The Lies I Tell(13)

Which is why, on a Tuesday night in mid-November, I showed up at his apartment carrying a large duffel bag filled with my clothes, my hair messy and my eyes red.

“What’s this?” he asked as I dropped my bag on the floor by the front door.

“I got kicked out of the dorm,” I told him, letting my voice wobble.

“What? What happened?”

“Fucking Sylvie happened.”

He guided me into the living room, sat me on the couch, and poured me a glass of wine. I gave him a grateful look and took a sip. “Someone said they smelled marijuana coming from our room. The RA came and did a search and found a stash of pot in our fridge. Sylvie swore up and down it wasn’t hers. Obviously, I said the same.” I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the scene. How desperate I must have been to be believed. How much that would derail the plans I’d made for myself, if any of them had been true. “We were lucky we didn’t get kicked out of school. But we’re both out of the dorm. Sylvie will just move back home with her parents, but I’ll have to figure something else out. And fast, if I don’t want to live in my car.”

As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. Too close.

Cory pulled me into a hug and I let myself rest against him, counting the beats of his heart, waiting.

“Move in here,” he said.

I pulled back, wide-eyed. “No way,” I said. “It’s too soon.”

“You practically live here already,” he argued. “It’s just a few more clothes and a key on your key ring.”

Relief unfurled in my chest, but I shook my head, my tone firm. “My mother taught me to earn what I need, not take it from a man willing to trade sex for convenience,” I told him.

He looked hurt. “Is that how you see me?”

“Of course not,” I told him. “But favors create expectations, which create resentment. What we have is still new. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You know it wouldn’t be like that.”

I let the silence drag out, pretending to be considering his offer, and thought about the one time my mother said yes. Ron Ashton had been the man she’d been waiting for. He’s different, she’d told me. A healthy relationship isn’t just about love. Each person brings something to the table, creating a partnership. A committed collaboration.

My mother brought a property worth millions. Ron brought lies.

“I insist on paying rent,” I finally said.

“I don’t want your money.” Cory slid his hands around my waist, his fingers lifting the bottom edge of my shirt, thumbs brushing against bare skin. “It’ll be good for our relationship to have you here all the time. We can start to build some trust. Break down some of those walls.”

I’d been holding out for almost a month. Dancing up to the edge of intimacy and then away again. But the time had come to cash in. This was what I needed—security. Stability. Everything had a price.

I blew out hard, considering. “Okay.”

***

I waited until he was asleep that night to sneak out of the bedroom—our bedroom—and over to his computer, logging in to my Circle of Love account. I bypassed new messages from several men interested in meeting and clicked on Account Settings in the upper right-hand corner. Then I scrolled down to the bottom and hovered my cursor over the Suspend Account button before jumping over and clicking Delete Account.

Then I deleted Amelia’s account as well.

The silence of the house felt like a prayer as I absorbed the significance of this moment. No more forced smiles, flirty banter I never felt, or faked enthusiasm. As I sat in front of Cory’s computer, I promised myself I’d never sleep in a car again.

Then I went back to bed.

***

“Wear the black skirt and the red boots I bought you.”

Cory and I were meeting Nate for drinks.

I looked down at the outfit I’d chosen, a nice pair of dark jeans and a wrap top, and swallowed a sigh. The black skirt cut into my waist; the boots pinched my toes. But I smiled. Small concessions fed his belief that I was a pliable young mind in need of guidance. “Sure. Give me a second.”

“Be quick,” he said. “I don’t want to be late.”

The bar was one I’d been to several times, on dates with men from Circle of Love. That night, it was packed with the after-work crowd—men in dress shirts with ties loosened around their necks. Women in slightly rumpled business attire, tossing back shots at the bar.

We found Nate at a corner table beneath a large-screen television that was playing a silent 49ers game. He stood and shook my hand. “The infamous Meg.”

“I could say the same about you,” I said.

Nate’s eyes traveled up, down, then up again—before releasing my hand.

“Two beers,” Cory said to a server passing by our table.

“I’d prefer a glass of wine,” I said.

Cory draped his arm across the back of the booth. “You can’t drink wine in a sports bar. She’ll have a beer,” he repeated, dismissing the server.

Nate lifted his half-empty pint in a silent salute.

I crossed my legs, catching the way Nate eyed my skirt as it slid up to midthigh. Cheers erupted around us as the 49ers scored a touchdown.

“Tell me, Meg,” Nate said. “What do you do?”