Chapter Eight #3
“No, not long. I have bad timing.” She brushed past him, hopefully fast enough that he didn’t see her blush. She blushed too easily, and if she was going to keep living with him, she had to get used to his half-naked body. She closed the bathroom door behind her and turned on the shower.
By the time she got back to her bedroom, her mind was clearer and her body relaxed. No light seeped out from under Blake’s door. Maybe he’d gone to bed.
She changed back into regular pajamas and sat at her desk to check email.
Arnold Chauvel’s name sat at the top of her inbox.
Checking in on the progress of your article, he wrote. I thought I’d have a draft by now.
Fingers hovering over the keyboard, she considered how to respond before composing her reply.
Doing lots of research, she wrote, which was true in a sense.
Then she asked about interviewing his friend, the one who had had such a terrible experience with the Pimpernel.
I’d of course honor her anonymity, she wrote, but I’m not sure how far I can get without her story.
So far, the hit piece Chauvel was hoping for wasn’t taking shape. She was supposed to write a condemnation of the Pimpernel, and all she wanted to do was fuck him. She’d have to draft something soon, though; she was living on borrowed time.
As if on cue, Cora texted her. Great news! We got funded through the end of next month!
Congratulations! Maggie wrote, even though she didn’t feel the exclamation point. Even though she knew the answer, she asked, Where from?
Chauvel! Vanessa was right about him, and thank god, because nobody else came through. He said he’ll see how this month goes and then consider funding for a longer term.
Maggie knew what Chauvel meant when he said he’d see how this month went. This had nothing to do with Cora’s lab and everything to do with Maggie upholding her end of the bargain. She sent a few enthusiastic texts she didn’t feel, then signed off and got into bed.
She lay awake in the dark for a while, mind racing, before sitting up and pulling her phone off the nightstand.
She clicked through the group chat but didn’t feel like talking there, and finally returned to her conversation with the Pimpernel.
You still up? she typed, not really expecting an answer.
It had been a while since they’d finished playing.
Her spirits lifted at the sight of the typing dots.
Yeah. Can’t sleep, he replied. Even though you wore me out.
Same. She stared at the screen. Is it weird that I want to talk?
Do you usually want to talk after sex?
She hadn’t been thinking of this as sex, since they weren’t even in the same building, but his casual use of the term had her confessing. I haven’t had sex in a while. She had to consciously think about how long it had been, which didn’t feel good. A long while, she added.
Why not? If you don’t mind sharing.
Maggie leaned back against the headboard and drew her knees up. Usually she blamed dating apps, but that wasn’t the real reason.
She’d promised him honesty, a promise she had never intended to keep—their whole conversation was borne of false pretenses—but she could be honest about this. I think sometimes it’s easier to keep being alone than risk being hurt. It wasn’t hard to confess from behind this shield of anonymity.
I know that feeling, he replied.
Maybe they weren’t all that different. Maybe he was also opening dating apps and closing them again immediately, or repeatedly going on unsuccessful dates. Do they make dating apps for kinky people? she asked.
Probably.
Not on any of them? she asked.
I deleted all the dating apps off my phone earlier this year. They made me sad.
His honesty, mirroring her own, touched something in her heart. For the first time, she felt a trace of guilt about lying to him. The apps feel impersonal, she wrote.
After a minute, he sent a block of text. I know they can work. But I can’t stand it. I feel like I can only put up one side of myself on there: either the normal guy or the kinky guy. A woman who wants one isn’t going to want the other.
Maggie found herself nodding even though he couldn’t see her. It’s limiting, she replied. List a bunch of things about yourself and some photos. Answer these questions. Send a pickup line and hope they reply.
I used to hope they didn’t reply. That’s why I deleted the apps.
She could understand that perspective. I should probably do that too, but it feels like giving up.
Maybe I have given up. I don’t know.
Maggie had been like that for the last few years: getting herself on her feet, building her bylines, making sure Cora didn’t have to worry, I think I’m focusing on my career, she wrote, but I’m not sure. It’s what she had told Phoebe. She sent it. But I miss sex, she added.
LOL, he replied. Same.
Maybe she should try to meet him. But was it because she liked him, or to get the dirt for Chauvel’s article? She couldn’t be sure. Every chat was tinged with her guilt.
Can we play online again soon? I had fun tonight, she typed instead.
Yeah. I had fun too.
She cradled her phone in her lap and looked down on it, this tiny lifeline to a whole other person somewhere in the city. You can message me anytime you want, she added. I like talking to you.
That’s not too much personal talk? He sent a wink, then immediately followed up with, I’d like that.