Page 20 of The Write Place

She gives me an exasperated look. “How would you feel if I did?” Just the thought of it stabs me with a little unexpected jealousy, and it must show on my face before I can catch it, because Jenny takes a self-satisfied sip of her wine and says, “Yeah, I thought so. Besides, I’m not his type.”

“How do you know what his type is?” I take a sip of my wine. I don’t want to seem too eager to have this conversation, but I really want to know what she thinks.

“Mac, that man has a very specific type. There is only one person in that category right now, and that person is you.” She circles a finger at me, and I scoff, though I’m not so sure anymore after a few of the conversations we’ve had. She has known me long enough to notice I don’t immediately deny it, but I don’t give her the opportunity to comment.

“To answer your question, no, he’s not coming, and I don’t know why he would. This is our thing. Frankly, after last week’s fangirl-happy-hour, he was relieved to turn in early.”

Jenny eyes me warily. “Why are you being so resistant to him? You were the one who kissed him, remember?”

I hug my knees to my chest, my bare feet resting on the couch cushions. “That was before I found out he’d be in my place of employment every day. I know we don’t technically work together,” I cut her off before she can protest, “but he and I are working in the same place, and I don’t want to mix business with pleasure. I don’t want to jeopardize this arrangement.”

She tilts her head, studying me, then squints slightly and purses her lips. “I don’t think you’re all that concerned about this arrangement.”

“We need new books, Jenny.”

“Rich Writer Boy will get you new books, Mac.”

I sigh. “He’s leaving in a few weeks. I can’t get attached. The last time I lost someone…” I have to swallow hard before I can continue. “I don’t know, Jenny. I don’t want to spiral again. It was hard enough after Ellie. Things are finally good for me again, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

Jenny’s face softens. “That makes sense.”

I can tell she wants to push it a little more, so I curl my legs under me and sit up straighter. “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. How’s Ben?” I ask, raising my eyebrows suggestively. Based on the current shade of Jenny’s cheeks, I’ve now confirmed I’m right about their flirting last week.

“Ben and I are friends. We’ve been over this about a million times.” She sounds exasperated, but she’s already trying to hide a smile at the thought of him. I’m pretty sure they haven’t gone past some innocent flirting—she’d tell me if they had—but that’s probably why she likes him so much. He’s boy-next-door cute and respectful, and that makes him exciting in a way that her other love interests are generally not.

“I’m just saying, I think you could spend some of that pent-up flirting energy on Ben right now based on the way he was making eyes at you last Friday.”

“Hmm,” she narrows her eyes to me and brings her glass of wine to her lips.

“Okay, fine. Maybe we can talk about something other than men we can’t have tonight. Our conversations lately would one hundred percent not pass the Bechdel test,” I tease.

“Feminist killjoy,” she grumbles, but she says it with love. “What’s more feminist than discussing sexual desire that has been repressed by the patriarchy for centuries?”

I give her a sideways glance. “I don’t think that’s what Gloria Steinem had in mind.”

She tilts her head back and forth in a maybe-maybe-not motion. “I’m pretty sure it’s not not what Gloria Steinem had in mind.”

I swat at her leg with a throw pillow. She squeals and squirms away from me on the couch. “Oh, I know!” she exclaims. “Can we talk about that book I loaned you?”

“Jenny, that book was essentially porn,” I say with disdain. Her eyes go over-exaggeratedly wide as she smiles mischievously.

“I know. It’s so good, right?” She giggles, and I cringe, moving to grab it off of my nightstand to give back to her. I flop back on the couch as she idly flips through the pages.

We are silent for a moment before I offer, tentatively, “I recommended it to Daniel.”

Her head snaps up at that, a wicked grin on her face. “You did not.”

“Yeah. I was reading it when we were texting, and he asked what I was reading, so I told him. He downloaded it right then and started reading it.”

Jenny hits me playfully with the book, laughing. “You and Evans reading the same sexy book might as well be some kind of nerdy foreplay.”

I make a disgusted noise. “Gross, Jenny. I was teasing him. I had no idea he’d actually read it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Mmm hmm,” she hums noncommittally.

I laugh as I hit her leg with the pillow again, regretting bringing it up. “Can we at least eat? I’m starving, and your meatballs smell amazing.”

“Nothing more feminist than eating food,” she trills. “You own that desire to eat carbs and fat that the patriarchy has insisted you need to give up in order to shrink yourself. Gloria Steinem would be proud!” I throw the pillow in her direction on my way to the kitchen.