A Special Place for Women by Laura Hankin (great books of all time .TXT) 📕

I found a new place. Will move the rest of my things out tomorrow, I texted Sara and Rob.

Good for you, Sara wrote back. She and Rob were probably pitying me right now, imagining that I’d landed in some dump with six roommates and no fridge. I fought the urge to send them a picture of my new bedroom like a petty little bitch. Luckily, a text from Raf popped up, distracting me from my worst impulses.

Hey, our supplier accidentally gave us a ton of extra bread. Want me to bring some home for breakfast?

Normally: yes of course why are you even asking, I texted back. But I won’t be there for breakfast cause I got an apartment! You’re once again free to do whatever weird stuff you want on your couch.

The three dots that meant he was typing appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again, until finally he sent back a thumbs-up emoji.

I bit my lip. But if you’re desperate to get rid of the bread and want to check the place out, you should come by, I texted. Prepare yourself: it’s a shithole.

TWENTY-FOUR

Raf showed up a few hours later, a couple of crusty loaves in tow, and I ushered him inside. “You’re pranking me,” he said, turning around in circles and staring with his mouth ajar, so I explained the situation.

“Damn, maybe you should forget the article and stay in the club,” he joked. A sudden paranoia seized me.

“You’ve gotta come see the bathroom,” I said, turning on my heel and power walking through the hall. The moment we entered the bathroom, I shut the door behind us and turned on the shower. (Of course it was a rainfall showerhead, spraying steady, soothing jets.)

“Uh, what are you doing?” Raf asked, shifting his weight. He tugged off his baseball cap and held it in front of his chest, fiddling with it.

“The Gone Girl thing,” I said. He looked at me uncomprehendingly. Right, Raf didn’t really watch movies. (In his free time, he devoured fantasy books, the kind with cheap-looking covers and complicated titles like The Mists of the Krampledern.) “I know this sounds nuts,” I whispered, leaning in close, “but remember how they had people following me around? What if this apartment is bugged?”

He let out a breath. “They wouldn’t do that, would they?”

“They sent a woman to hit on you and make sure we were dating, so I’m gonna go with . . . yes?” We were very close now as we whispered, steam rising up around us from the shower. It swirled in the air.

“Okay,” Raf said. A bead of sweat glided, slow and smooth, down the side of his cheek, along his neck, down underneath the lip of his T-shirt. I realized I’d been watching its progress only when Raf cleared his throat. “Should we check? It couldn’t hurt.”

I stepped away from him. “Yeah, let’s.”

After a quick how-to session on Google, we searched the apartment for hidden cameras, recording devices on the walls. “Just look at these gorgeous paintings!” I said, surreptitiously running my fingers along the sides of the frames.

“You could write a whole new novel at this desk,” Raf said, ducking underneath it and checking the wood.

We opened the cabinets and shook out the curtains, doing our Couple in Love playacting the whole time, just in case. “Not to get ahead of ourselves,” I said, looking closely at the walls in the kitchen, “but if we ever move in together, I’d want our apartment to have this color scheme.”

“You don’t think it washes me out?” he asked, striking a pose, and I laughed.

As the prospect of finding a bug began to diminish, our pretending got goofier and goofier. “This flat-screen is nice,” Raf said, inspecting the gigantic TV, deepening his voice, contorting his face into a parody of a 1950s sitcom dad. “But our children will have limited screen time. It’s important for kids to play outside and eat dirt!”

“Yes, darling,” I said. “Dirt will be the main dish at every family dinner.”

Finally, after we finished our search with a thorough sweep of the bedroom, we collapsed on the bed, turned onto our sides facing each other. “I think we’re safe,” I whispered, and we high-fived.

“Shit, this bed is comfy,” he said, and pretended to fall asleep on it, closing his eyes and letting out big fake snores until I poked him repeatedly in the stomach. He held up his hands to protect himself. “Okay, okay! I guess I should head out.”

Words rose up in my throat, words that scared the crap out of me, so I swallowed them. Raf furrowed his brow at the look on my face. “What?”

I sat up. “Oh, just realizing how late it got. It’s been a long day.”

I walked him out and closed the door after him, then leaned against it, the words I’d swallowed pinging around in my head: Or you could stay. In the moment when he’d said he was going to leave, all I’d wanted was to tuck my head into the crook of his neck, to press my body into his and let him wrap his arms around me until we fell asleep together.

It wasn’t too late for me to fling the door open and run after him, to stop him before he got into the elevator. And then what? I’d ask him to stay and he’d turn me down, and things between us would get all awkward. Or worse, he’d say yes, and yes again, yes and yes and yes until one day a few months from now, one of us decided to say no. And then things between us would be more than awkward. They would be ruined.

Get a grip, Beckley, I chastised myself. You’re just lonely and horny. I was not going to screw up the best friendship I had, the only relationship I could truly rely on, just because of a strange, voracious urge to feel Raf’s lips on my collarbone.

What