Page 28 of Cuffed to my Roomies
“I’m glad you asked. I realize it was purely an expository assignment, and you treated it as such. But you were rather conservative in what you included. There was no mention of the hazards of IUD dislodgment from certain sexual practices or any discussion of effect on sexual pleasure. It was, in a sense, the perfect summary but rather narrow. I’d like to see you be a bit more creative.”
“I see. I’ll make note of that and do some writing exercises to try and be more open minded in my work,” I said, a little confused.
Had she wanted me to make IUDs and lawsuits sexy? What kind of sexual practices was she talking about? I hadn’t thought she’d criticize me for being too objective and professional in my summary. It was like being told my resume looked good but that I should’ve included a picture of my boobs.
“You appear puzzled. What I’m saying is that you need to expand your horizons. If your CV is to be believed, and I suspect it is, you’re a nice girl from a small town who’s in the city for the first time. It’s a charming if familiar narrative. To write for a glossy or its online presence, you need to be more adventurous. Experience life.”
“Are you saying I’m too young?” I asked.
“I’m saying you seem younger than you are because you’re rather wholesome and inexperienced. I’m not suggesting anything drastic, merely that you read more widely and acquaint yourself with topics and lifestyles that are unfamiliar. I’d be happy to recommend some online publications that deal with issues of diversity, the spectrum of sexuality.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said a little tightly. I knew I had a sheltered life, that I was the girl next door. But being told that it was a shortcoming by Liz Markham made me bristle.
“I’ll have Celia send you a reading list. In the meantime, live fully. Explore neighborhoods you haven’t visited, try food you’ve never heard of. I’d like you to give me a list of three prospective topics for an article. Something that would set you outside the confines of your experience. A subject you consider edgy and intriguing. Have the topics by the end of the week for a spec article. I want you to push your boundaries, be less by-the-book. Your research skills were impressive and thorough. I want to see what else you can do. We’ll meet Thursday afternoon to discuss. This is your opportunity, Lynette. I’m willing to help you.”
“I—thank you. That’s amazing,” I said, now feeling less put off and more excited.
“I will mentor you through polishing up the finished product for possible feature in a future issue.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, standing and shaking her hand, “I won’t disappoint you.”
I left feeling elated. She wasn’t saying I was too young or too simple. She was giving me a chance to spread my wings. I wanted to impress her, wanted her to be astounded that I was so dedicated, so bright and creative. I couldn’t wait to tell the guys.
Celia wasn’t at her desk when I left the office, so I just texted Ainsley who sent a string of happy emojis , stars, and flamenco dancers as her response. I messaged Derek and Brett saying I’d buy them both a drink at the bar during my shift, that I had a reason to celebrate. A thrill of heat ran through me. I was turned on just thinking of them.
The fact was, that very morning I’d stumbled into Derek when he was wearing nothing but a towel. He was very muscular and still wet along his collarbone from the shower. I had wanted to lick the water droplets off his skin. Brett was right. I was awfully damned thirsty for a woman who’d gotten it from two men at once. But I wanted it. I had wanted Derek right then. If he would’ve broken the rule, taken me up against the sink just the two of us, I would’ve skipped my shower and gone filthy instead.
The night before, Brett had looked in on me before he went to sleep himself. When I heard the soft knock at the door, I had stopped what I was doing—had turned off my trusty rabbit—and pretended to sleep. I had been so tempted to stir, to fake waking up and reach for him. I wished he would come to me, would sit on the edge of my bed, brush my hair back from my face and reach under the covers. His long, wicked fingers working between my slick folds. I wanted it. I wanted them both, all the time.
I would’ve said six months ago that it was impossible to have feelings like that for more than one man, that the giddy attraction, the heady arousal were meant to be for one man only, a monogamous ideal. An ideal clearly created by a woman who wasn’t lucky enough to be spoiled by two gorgeous cops who met every want and need she had ever dreamed of.
