Page 55 of The Roommate Subtext

Maggie could deal with a lot, but she couldn’t deal with Cora becoming collateral damage.

Maggie shook her head to clear it. She attached her article draft to an email and sent it to Chauvel.

She was blessedly distracted from that line of thought when Blake came back into the living room toting the small, wheeled cart they used for groceries.

She looked up from her laptop. “Does ‘final errands’ mean food shopping?”

“You guessed it. Anything you want me to pick up while I’m there?”

“You don’t mind?”

“I mean, don’t ask me for more than I can carry in the cart.” He got his grocery list from the fridge. He had one of those long grocery list memo pads that moms used to have in the pre-internet days, the kind with a giant magnet on the back, and he always kept a running list of the items he was low on. She didn’t even know where someone bought a memo pad like that these days.

Maggie checked her shelves in the cupboard and fridge and named a handful of items, which he dutifully scribbled down. “I appreciate it. I hate getting groceries.”

“Happy to help.” Blake gave her a jaunty salute. “I want to get everything done before the gala so the only thing I have to do after the gala is lie on the couch and relax.”

“Are you really stressed out?”

Blake added a couple of reusable shopping bags into the cart. “I’m nervous, but it’s more like, I’m tired of thinking about it and I want to go ahead and do it. Do you know what I mean?”

Maggie nodded. She was like that with a lot of things in her life.

Blake headed out with his list and supplies, and Maggie sat in the silence of the condo. She’d been wanting to write to the Pimpernel all day, but she felt guilty with her article sitting in Chauvel’s inbox. It wasn’t a bad article, though, not like the terrible exposé Chauvel probably wanted … and yet, eventually, that article would get published and her time with the Pimpernel would be over.

She should make the most of it now, while she still could. He wasn’t online, but he’d check his messages when he could. I’m glad it’s almost the weekend, she wrote. Mine is going to be busy.

She pocketed her phone and gathered her laundry. And since Blake was doing her grocery shopping, she grabbed his laundry too and added it to hers. Their clothes together would fill one load.

She had just pushed start on the machine when the Pimpernel’s message came through. Mine will be busy too, he wrote. But I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately.

A few feelings ran through her: excitement, but also guilt, thinking about her article once more. She tried to forget about the article. I’m all alone right now, you know, she wrote.

Are you asking to play, Rose?

She rolled her eyes. Obviously.

A long pause before his reply. You’re being cheeky.

Cheeky? Who the fuck said “cheeky” anymore? She smiled. Sometimes he was weirdly old-fashioned. I thought you liked cheeky girls.

I like to put cheeky girls in their place.

A thrill ran down her spine. You’re not here to put me in my place, though.

I could be, he replied. Are you testing me?

Maybe. She was, and she wasn’t even sure why.

Got any clothespins, Rose?

It was like he somehow knew she was standing in the middle of the laundry room. Did they even have clothespins? She rustled through a plastic basket of various items until she found a handful of wooden clothespins. She swallowed. Yes. Not sure how I feel about telling you that.

Put some clothespins on your nipples and leave them on until I tell you.

Maggie looked around in disbelief, even though she was alone. Was he serious? He sounded serious. The wickedness of playing right here in the open, in the condo, was enough to put all else from her mind except arousal. She slipped off her bra beneath her shirt.

The first clothespin pinch pulled a gasp out of her. Fuck, that was uncomfortable. She bit her lip and affixed the second clip as well. They hurt, she typed.