesling and drank straight from the bottle.
* * *
Monday morning brought freezing rain, and winds that chilled me to the bone. I’d had a restless night, barely sleeping, rising early to cram a bit more before today’s exam. I’d told myself that my insomnia was just nerves about the test, but the truth was, I was freaked out about Thomas.
When I’d first pursued him, I honestly thought we’d fuck a few times, have fun, and then go our separate ways. I never expected to feel anything for him, and certainly not this intensely. I was unsettled enough that I stopped by Sasha’s office at the club that afternoon on the pretense of discussing my schedule, but secretly hoping for a bit of a girl chat.
“When do you go back to your mother’s?” she asked when I walked in. “I need more supplies.”
“Out of salami, huh?”
“In every way.”
I laughed at her answer as I shed my coat, dropped it on a chair and perched on the end of her desk.
“I’m going back early, before Christmas, remember? I wrote it on the schedule.”
“Right.” She nodded. “I think I blocked that out. I can’t imagine being without you that long.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be back for the New Year’s bash.”
“Thank God,” she said, peering over the edge of her glasses. “And thank God you’re okay. I cannot apologize enough for what happened.”
“Yeah, I know. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Still, it happened on my watch. Parker told me you decided not to press charges. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, but only because I don’t need to. The guy jumped parole in New Hampshire, and is wanted for assault in Boston. He’s going back to jail for sure.”
“Yes, Parker told me that as well. It’s like one of those ‘four turns and you’re dead’ things, isn’t it.”
“Three strikes and you’re out,” I said, laughing. “It’s a sports metaphor.”
“I don’t follow hockey.”
“Oh my God, Sash, it’s baseball!”
“Whatever.”
“But yeah,” I said, “it’s fine. I’m over it.” I sighed and picked up a pen from her desk, rolling it between my fingers thoughtfully.
Sasha removed her glasses and placed them on the desk. “What is it? Something going on?”
“Just a little conflicted.”
“About?”
“Thomas.”
“He has a first name now,” she drawled. “Things must be getting serious.”
“Things are.” I nodded. “And that’s the problem. I didn’t expect that.”
“You thought it would just be sex.”
“Yep.”
“And now there are feelings involved.”
“Yep.”
“And that feels risky.”
“Yep.”
“And you,” she said pointing at me, “are risk averse. You hate flying without a net. And if you say ‘yep’ one more time I’ll stab you with that pen.”
“I’m not risk averse,” I scoffed, gently setting the pen back on the desk. “I moved away on my own, right out of high school. I went to college and got a degree despite not having any idea what to do with it. That’s pretty net-less. And I work in a strip club. That’s risky.”
“Risqué, not risky, and sorry, I’m not going to agree with you. You may have an unconventional story and a titillating career but your choices are stubbornly conservative when it comes to your heart.”
“What?” I said, shocked at her words.
“I’m not judging, darling. I’m much the same myself. But the truth is you don’t let people in. And when someone gets through even a tiny bit, you tend to batten down the hatches and lock your heart up tight.” She retrieved her glasses and placed them on her nose, picked up a piece of paper from her desk and perused it.
“I do not,” I said, frowning at how petulant my tone sounded.
“You do.” She waved her hand at me dismissively, still reading the paper in her hand. “You’ve not had a boyfriend since I’ve known you, you have no social life, no friends.”