Chapter 7
“ S top mocking me,” I hiss at the blank Word doc I have open on my laptop.
It’s two in the afternoon and I’m sitting on the couch in the living room, feeling exhausted. After breakfast, I took Princess on her walk, took a shower, and finished editing a couple pieces for the magazine. Amani had made it clear before I left work that even though I’m on a writer test run, I still have to fulfill my usual duties which consist of editing all twenty-one pieces for each issue.
I have about half a dozen left to do until we go to print, not including the ones the other columnists haven’t finished yet, which isn’t doing anything to diminish the stress of writing my own article. I’ve been staring at my laptop screen for nearly an hour, trying to come up with so much as a title, and still haven’t written a single word.
The issue is that I’ve never written anything like this before. When I write my short stories, they’re works of fiction. I write whatever pops into my head without worrying about any of it sounding realistic. I can let my imagination run wild, let the analogies and symbolism flow from my fingertips to the paper. But this is real life. This is advice that real people will use based on experience I do not have.
I’ve only had a few non-serious boyfriends in my life; the result of moving across the country every couple years when I was growing up. For the most part, I forced myself not to get too attached to any of them. I had to, if for no other reason than to spare myself from the pain I’d feel when I’d inevitably move away.
I only broke my rule once. Suffice to say it ended in a gut-wrenching, world-shattering heartbreak, the kind that turns you bitter and makes the vulnerable part of your heart freeze over. I vowed never to do it again.
So not only do I not have anything resembling dating advice to offer, but I also have never had anything close to a one-night stand… Which unfortunately is the one thing this article seems to require.
I huff and pull out my phone, endlessly scrolling to try and distract myself from my impending failure, when I hear Elias coming down the stairs. I feel a small glimpse of optimism now that I have him to help me, hoping his insider info will be just the thing I’m missing to inspire me. Now that I have him by my side, it should be a breeze.
Right..?
“You ready to do this thing?” I call out as he nears the end of the staircase, eyes glued to his phone.
He barely looks before shooting me a thumbs up, uttering a single syllable in response. “Yep.”
Somehow, that doesn’t inspire much confidence in me.
I sigh as he makes his way over and plops himself down next to me, putting his legs up on the coffee table. I’m reopening the Word doc on my laptop to take notes when I notice he’s no longer scrolling away on his phone, but rather staring intently at the ground.
“You went to Columbia too?” he asks excitedly.
“Huh?”
I follow his eyesight down to my backpack—the exact one I got for five dollars at the thrift shop, the one that just so happens to have a Columbia University logo on it.
Damn second-hand bags.
“Did you study journalism or something?” he prompts me again, and I realize I haven’t corrected him yet.
“Writing, actually.”
Not a total lie. I did study writing, just not at Columbia.
“Oh, you got your MFA?”
“Um, yeah. Something like that.” Except that a Master’s of Fine Arts is exactly the opposite of what I would call my education. Time to divert. “How about you? What are you studying?”
“I’m in the finance department, getting my Ph.D.”
Holy shit.
Suddenly my article writing troubles seem to pale in comparison a bit.
“So that’s why you’re living on campus during the summer?”
“ Was living,” he points out. “We have the option to stay if we want to continue working on our dissertation.”
“Wouldn’t you want to go home though? Work on your paper from there?”
He averts his eyes and shrugs, turning his attention back to his phone. “Not really. Besides, I help teach a summer course twice a week so it just made sense to stay in my dorm. ”
Somehow I get the feeling I struck a nerve with the mention of home, though I’m not sure why.
“You teach? That must be pretty cool,” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“It’s just a first-year economics course, and I’m only a TA. It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Still, I can’t help but be impressed. It seems kind of unfair that someone so good-looking could also be so smart, but that’s beside the point.
I’m tempted to ask him more questions about his studies and his job, finding myself surprisingly intrigued by him, but he clears his throat and diverts the conversation before I get the chance to. “So this article, tell me about it.”
“It’s about one-night stands.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” he smirks. “But what’s your angle? What do you have so far?”
My angle? Do I need one of those?
He leans over to try to sneak a peek at my laptop screen, giving me a brief whiff of his expensive-smelling cologne in the process, but I instinctually turn it away before he can see the blank page. He doesn’t need to know I’ve got about diddly squat written.
“Not much, but that’s where you come in.”
He raises his eyebrow at me and I try to keep up a poker face. “Just so I’m clear, you want me to tell you all about my sexual exploits so you can write an article about it?”
“No, not exactly. It won’t be about you, just… inspired by you.”
“Uh-huh.”
Damnit, he’s onto me.
“I don’t have a lot of experience in this area, okay?” I confess. “ If it were up to me, someone else would be writing this article. But it isn’t and you made a deal with me, so start talking.”
A laugh tugs at this side of his mouth. “I see. And exactly how much experience do you have?”
“Strictly speaking about one-night stands, roughly zero.”
“And what about non-strictly speaking?” he taunts, and my stomach does a flip. As if I’m going to tell him how many people I’ve slept with.
“Not the point.”
“You know the easiest way to learn about one-night stands would be just to have one, right?” he says with a wink, and the flip in my stomach turns into a summersault.
I know deep down that he’s probably right; going out tonight and finding some random guy to hook up with would surely be an easier solution than this contrived plan of lies and secret back-door deals. But that would mean I’d actually have to go to a bar, flirt with strangers, and somehow miraculously convince one of them to go home with me—three things I’m not exactly known for.
“Thanks, I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.”
“I mean, why not? What’s stopping you?”
“Nothing, I just don’t feel like it,” I blatantly lie.
“Wait a minute—you’re not scared , are you?”
I narrow my eyes at him and his annoyingly cocky smile, clearly pleased with himself. As much as I want him to be wrong, I have to admit there’s some truth to it. I’ve never really been able to put myself out there. To date, to have casual sex, to do any of it. And while it’s mostly out of my own volition to protect myself, I’m sure there’s some fear hiding behind it too.
But since I don’t have time to unpack all of my feelings around relationships and commitment at this very moment, I choose to avoid reading too much into it.
“Just because I don’t want to sleep with a stranger, doesn’t mean I’m scared. I’m not interested in any kind of relationship right now, that’s all.”
“You sure about that?”
He gives me a doubtful look, and I swear he can see right through me when his eyes bore into me like that. It feels too real and frankly freaks me out, so I have to put a stop to this and get us back on track before we waste any more time.
“Look, I know this whole thing must seem pretty ridiculous to you, but believe it or not, this article is really important to me,” I start. “My entire livelihood basically rests on its success, and you agreed to help me. So are you going to, or what? ‘Cause if you’re not, I can go find someone else who will.”
He considers me for a moment before the smirk on his face slowly fades away, and I actually think I may have gotten through to him.
Finally.
“Alright, alright,” he starts as he sets his phone down on the side table, sitting up straighter. “I’m at your disposal. What do you want to know?”
***
“I have major updates,” I announce to Veda the second she picks up the phone.
I’m lying on my bed in the guest room at just past eight p.m., brushing out Princess’ hair with my phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder. Elias left to pick up more of his things from his old dorm shortly after our brainstorming session and still hasn’t returned, so I’m taking the opportunity to dish about him while he’s not around.
“On your article? Oh, I knew you could do it! I’m so proud of you, Gem.”
“Err, not exactly.” Okay, maybe I should have opened with something more specific. At least it’s nice to know she has so much faith in my writing abilities. “But it’s kind of related to that.”
“Oooh, so cryptic. May I ask what this news is pertaining to?” she teases.
“A man. A handsome one—your favorite subject.”
“WAIT, don’t say another word! Let me go get Cassie, she needs to be in on this too!”
I can practically feel her buzz of excitement through the phone, knowing she loves a good piece of gossip.
When I first moved in with the two of them nearly three years ago, Veda had told me she originally wanted to be Flourish’s Pop Culture columnist so that she could turn her obsession with celebrity gossip into a career. Unfortunately for her, Amani had already hired a writer for Pop Culture, so she got put on Fashion instead. Not that she wasn’t grateful for it; she loves her column and is honestly really good at what she does. But I know that deep down, her passion will always be in a really good scandal.
I hear the sounds of shuffling in the background as she rushes over to Cassie’s room, the two of them are on speakerphone not a moment later.
“Okay, we’re ready. Spill it!” Veda chirps eagerly.
“I may or may not have a new roommate.”
“What? At the penthouse?”
“Yep, he showed up out of the blue in the middle of the night.”
“A midnight gentleman caller? Saucy, ” Cassie chimes .
“And you’ll never guess who it is,” I sing-song.
“If you don’t tell me right now, I’m going to come over there and drag it out of you,” Veda threatens.
I laugh, tempted to drag it out longer just for the fun of it but ultimately deciding to put her out of her misery. “Remember Gigi’s husband?”
“ Him ?!” Veda says in shock at the same time Cassie exclaims, “Gemma, you sly minx!”
“No! God, of course not.” Married men, especially clients of mine, aren’t exactly my thing. Once again, it seems I need to learn to be more specific when sharing news. “He has a brother. A younger, hot, brooding brother who has a key to the penthouse.”
I glance toward my bedroom door to make sure it’s shut, just in case Elias happens to come home without me noticing. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s snuck up on me.
“Tell us more this instant,” Cassie demands.
I give them the tantalizing (and slightly embarrassing) story of how I thought there was an intruder in the house at two in the morning, only to catch Elias in the throes of an intimate moment with his mystery woman. I include the unfortunate part about my towel falling and how I basically flashed two complete strangers, which I instantly regret when it’s met with cries of laughter on the other end of the line.
“I thought they were burglars, I didn’t have time to put on clothes!” I try to explain, but I only get more laughter and even some wheezing in return. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter because it all happened so fast that he swears he didn’t see anything.”
“I’ll bet you wish he did though,” Veda taunts once she catches her breath .
My cheeks get red at the thought of it, and I’m so glad the girls aren’t here to see me blush.
“No, I don’t,” I manage to say semi-convincingly. “I mean, sure he’s good-looking and everything, but I’m not interested.”
“So the fact that you’re all alone in a fancy penthouse with this mysterious handsome stranger doesn’t make you feel any kind of way?”
“Um, we’re not alone. Princess is here with us. And yeah, pretty much.”
“I’m sure.”
She knows me too well.
“He’s not my type, anyway. I get the feeling he’s kind of a player.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. In fact, he’s so much of a player that he’s agreed to use his lengthy experience to help me with the article. So there.”
“Oh my God, are you guys gonna—” Cassie squeals, and I already know what lewd thought she’s about to say before it comes out of her mouth.
“ Not like that, Cassie. He’s my source, nothing more. It’s purely a professional relationship.”
That much is true. He was actually pretty helpful to me this morning, giving me a ton of different ideas to go off of—and to my surprise, most of them are useable. It’s still not nearly enough information for me to write the whole piece on, but it’s a great start. I now have a whole page’s worth of bullet points written down, and all I have to do is string those ideas together to form a coherent outline. Easy stuff.
“Bummer.”
“Gem, if you needed help with your article, you could have asked me! I wouldn’t have minded,” Veda offers .
Of course the thought occurred to me, she’s one of the best columnists we have. But I wouldn’t have felt right about it. Partly due to the embarrassment I’d feel asking my best friend for help, but mostly because I know it wouldn’t feel like my accomplishment if she came to my rescue. After all, Amani’s using this piece to decide if I’m ready to have my own column. If I can’t even manage to write one little article, how can I expect myself to write a regular column?
“I know, and thank you, it’s just… It would feel like cheating if I got another writer to help me with it. I want to prove I can do this on my own, you know?” I say, hoping I haven’t hurt her feelings.
“I get it. This is just something you need to do alone, no worries.”
“Yeah, alone with Elias,” Cassie teases. “I smell casual sex on the horizon.”
I’m rolling my eyes at the mere suggestion of it when Veda chimes in. “She’s got a point. There’s no way two young, hot, single adults can sleep across the hall from each other without anything happening.”
“Oh, please . I’m only here for a couple weeks, I think I can manage to keep my hands to myself.”
More than that, they seem to be conveniently forgetting that Elias’ needs are already met by gorgeous strangers he meets in bars.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Veda replies. “It’s like I said yesterday, this whole thing reeks of a cheesy romcom. You just have to sit back and wait for your happily ever after.”
If only.