'M' is For: [Ch11] Sweet Little Lies - Part 1

Meanwhile, I hadn't forgotten Thomas's suggestion that I write my own articles. It took me several months to finish up my first drafts, and even longer of sitting on them before I finally took the plunge and began to submit them. I had drawn up for myself a short-list of publications that were both reputable and had open calls for freelance submissions. Between those two things, the list was short indeed.

I was in for some disappointment. Deep down inside, part of me had hoped that responses would come flooding back with immediate and enthusiastic praise. Instead, more often than not, my submissions were met with complete silence. I was lucky if I got an email reply at all acknowledging that I had sent anything over.

Deciding to take a break to keep my discouragement at bay, I channeled my energy into my surroundings. When I'd first moved into my apartment with nothing but my savings, I'd spent the minimum needed to get myself situated. For the first couple months of living in the city, all I had was a mattress and a little side table I'd rescued from the curb. Now I finally had a bedframe to put the mattress on, but no one could accuse my room of being homey.

So, I persuaded my roommates to take a trip down to IKEA with me. I loaded up our cart with fake plants, an area rug, and a little table lamp for myself. My roommates and I sprung for a few communal items as well, like a bookshelf unit for all our miscellaneous books and games, and some new dishware to stock our kitchen. It felt good to assemble the furniture and transform my living space into something tailored to me. I felt fully in control again. The niggling concern that things had nearly slipped out of my grasp at Missy's last book club was banished to the farthest corners of my mind.

At any rate, Roger's absence from the next book club reassured me. Any awkwardness with Missy seemed to have vanished with him. Missy cajoled me into participating in a few scenes and, for the last hour, jokingly appointed me as the Mistress of Ceremonies in her stead. We had fun trying out a sex swing she'd bought online and, when Kiara got her hands on a Spanish phrase book Thomas had bought for his and Missy's upcoming trip to Spain, we tried out a few new words from its pages. Danielle, who was perfectly fluent in Spanish, grimaced in disgust while the rest of us floundered with rolling our r's in between fits of giggles. She ended up getting the last laugh the moment she got her hands on a spanking paddle. Mistress of Ceremonies or not, I could feel my ass smarting for days afterward.

And then, a week or so into November, I was hanging out on my bed when I idly opened my inbox on my phone. It had been a while since I'd expected a response from any publications. I'd already gotten a few confirmed rejections and had lost track of which ones I was still waiting to hear back from. Now my inbox had returned to its natural state: a relentless stream of marketing spam, a couple email newsletters, and the occasional forwarded article from my dad.

At first, skimming over the new emails at the top of my inbox, I saw pretty much just that. But then I stopped. A few rows down, I saw a new response from one of the magazines I'd submitted to.

Heart hammering, I clicked open the email.

One of the magazines I had submitted to—an online-only publication named Zinc—had accepted my submission and was willing to offer a small payment for it. A feeling of shock rippled through me, followed by a sharp burst of excitement.

It was only a small magazine, I told myself, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Hardly anyone I knew would read it.

But it was a start.

Elated, I texted the first person who came to mind.

See? came Thomas's response almost at once. I knew you could do it. Congrats.

My heart flooded with warmth.

Floating on the high of my magazine acceptance, I wandered into the kitchen. Vaguely, I thought I might tell my roommates if I saw them, but it seemed that Derek was still out with his boyfriend and Sarah was in her room. Instead, I started going through the motions of fixing myself a snack. What kind of a snack, I'd never end up deciding.

I had a jar of peanut butter in my hand when my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Thinking it might be another text from Thomas, I reached for it immediately. To my surprise, the new message was from Edward.

I hadn't seen or heard from Edward since that book club event with Roger. I thought he'd forgotten about his promise of a date and chalked it up to his usual flirtation. For all of Edward's sweet words, I'd noticed he was something of a playboy, frequently seeking out different companions every time I saw him. But, lo and behold, here was Edward following up with a text that read: About that date...any chance you're free next Friday night?

I smiled broadly to myself. I could almost hear his words, with that impeccable British accent, in my ear.

I can arrange for that, I typed back. After a moment's deliberation, I tacked on a winking face to the end of the line. It wasn't every day I had a hot man from across the pond asking to take me out. I might as well have some fun with it.

Perfect. I'm holding you to your word.

Within a couple of hours, Edward had arranged reservations for us at The Terrace.

❖❖❖

The rest of the week seemed to fly by. Between the good news about my little article and the upcoming date with Edward, I was operating at a constant low-level buzz of excitement. The timing of the submission's acceptance ended up being fortuitous, since it gave me an outlet for some productive distraction as I worked on some edits the magazine wanted me to make.

That Thursday, Thomas insisted on treating me to a celebratory lunch. We ended up landing on a nearby sandwich shop that was a popular joint with the lunch crowd. In an aim to beat the rush, we met up in the lobby fifteen minutes before twelve. Even then, there was already a small line forming at the cashier by the time we arrived.

While we waited for the man in front of us to complete his order, I noticed a pair of women behind us who were staring at Thomas. They appeared older than us by a few years, and I guessed that they might be in their early thirties. Despite the general din of the small storefront, it wasn't hard to catch their whispering.

"Oh my god, is he real?"

"Look at that ass...mmph! I could just eat him up for a snack."

I cringed as they giggled.

Thomas didn't give any indication of having heard them. When the cashier was finally free, he stepped up to place our order. Except instead of the water I'd asked for, he ended up grabbing a couple bottles of fancy soda.

"Thomas, what are you doing?" I asked him, elbowing him. "I asked for water, remember?"

Thomas just smiled, not even looking at me as he paid. Evidently, he'd decided my order needed overriding. I huffed my disapproval to let him know what I thought about that, but didn't argue further. Thomas, I'd learned, could be pretty stubborn once he'd set his mind to something.

The women behind us placed their order and then moved to wait beside us. One of them in particular was still openly staring at Thomas, her eyes moving up and down his body in a way that left no doubt of what was going through her mind. I tried my damnedest not to resent her for it. Hell, looking back on it, I was probably equally if not more obvious that day I met Thomas in the elevator. All the same, I found myself grinding my teeth watching this unfold.

Just as the counter called up our order numbers, the woman who'd been craning her neck past me stepped forward.

"Hey," she called out to Thomas. He turned to look at her as though noticing her for the first time. "Do you have a girlfriend, by any chance?"

"I do," Thomas replied calmly. "And I love her very much."

"Oh." The woman glanced at me, then back at Thomas. "Shame. Well, have a nice lunch!"

I stared at her, unable to believe what she was saying so brazenly. Once Thomas had grabbed our orders, as we were walking towards the door, I could hear the other woman clearly, "There's no way that's her. That'd be such a waste. How big do you think he is down there?"

"Based on his height?" They dissolved into giggles as my ears burned.

I nearly turned around then and there, but Thomas's touch on my elbow kept my anger in check...somewhat.

"Wow," I fumed once we were outside. "I can't believe them! That was totally uncalled for. It was like they didn't care at all if we could overhear them."

Thomas shrugged. "It's just words. You can't tell me you haven't heard worse."

He wasn't wrong, of course, but that was besides the point. I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. "So you're telling me you don't care when other people talk about you like that."

Thomas didn't last three seconds holding my gaze before he averted his eyes, cheeks turning pink. "I'm used to it, I guess. Besides, it's not like I'm ever going to see them again."

"If you feel awkward raising it with them, you can tell me next time. I'll let them know they're acting out of line," I scowled. To my surprise and faint dismay, I noticed that Thomas was smiling a little. "What?"

"It's nothing." Thomas immediately adopted a sober, straight-faced expression.

"Tell me!"

Thomas glanced at me sideways. "It's just that I've never had someone get so indignant on my behalf. You looked ready to charge after them."

"I wasn't that bad," I muttered.

"It was cute. It's not so often guys get a knight in shining armor willing to defend their honor," said Thomas.

"Cute?" I wasn't sure whether he was trying to be condescending or not. In my book, 'cute' was a word for small children and puppies. Still, his good humor took the edge off my foul mood, and I found myself smiling reluctantly as well. "Well, you can call on me if you ever need me to fight some dragons for you...or fend off aggressive oglers."

Thomas tweaked my nose. "I'll keep that in mind, my lady knight."

❖❖❖

As per our usual routine, we took our lunch up to the rooftop of our office building. Once we were seated, Thomas handed me one of the bottles of soda he'd bought at the shop.

"This is a celebration," Thomas announced. "It calls for a fancy drink. C'mon." He raised his own bottle.

"Fine, fine." I accepted the bottle, the glass cool under the heat of my palm.

We clinked our bottles and I took a sip, enjoying the vaguely sweet fizz as it dissipated on my tongue. I didn't normally get anything besides water with my lunch, and the lightly fruity drink was a nice change.

"Blackberry, huh? Good choice," I said.

"I thought as much," Thomas said smugly. "So, what is the piece about?"

"Oh, it's a profile on rideshare drivers," I said. "Interviewing them and getting their perspective on the transportation situation in New York City. There's still some work I have to do; the editor at Zinc wanted me to add more stats on the industry at large."

"Makes sense," Thomas said. "Like how Uber has over 72% of the rideshare market in the US?"

"How do you even know that kind of stuff," I said, shaking my head.

"Read it somewhere recently," Thomas said with a shrug. "For some reason, it stuck in my brain." Catching my eye, he grinned wickedly at me. "Guess I'm not just another pretty face."

Unable to think of an appropriately clever response to that, I just grimaced and took a bite of my sandwich. "Show-off."

We ate for a few minutes in silence until I'd gotten through enough of my sandwich to ask, "So, are you excited for your trip to Spain? How's the Spanish coming along?"

Missy's dad apparently had business come up in Barcelona, and the family had turned it into an excuse for a last-minute vacation. Thomas, as Missy's boyfriend, had also been invited. Missy was too cool to give off the impression of being excited, per se, but she'd been unable to resist dropping little hints and details into our conversations. Piecing it together, I knew they were going to be traveling in style, having found some phenomenal villa that they were going to spend the majority of their time at. I was almost as envious of the far-flung destinations on their itinerary as I was of the fact that they were able to take two weeks off of work.

Thomas, however, groaned at my question. "Not even functional. I'm feeling pretty confident about asking for the bathroom, but god help me if they do anything other than point." He glanced down at his sandwich. "Still, that's the least of my worries. I want to treat Missy's family to a memorable experience to thank them, but it isn't easy finding something that'll impress and not completely break the bank."

"So don't try to impress," I said. Thomas blinked.

I'd never before weighed in on the expensive gifts he gave or the elaborate dates he planned for Missy, even when I watched him agonize over the details and count the pennies for weeks afterward. At first, I'd accepted it as just part of their relationship. But the more I got to know Thomas, the more it stood out as strange to me.

"Missy's never asked you to do any of those things, so why do you do it?"

"I...I guess it just kind of started, and now it's become tradition," muttered Thomas, running his hand distractedly through his hair. "I know what kind of people Missy dated before. I don't want to let her down."

"Missy loves you for who you are," I argued. "She'd be glad of anything you did or gave her. You don't have to match that rich tycoon from Paraguay or some fifth-generation lord she met in Scotland."

Thomas made a show of covering his face with his hands. "Wow, you're really laying me bare today, aren't you?"

"I'm serious!"

"I know, I know..." Thomas lowered his hands, smiling. "I'll think about it." I rolled my eyes, suspicious he'd do no such thing, but wise enough to know when to let things drop. "I'll let you know what I end up finding. If you're nice to me, maybe I'll even send you photos from Spain."

"While I'll be stuck in my tiny apartment, yes. Go ahead, rub it in."

Thomas threw back his head and laughed, acknowledging his teasing. "How about you? Got any TV shows to catch up on?"

"Oh, definitely. Two whole days' worth, at least. And..." I could feel myself blushing. "I do have a date with Edward on Friday. You remember him, right?"

"The tall British guy?" The levity left Thomas's face as his expression grew unusually somber.

"Yeah, that's the one." I paused. "Why? Is there something I should know about him?"

Thomas hesitated. "No, nothing like that. From everything I've seen and heard, he's a nice guy. It's just...well, he has a bit of a reputation for being a playboy."

I smiled, though I was touched by Thomas's concern all the same. "If that's the worst thing about him, I'll take that. I'm not exactly looking for a long-term relationship right now, anyway."

Thomas smiled crookedly. "Well, as long as you know. I just wouldn't want to see you get hurt." He cleared his throat. "So, where is your date going to be?"

"He's taking me to some restaurant called The Terrace."

Thomas exhaled sharply and leaned back into the bench.

"Have you heard of it?" I asked, surprised.

"Oh, yes. It's a really nice restaurant. Missy's been a couple times. The restaurant owner poached the chef from Le Poulet Bleu. That's all I remember, though of course if Missy were here, she'd be able to tell you his exact name and how many Michelin-starred restaurants he has under his belt." Thomas shook his head. "Apparently the food is amazing. Reservations are usually booked weeks in advance."

"I...I've never heard of Le Poulet Bleu," I confessed, feeling caught off-guard by this revelation. I wondered what strings Edward had pulled to get us a table on such short notice.

I suppose I should have felt flattered, but at that moment, I only registered a sense of vague panic. It was one thing to be Edward's favored partner at Missy's book club events, quite another to have him go to such apparent lengths to woo me. What was going through Edward's mind? And—a new, disquieting thought took hold of me—what if I made a complete fool out of myself at this restaurant?

Something of my feelings must have shown on my face, because Thomas's expression softened.

"You'll have a good time, really," Thomas said. "And even if your date doesn't go well, which I doubt will be the case, at least you can brag about it at Missy's next book club. It'll make everyone green with envy."

"Thanks," I said gruffly. Imagining Kiara's explosively enthusiastic reaction did cheer me up a little...until a new thought occurred to me. "I'm probably going to have to dress up, aren't I? Wear high heels and...like...do my hair..."

Thomas laughed. "You'll be fine. I promise." He glanced at me sideways. "And if you wear high heels...do send me photos."

I chucked a fry at him and he ducked, laughing again.

We finished lunch with fifteen minutes to spare before my next meeting. As I stood, brushing a few stray sandwich crumbs from my pants, a loud slamming sound ripped through the air. I caught Thomas's eye, and we both whipped around to look at the door. Either we hadn't secured the brick as well as we had thought, or somehow it had moved, because the door we used to access the roof was now firmly and indisputably closed.

I reached for the door handle and pulled. It didn't budge.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said. My mouth had gone dry.

"Let me try," said Thomas, reaching past me for the handle. The muscles in his arm bunched up as he pulled as hard as he could, but soon he was stepping back and releasing the handle. Thomas shook his head. There was no doubt about it: we were locked out on the roof.