Life Goes On--Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Professor Barnes wasn’t in class on Thursday. Nick walked into the classroom about five minutes after it was supposed to start, looking slightly green. I learned why when he walked to the computer to load a presentation before standing behind the podium.

He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on a spot on the wall at the back of the room. “Professor Barnes is sick and he asked me to give a lecture today about my thesis project.” He spoke quickly, his voice shaking and he paused to swallow loudly, never moving his eyes. “While my lecture is consistent with that taught in this course, the content will not be on either the next midterm or the final, you don’t need to take notes and if you want to leave and use this period to study for the midterm we have in a week and a half, you may.” He paused again and finally allowed his eyes to roam the room, as though pleading for everyone to leave so that he didn’t have to give the lecture. Half of me wanted to stand up and break the ice in case anyone wanted to go who didn’t have the courage to desert. The other half of me wanted to stay and send positive energy to Nick. I really was interested in his thesis subject, so in the end, I stayed and Nick’s expression looked like he was silently whimpering when everyone else stayed as well.

I coughed loudly to get his attention. When he finally looked at me (as was half the class because I sounded like I was dying), I gave him my best smile to encourage him. The smile he returned was small, almost a grimace, but his shoulders seemed to relax a tiny bit.

He cleared his throat and this time his focus was on me. “Okay. So, I’m interested in the lives of medieval European women, specifically from 1200 to 1500 CE.” He clicked the pointer and the first page of his presentation appeared on the screen.

I choked back a scream. It was a photograph of a painting I’d posed for in 1329. One of my artistic, and coincidentally gay, husbands had talked me into standing for it and I’d agreed. It was my face he’d used on The Virgin’s body and it was the first time that I’d posed for anything. I hadn’t seen any of them in over a hundred years and always they’d been standing anonymously on someone’s wall or in a museum.

I looked at Nick and prayed that he hadn’t seen my panicked expression. He frowned slightly, but seemed to shrug it off.

He discussed his method for finding nuggets of information on women, so long ignored by historians, specifically using court cases and wills and that his focus was on how women differed from and challenged the society that men, and other women, created for them. I could tell that he was turning on every woman in the room, many of whom I’d seen in the women’s history courses I’d taken. There aren’t many men willing to admit to taking women’s studies courses, let alone join the major.

His presentation included quite a few photos of various artistic pieces I’d posed for. My shock had worn off and once Nick “zenned” into the subject that he so obviously loved, he was able to talk calmly. If I hadn’t seen his behavior at the beginning of class, I would never have known that he had such severe stage fright.

No one noticed that the class period had ended until a student from the next class opened the door. It was obvious that Nick was going to be a fantastic professor if he decided to go in that direction.

I packed my things quickly into my backpack and waited for Nick in the hallway.

“You did great,” I told him, grinning.

“I guess. Thanks for the support. I really thought I was going to puke at first.” He looked sheepish. “What kind of historian has stage fright?”

“I noticed. Hence my rather fantastic interpretation of a person hacking up a lung.”

He laughed. “So,” he said, his laughter fading and he shifted his feet. “I have an extra ticket to see J. Nathan Bazzel do Jefferson downtown tonight. You want to come?”

I held my breath for half a second. He was asking me out on a date? “Umm…sure, if it’s not over too late. I’m expected at Clark Elementary at 9am tomorrow.”

“It’s from 8 to 10 with a small reception afterwards, but we can skip that if you need to leave.” He had that pleading look in his eyes again. “I really don’t want to go alone. Most of the history department is going to be there…including my ex-girlfriend,” he mumbled, “and I’d rather not go stag since…” he trailed off and looked down at the floor for a moment before he met my eyes. “It’s just as friends, honestly.” He crossed his heart.

I laughed. “I’ll be your arm candy. Don’t worry.”

“Do you want to grab dinner before? Or we can just meet at the theater.”

“Dinner is good. How about Downtown Thai? I’ll meet you there at 6:30?”

“Okay. I’ll be there.” We parted at the stairs where he went off towards the TA office and I went up to the exit.

At home I sorted through my closet looking for something suitable to wear. I’d kept a few outfits from throughout my life and I liked wearing them for costume and Halloween parties. I pulled a crisp white shirtwaist from the closet. This decade, I mostly wear “vintage” t-shirts and jeans to fit in with the typical 21st century college crowd, but my shirtwaists had proved to be a fun alternative. Jeans would be too informal for the show and if I wore a long skirt with the shirtwaist, I’d definitely look weird. I put it back and reached for one of my favorite items.

It was a riding habit from the mid-18th century. It’s a simple piece, black wool with blue trim and a high collar. Jacob had wanted me to order something much more elaborate, but I was firm on the fact that I favored practicality over fashion. For all that it was plain, it complimented my figure in a way that the more decorated jackets didn’t, flaring out at the waist to emphasize the taper. In all my years, there have always been women who would rather look bad in something full of ornamentation, than something plain yet flattering.

I decided to pair the jacket with a black pencil skirt and simple pair of black pumps. I hopped into the shower to freshen up before I got dressed. For the first time since my marriage to Phillip, I had to pull my corset strings tight enough to alter my waist in order to fit into my jacket. For all that I hated the corset during that marriage and rebelled against the fashion ideal that a smaller waist is a better waist, when used, I guess properly, I found I got more support from my corset than a modern bra. Normally I’d tie it to match my natural figure, but now my waist was bigger than it’d ever been before. I only had to remove an inch, but it was still a pain. Yeah, I was definitely going to go to the gym…next week.

I started walking towards downtown at six and by six-fifteen I was regretting my clothing choice. It had been too long since I’d used the corset to cut off my circulation and I had to walk slowly to keep from fainting.

Nick was waiting for me outside of Downtown Thai. “You look great,” he told me, looking me up and down. He was wearing a dark blue silk button down and dark slacks with basic black dress shoes.

“Thanks,” I said, a bit breathlessly. “Shall we go in?”

He took my arm and led me inside. “I took the liberty of making a reservation, just in case.”

“That was a good idea.” We were seated quickly and I had to sit up extra straight to keep my blood and air flowing properly.

“Are you alright? You look a little pale.” Nick’s expression was concerned as he peered at me over his menu.

“I’m fine. Just my vanity getting the best of me,” I told him, trying to breathe out in a way that would grant me an extra bit of space.

“Your vanity? What did you do?” he asked, setting aside his menu and looking me over again.

I blushed. “My jacket wasn’t fitting, so I put on a corset—I’m cutting off some of my circulation. But I’m okay. I’ll adjust eventually, you don’t need to worry; just don’t expect me to do any running.” I laughed quietly.

Nick’s eyes narrowed during my explanation. “That’s stupid. Your body is fine.” He let out a breath loudly. “I’m shocked that you of all people would do something like this—you seemed so comfortable in your own skin, but I guess you’re just like other silly women thinking your appearance is the most important thing!” His voice rose with his anger. He stood up. “I’m sorry, but I cannot condone such actions.” He reached for his wallet. “Here’s your ticket to the show,” he said, holding it out to me.

I didn’t take it from him. I sat there stunned. No man had ever said anything like that to me. In fact, more than one had made me tie my corset tighter or to do other things that I hadn’t cared to. I blinked up at him in shock.

It took a moment for me to find my voice. “Wait! Please! Please sit down,” I begged him as he moved to leave. “Let me explain.”

He scowled down at me with his hands jammed into his pockets. “I don’t think that there’s anything to explain.”

“I didn’t put on the corset to make myself look smaller,” I told him quickly. “I just love this jacket and I wanted to wear it tonight. I didn’t realize that I’d gained so much weight; it used to fit perfectly. I’ve never had trouble when I put on my corset before, so I’m as shocked as you are about my predicament.” I noticed that people were staring at us. “Please sit down. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m more than uncomfortable enough for both of us.”

He sighed and looked around, not seeming to see anything, before he sat down again. “Sorry about my outburst; I just really have a problem with women hurting themselves for society’s whims.” He looked a little sheepish.

“It’s fine. I actually appreciate the sentiment—not many guys would say something like that. I want you to know that if I’d known that I was going to have this much trouble breathing, I would never have worn this outfit. Like I said, I’ve never had this much trouble with the corset and by the time I regretted the choice I was running late.”

A tiny Thai woman came over to ask if we were ready to order. The distress on her face told us that she’d stayed back, not wanting to interrupt Nick’s tirade. We both ordered Pad Thai, mine mild pork and water to drink, his spicy beef and sweet tea.

“I hope that I can eat like this,” I told him, laughing again. I quickly regretted the laughter when I had to gulp air for relief. “Ugh. Now I know how Keira Knightly fell off the wall in Pirates of the Caribbean,” I said, rubbing my chest.

“You really should just go home and change. It can’t be good for you to wear that thing,” he said, drawing out the last word.

I waved my hand. “I’ll be fine. I’m stubborn enough to exist without air.”

He shook his head. “I can bet,” he murmured.

We sat in silence. “Are you mad at me?” I finally asked tentatively.

“No. I mean, I have no reason to be mad at you—it’s your life. I just reacted badly. Let’s talk about something else. How about those Cowboys?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into half a smile.

“Ugh. I hate the Cowboys…and the Redskins, so don’t even ask. When it comes to football and just about all sports I root for the underdog unless I can’t stand them.” I felt a sudden pinch on my side from the corset and wiggled in my seat to ease the pain.

“That’s probably the stupidest invention ever,” he told me.

“Not really. In my own experience, it’s more comfortable and supports better than a modern bra and more versatile than structured clothing. It’s just when it was used to make waists smaller that it became a nuisance,” I admitted without thinking. My eyes went involuntarily wide when I realized what I’d said. Modern women don’t wear corsets!

“You make it almost sound like you wear a corset under normal circumstances,” he said, turning to thank the waitress who brought our food. She heard the nature of our conversation and I saw her face grimace as though she expected Nick to start shouting again. I smiled at her as I accepted my dinner, stalling for time.

“Yes,” I told him, finally. “I do wear a corset usually. And that’s why I can tell you that there have been much worse inventions throughout history. Take the air conditioner, for one. Prior to its general use, homes were being built with what we now call “Green” ideas. They employed building practices that maximized cross-ventilation and were turned to take the best advantage of the sun. Then the air conditioner was came along and homes became dependent on non-renewable energy to heat and cool them. Sixty years later and we’re moving back to building practices used in the Thirties and Forties—what was the point? And don’t get me started on the gas engine for automobiles. There were plenty of cars running on electricity back in 1900. Could you imagine where we’d be if the gas engine hadn’t taken over the market? And it’s not like there was that great of an advantage for gas over electric, as the current market for such vehicles indicates.”

“Okay, okay. No need to bite my head off,” he laughed, holding up his hands. “Eat so that you can’t lecture me anymore.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to get me started on plastic,” I replied, taking a bite of my pad thai. Delicious.

We talked about his thesis subject and I asked him what he’d learned about sex in medieval times.

He choked on his noodles and swallowed half of his tea before he could answer me. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, it’s the obvious question, isn’t it? It’s the ultimate thing that wasn’t published, so aren’t you curious about how it was? I took a class last semester called Women in America and our all female class felt comfortable in discussion section wondering about the sex lives of Puritans. I mean, they’d have a dozen kids in a two room house; it isn’t much of stretch to think that they were having sex with children in the room, or even in the bed with them. You shame the feminists you claim to promote if you ignore such an important part of everyday life.” I scowled at him before smiling to show him that I wasn’t very serious.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sex is complicated enough without me trying to make a historical statement on it. I just want to show women acting against the societal rules…”

“Which includes sex,” I interrupted, laughing.

“…and am not complicating things by speculating on a subject that has no objective, or even subjective, evidence,” he finished, ignoring my interruption. He checked his watch. “We should get moving if we want to get a good seat for Jefferson.”

He stood to pay the bill before I could even get out of my seat. My years of practice at sitting and standing elegantly had obviously deteriorated due to malnourishment because I was having trouble standing up without bending my back, impossible to do with my corset as tight as it was. I finally was able to scoot to the edge of my chair so that my short legs could get the leverage they needed to stand up.  I vowed again to go to the gym and to never tighten my corset beyond my natural waist again.

Nick was shaking his head again when I joined him at the door. I ignored it and started walking towards the Paramont without him. He caught up to me after only three steps, not exactly difficult in my current condition.

There was a line already forming outside the theater. It’s no wonder in this town that a Jefferson interpreter would be so popular. There was a knot of professor-types standing off to one side, laughing. Nick waved at them before walking over with me following behind.

“Gretchen, this is Professors Jones, Robbins, Patterson, Cooper, and Richmond,” he told me, indicating each. “They make up the majority of the Early American History department.”

I shook hands with them all, exchanging welcomes.

“We plan to test this Bazzel guy with the really hard questions,” Professor Robbins told me conspiratorially. “I wonder where he stands on the problem of Jefferson being the ultimate hypocrite when it comes to his ‘Ten Rules to Live By.’” She laughed. The tiny, plump woman peered at me over her spectacles (this woman did not wear glasses—they were definitely spectacles), “you do know that he broke every single one of his rules, right?”

“Oh yes ma’am,” I said quickly. “He bought so much stuff on credit and had to sell land and slaves to pay for it and he left his heirs a massive amount of debt to deal with after his death, which breaks two of his rules for sure.”

“Ahh, the girl knows her history. Good choice, Nick,” she praised, patting him on his back. He looked uncomfortable at the implications of that statement.

“We’re just friends,” he told her firmly, but she waved her hand ignoring him. I just smiled politely, looking at the rest of the professors who seemed amused by the conversation.

“Are you in the history department?” Cooper asked me.

“Yes sir, but I’m not in any particular area—I’m just taking whatever classes sound interesting.”

Professor Richmond turned to me, “Have you taken anything in the American History section?”

“I took your Civil War class last year—I really liked it a lot, especially your focus on what was happening in Congress while the states were seceding. It gave a refreshing perspective to the conflict.” Richmond looked impressed, too. “But the real question,” I continued, “is why a medieval Europe TA is hanging out with a bunch of American history professors.” I looked up at Nick.

“Easy, I majored in American history for my undergrad. Professor Richmond was my advisor.” He shrugged and started scanning the crowd, I supposed, for his ex. He must have spotted her because he moved a step closer to me. “The doors are open,” he informed us.

The professors found their place in line and we filed in behind them. Nick pulled out his wallet for our tickets and frowned when he only found one.

“It’s in your pocket,” I told him quietly, remembering that he’d stuck it there when I’d refused to take it from him at dinner.

“Oh yeah,” he said, blushing slightly. He pulled the now crumpled ticket out of his pocket and tried to straighten it before he handed it to the ticket taker. The girl looked at Nick as though wondering what the poor ticket had done to him.

He took back the stubs without comment and put my arm through his before guiding me to the main auditorium. We found seats next to the professors who looked more like teenagers about to heckle a movie than serious college professors about to listen to a program. Professor Robbins had even pulled some Milk Duds out of her purse. I declined the offer of the candy.

Nick wordlessly offered me his hand to sit in the padded folding seat. I took it gratefully, though I think I could have sat without incident if I’d tried very hard. I felt Professor Cooper’s eyes on me, but I ignored the question he didn’t ask.

I settled into my seat and only had to push myself up with my arms once when it became too hard to breathe. One cannot slouch while one is wearing a corset. Bazzel turned out to be a great interpreter of Jefferson. He addressed the controversies and quirks of Jefferson with the same wit and charm that it’s most likely the third president possessed. I was quite surprised to find that the two hours had passed so quickly.

“Are you ready to leave or do you want to go to the reception?” Nick asked me, once again offering his arm.

“Let’s go to the reception. I want to see Professor Robbins corner Jefferson,” I said, grinning up at him as I stood.

He laughed. “Yeah, that should be something to see.” We followed the crowd to the lobby which had been transformed into a reception area, namely by the addition of two tables filled with food and drink. Nick and I avoided the tables and were discussing the idea of leaving because the crowd made it impossible to get near Bazzel when she appeared again.

“Sharon,” Nick nodded to her in greeting.

“Nick!” she said excitedly, kissing him on the cheek with her hug. “I didn’t expect you here. I thought you were done with us Americans.” She laughed loudly.

Nick shrugged. “You know that I like stuff like this.”

“Oh! Who’s this?” Sharon asked, suddenly seeing me. She was much closer to Nick’s height, about seven inches taller than me. I wasn’t quite sure if her blond hair was natural or not, but she was very pretty with big blue eyes and wearing a red wrap dress that hugged every one of her curves.

“This is Gretchen. She’s in Professor Barnes class and graciously agreed to accompany me tonight.” I shook her hand, noting the formal way Nick introduced me. He was trying to keep all emotion from his voice. They must have broken up fairly recently.

“You! Dating a student? I cannot believe that Mr. Straitlaced himself would ever do such a thing.” She looked me up and down as thought sizing me up.

“We’re not dating,” I told her, just as stiff as Nick. “We were talking about class and somehow the conversation got to how I wished I’d been able to get a ticket to tonight’s show. When Nick told me that he had an extra one, I told him that he wasn’t coming without me.” If Nick was shocked that I’d lied so smoothly, he didn’t show it on his face. He even nodded a bit as though he hadn’t practically begged me to come with him that very afternoon.

“Oh.” She shrugged at the information, as though bored. “That’s an interesting jacket you’re wearing. Is it vintage?”

“Yes. I picked it up at some shop awhile ago.” I told her.

“It fits you like a glove! Can you even breathe in that? Did you have it tailored?” She gestured for me to spin around, which I did. “If so, they did a fantastic job! It must be so hard for you to find clothes to fit your body.”

“No, it’s not tailored. I was just blessed with a body from the 1800s. It’s one of the few things that I like about my height and shape—I can wear just about anything over two hundred years old.”

“You’re so lucky.” she laughed, flipping her hair. “I just can’t wear anything off the rack.” Her smile seemed forced.

“That’s too bad.” I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of her looking like a stick.

“And on that note,” Nick interrupted, “I think it’s time for me to take Gretchen home. I’ll see you later Sharon.” He took my arm and steered me towards the door, not stopping until we were outside.

“Stop! Can’t! Breathe!” I told him, panting. He’d dragged me a little too quickly out of the theater. He paused to allow me a minute to breathe shallowly. I felt another pinch, which I rubbed to relieve. “Okay,” I said after a couple minutes. “I’m good.”

He started walking towards my apartment building. His stiff posture told me that he was irritated…again.

“Now what?”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You’re in a bad mood again and I want to know what I did this time.” I stopped walking and put my hands on my hips.

He turned to look at me. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me…or her…or I don’t know why I’m mad.” He stared up at the stars for a minute. “I have no idea why she suddenly decided to break up with me a couple weeks ago and that’s frustrating.”

“And you still love her,” I said, wearing my serene, all knowing expression and nodding slowly.

“Yes, no…I don’t know.” he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets again.

“Well, you’ve come to the right woman. If there’s anyone on this planet who understands what it’s like to love someone and not have their love in return that’d be me.” Oh how true, how true.

“I really don’t think I should talk about this with a student…”

“Then forget that I’m a student,” I told him. “I thought we’d decided that we were friends.”

He groaned. “Fine.” He started walking again. “We started dating fourth year after we’d both been accepted to the grad program, after being friends for a few years. I thought things were going great and we were even discussing marriage and then out of the blue she breaks up with me and won’t even tell me why. I don’t think that there’s another guy, but isn’t the partner always the last to know?”

“She called you ‘Mr. Straightlaced’—do you think that maybe she found you to be too conservative for her taste? That’s gotten in my way a few times.”

“You sound like you’ve had a lot of relationships,” he commented idly before answering. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m too conservative; you know, being a feminist and all.”

“You know, there’s more to a relationship than conversation that can be condemned by one’s preferences. Maybe you are too conservative in the bedroom?” I asked gently.

“What is it about you and sex?!?” Nick asked too loudly, turning to face me. “Is that all you think about?” His face was bright red from embarrassment.

“No, it’s not the only thing I think about, but it is an important part of any relationship. And trust me when I say that it can be the difference between one that lasts and one that falls apart for seemingly no reason. And if you are this uncomfortable talking about it with a friend, then I’m willing to bet that you’re just as uncomfortable talking about it with the person that matters—and if you can’t talk about it, then it’s partially your fault if the relationship fails,” I said gently, resting my hand on his arm.

“Look, I grew up in a household where such stuff wasn’t discussed beyond ‘don’t get your girlfriend pregnant’. And that was enough sex education for me. So can we please change the subject?” He was obviously flustered by this conversation.

“Fine, fine, but I really think that you should think about it.”

We walked in silence the rest of the way to my door.

“I don’t want to seem weird, but can I have your phone number?” he asked. “In case I want to talk about stuff...” he said vaguely.

“Sure, and let me have yours.” We traded the numbers before saying goodbye.

“I’ll see you Saturday, I guess.” He said before turning to leave.

…

I would have run up the three flights of stairs to my apartment if that had been physically possible, but as it was, the only sprinting I did was to get through the row of buttons on the front of my jacket and take it off as soon as I got through my door. When I reached for the strings at the back of my corset, I found…Hell. The stupid bow I’d tied behind my back had knotted and I couldn’t work it loose. I struggled with it for almost five minutes and was nearly in tears when I realized my luck. I grabbed for my cell phone and prayed that I hadn’t transposed the numbers for Nick.

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh thank God!” I swooned. “I need help, please.”

“Help? What’s wrong?” His voice sounded strained. I could hear his footsteps as though he was running.

“I’m stuck! Karma’s a bitch and my stupid corset won’t let me out!”

There was a whoosh of breath on his end of the phone and the footfalls were gone, like he’d stopped running and bent over to laugh. “You should cut the damn thing off and be done with it.”

“No! I can’t. Do you know how hard it is to find a corset that is both tasteful and comfortable? For some reason all the lingerie stores want to sell me exotic things that women wear like they’re outer clothes. I don’t care if you laugh your ass off, please get me out!”

He was still snickering when he wheezed “I’m at your apartment building, which number are you in?”

“302,” I pushed the button to let him into the foyer.

“No elevator?”

“Sorry,” I said sarcastically. “You’ll get real sympathy from me when you climb all those stairs in a corset that is cutting off all your air. Hurry!”

“You seemed fine earlier tonight, what’s the rush now?” He huffed, apparently not used to climbing stairs, even in this town.

“Earlier I knew I’d be out of it in a matter of hours. I’m getting claustrophobic from that feeling that I’m going to be stuck forever.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming…hold your horses,” he wheezed again, but this time from the climb, not laughter. “How the hell did you get up these stairs before?”

“Practice.”

“I’m here.”

I opened the door before hanging up my cell. Nick was bent in half in my hallway, trying to catch his breath. I grabbed his collar and tried not to slam the door when I pulled him into my apartment. Honest.

“Get me out!” I said through gritted teeth, presenting my back to him.

He coughed, rubbing his neck. “Woman, have some patience. And I can’t reach the knot or see what I’m doing with you standing on the floor.” He went to the dining table and brought back a chair. “Excuse me,” he said, just as a formality before he picked me up by the waist and stood me on it.

I stood, using the back of the chair to keep my balance, while he worked at the knot at the small of my back. After a few minutes of no progress, and with more than a few grunts from both parties, he warned me that he was going to do something “that is probably going to hurt.”

He grabbed what he could of both sides of the corset and pulled them tighter to give some slack to the strings. I whimpered and saw stars. But he was able to loosen the knot and quickly pulled the sides apart again. For the first time in nearly five hours I was able to take a full breath. The feeling was almost orgasmic, and I threw my arms around Nick’s neck in thanks.

“My hero,” I moaned into his shoulder. He put his arm around my waist and lifted me down from the chair as I slid limply to the floor. “Air is good.”

He laughed quietly before untangling my arms and nudging me to sit on the chair. I smiled up at him, not caring that the corset was drooping and my camisole was showing more of my breasts than it was covering. I saw him lick his lips after glancing down. I chuckled and he blushed knowing that I knew he’d peeked. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s fine. If I didn’t want you looking, I would have covered myself better,” I told him lightly, giving a small shrug that might have attracted his eyes to my chest again. It had been a long time since I’d let a man share my bed; after my last relationship I’d decided that I was tired of being hurt and all my dates since had been purely platonic. Ninety years is a long time to be celibate, but I wasn’t sure that I wanted to change our budding friendship that way so soon. I held my breath (in a manner of speaking—I wasn’t going to go there again) waiting to see what he would do.

Nick cleared his throat. “I should go.”

I gave a small nod, though neither of us moved. We stared into each other’s eyes, wondering what the other would do and what they wanted. Nick broke the tension when he closed his and took a step away from me, making the situation clear.

I nodded again. “That’s probably the best decision,” I said quietly. “Not the most fun,” I told him, louder, chuckling, “but probably the best.”

He gave me a small smile before he turned around and let himself out of the apartment. I stood and removed the corset before throwing myself onto the couch to watch some mind numbing television before bed. Yep. Celibacy sucks.

Chapter 4