Page 56 of Grift

Jessica

I’m in the small converted bedroom I co-opted into an office. I’m settling in for a long night of reading, and starting to go through some details of artifacts shoved into the archives for a possible new exhibit.

That’s when I hear the locks turning. So many locks.

They should make me feel safe, but they don’t. If anything, they seem like a constant reminder of how many threats there are out there trying to get to me and how little is actually standing between myself and those dark outcomes.

Patrick.

Patrick’s coming down the l hallway of the condo. The sight of him hits me. Dark slacks, a button-down shirt. His dark hair slightly mussed and five o’clock shadow giving him a rough, lazy quality.

Then I see what’s in his hands.

A bottle of wine in one hand, and a huge bouquet of flowers in the other.

I didn’t even expect him home at a decent hour. He texted to say he’s working late. My yoga pants and silky tunic are hardly what I’d have worn if I’d expected him back. I look like a gym rat, but his appreciative glances tell me he doesn’t mind.

I have to remind myself not to get used to this. Not to get used to him.

He stops just inside the door, broad shoulders taking up the whole space.

“Tell me about the project that you did to digitize a tour of the pyramids.” His face is so intense and the subject so far out of left field that I blink for several seconds.

I look at the clock and do some quick calculations. “What if I do one better?”

A few minutes later, we’re in the Range Rover headed toward the campus. But before we can get too far, Patrick pulls into a small park and climbs out. I wait an awkward second, and then follow him when it’s clear he’s not getting back into the SUV.

“Sorry, I just needed some air.”

He’s walking across the hard-packed ice and snow. It’s been a typical icy gray winter in Boston, but devoid of the white snowfalls that give the city a magical air. Instead, it’s the kind of depressing winter you just have to endure.

I wait, because I’m not sure what else to do.

“You never asked me again about the sex club stuff.”

There’s a knot in my throat suddenly. I don’t really want to talk about this.

“I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would.”

“Well, I want to tell you.”

I don’t expect that. There’s a little creek that would run through this park in the summer, and an expanse that I assume is a soccer field. We just start walking.

“Are you a sadist?”

He stops. “Have I hurt you?”

“Only in the good way.”

He rubs his nose and looks down, a quick smile coming before it erases.

“Good.”

“I mean, I’ve been trying to figure out what you like based on our, well, interactions. You’re dominant, but also not.” He’s watching me intensely and just nods.

“Do you remember you talked about the menu?”

I really don’t want to hear him list off the sex acts he did with other women. The idea of it makes me feel itchy. I know it’s not realistic, but it’s where we are.

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