Page 45 of Rules in Love
After a collective gasp and a few claps of what I thought was support, I heard footsteps approach. “Thank you, Miss Grant. I think you should leave.” Professor Singh stood behind me, her hands crossed over her chest and her lavender glasses resting on the tip of her nose.
“Me? Why do I have to leave? These three clowns are the ones hurling insults.”
“Look, I don’t know, and to be honest, I don’t care. I heard you swearing, not them, and I have had enough of your”—she looked down at my stomach and then back to my face—“interruptions. You can submit your final assessments for the term like you will all next term’s work. Online. Good day, Miss Grant.”
“But—”
Her glasses almost slipped off as she dropped her head, narrowed her eyes, and glared. “I said good day, Miss Grant.” Snickering echoed around me as I collected my things and left. “Right, now that that uncomfortableness is over, let’s get back to work.”
Current day
Tears poured down my cheeks. I sat in the bath, drinking rosé straight from the bottle and pulling off the fake lashes I’d put on this morning in a vain effort to cheer myself up.
“Don’t dip your quill in the office pot.”
It had been a week. A good week, too. Ben had been at home. We cooked together and went skating. He won a sports award at vacation care and helped with the dishes every night. Even at work, Finn and I had made great progress on the house. But I was still raw.
You are such a fucking idiot. Let it go already.
It was an expression I’d heard before. But for some reason, the wordpotin that context hurtled me back in time. I was that scared, pregnant girl everyone stared at, who one night lost her virginity to an American and became the biggest slut, or Cum Pot, in Cambridge. In a heartbeat, all my deep-seated insecurities over my teenage motherhood, being unworthy, and fear of judgment came together and culminated in a perfect storm of stupid. To top it off, when Finn gave his perfectly valid reasons for sticking to friendship, most of which were my own stupid ideologies and none of which included references to any type of #holife, I still chose to believe the worst.
Then, instead of cooling my heels over the weekend, seeing reason, and talking to Finn like a mature adult on Monday morning, I doubled down and iced him out. Even alone, half tanked and stewing in my own filth, I was flushed with embarrassment, the heat of which had me adding cool water to the already tepid bubbles. I was ashamed not only of my reaction but because I was continuing to let my past dictate my future. I’d given those judgmental, nasty twats my power for years. I let the names, looks, and stereotypes get to me so much that I hid my son, accused an adorable guy of calling me a slut, and let my paranoia possibly ruin something that could have been special. And now, I had to travel upstate with that someone and be super professional and brilliant while wanting to die on the inside.
My conundrum led me to HR Jan. Over tea and biscuits, we had a good, soul-cleansing chat. “There are three things I want you to remember, Scarlett. One, your fear is understandable and valid, and you have nothing to be ashamed of in not talking about Ben. Let’s face it, there are men in this firm with kids that no one has heard of because no one thinks to ask them. It’s just not an issue. Even if they have kids, it wouldn’t be seen as a hindrance to their career. Two, supposedly, we’re all adults here. If it’s done discreetly and preferably not with a superior, there is no rule against inter-office dating. Don’t let your fears stop something you seem to feel is special. Third, over half of America’s romantic relationships are formed in the workplace. It’s not the scandal you seem to think it is. You know what, I have four things,” she added, taking a sip of her drink and chewing thoughtfully on a cookie. “I think I know who prompted these questions, and the very same person may have already asked me some similar questions. He’s quite lovely—massive too.”
Jan was right. Finn was massive. She probably had a point about the other stuff, but the massive part was spot on. While I couldn’t tell what was lurking beneath the costume, I could feel every other muscle in that man’s body as I begged him to take me home and fuck me.
Remembering the slight bite and drag of his teeth, I sunk further into the water and pressed a finger to my lips. Never had I been kissed like that. It was a panty-soaking, knee-buckling ten on the Richter scale. Even days later, the mere thought of being pressed under his body had me clenching my thighs and, if at home, reaching for my bullet.
“You’re wet for me, Scarlett. Just like I knew you’d be.”
Damn. Such a sweet boy. Such a filthy mouth.
I splashed my face one last time, sipped the final drops of wine, dragged myself from the bath, and lay my still-damp body in my bed. My wet hair flipped forward, brushing the screen of my phone. It lit up, revealing my beautiful Benny’s smiling face, ten missed calls, and just as many messages. Ignoring them, I flopped onto my stomach with my head twisted to the side and stared at the mess covering my floor. “So much mess to clean. Such little time.”
My phone buzzed again. It was Teddy.
Teddy: You have been avoiding me all week.
That was true. I’d ghosted not only Finn but Teddy too. I couldn’t process his level of realism while being so sad and horny.
Teddy: I gave you time to sulk, but it’s done. I know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, and I’m sick of you not talking about it. He didn’t mean it like that, Scar. He was doing the right thing, but maybe in the wrong way.
Me: I know. That’s why I am hiding. I am embarrassed. I was so angry at him. I don’t know how to come back from that. I junk-punched him, for fuck’s sake.
Teddy: Try sitting on his face.
Teddy: Sorry, typo. I meant, try sitting next to him and saying just that. I was angry. I thought about it. Now I am not. Sorry for the ball slap.
Teddy: Then sit on his face.
Me: Goodnight.
Teddy: We all fuck up sometimes, Scar. You gotta stop being so hard on yourself. Talk to him. I swear it will be okay.
Teddy: Especially if you sit on his face.
My doorbell rang three times. Heavy footsteps climbed the stairs, and Teddy slipped beneath my sheets.
