Read Online Under the Rose by Diana Peterfreund - Free Book Online
Authors: Diana Peterfreund
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her? Tell me you think it’s not headed in that direction.”
He had me there. “But there are good relationships, too.”
“I’m sure there are,” he said. “But I know I’m already one strike against a relationship. How does it have any chance with me involved? It’s doomed from the start. You’re the same way.”
“You think I doom relationships?”
“Ask me again after I hear your whole C.B.” He put a finger to my chin. “You know I’m dying to learn all about you.”
Crazy shivers spun through my system and I clamped my thighs together. “Why are you saying all this?”
“Why do you think?” He flung himself back to his side of the couch. “I like you. I’m interested in you. I’m pretty sure you feel the same way about me, and yet I think you’re playing hard-to-get because of some sort of outdated idea of what romantic relationships should look like. And,” he added, standing up, “I have a strong personal interest in making sure the thesis of your C.B. tonight makes you sound as desirable and sexy as possible, rather than reading like a laundry list of broken dreams.”
Now, if that wasn’t a promise, I don’t know what was. “If you had your way, my C.B. would suddenly acquire an extra entry,” I said to his retreating back.
“Say the word, babe.” And then he was gone.
Interesting. Laundry list of broken dreams, huh? And here I’d been laboring under the impression that George didn’t know me very well at all; that to him, I was another conquest.
Was I dismissing him unfairly? Had I bought into his player persona so fully that I didn’t recognize when he was actually trying to make a connection with me? I figured if I didn’t sleep with him, there were easily half a dozen others who would gladly take my place. I automatically assumed every time he ditched the Diggers for another event, it was because some pretty young thing had agreed to see his etchings. But maybe I’d pegged him all wrong.
I stood up and my gaze caught on one of the bookshelves lining the Common Room. A thick burgundy volume stuck out from the shelf, and on its spine in silver lettering was embossed:
The East German Uprising of 1953:
Its Effects on the USSR and Other Nations
of Eastern Europe
Or maybe not.
I hereby confess:
They’ll get our respect
when they deserve it.
5.
Apple of Discord
It’s more complicated than you might think to choose an outfit in which to publicly report on your sexual experiences. You have to veer away from anything that screams “slutty” or, at the opposite end of the spectrum, “frumpy,” and Persephone help you if the ensemble bears any resemblance to something worn in any of the following fetish-fantasy situations: schoolgirl, librarian, secretary, or Lara Croft. A white T-shirt makes you look like a candidate for Girls Gone Wild: Cancùn, and low-rise jeans are out, for fear there might be any peeks at a thong. I finally settled on a pair of sleek brown pants and a cardigan over a not-low-cut sleeveless top, and boots (ankle, not dominatrixy) with a low heel. There. Not too conservative, not too outlandish.
Kind of like my love life, come to think of it.
At precisely five past six (VI in Diggers-time, which always runs five minutes off the rest of the world) I filed into the tomb with the others. First, we ate. Tonight, Hale had made us Cornish hens stuffed with wild rice and tarragon. Would it be awful of me to admit that so far, my favorite part about being a Digger was escaping dining hall food a couple nights a week?
“Nervous?” Angel asked. She was at my right, carefully dissecting the poultry on her plate with a skill indicating just how much time she’d spent in debutante class. My family was more of a chicken tenders type. “Don’t be. We’ll love you no matter who you’ve fucked.”
“Or how?” Lucky prompted from my other side. “Personally, I think this whole tradition sucks. Does it really foster brotherhood for
He had me there. “But there are good relationships, too.”
“I’m sure there are,” he said. “But I know I’m already one strike against a relationship. How does it have any chance with me involved? It’s doomed from the start. You’re the same way.”
“You think I doom relationships?”
“Ask me again after I hear your whole C.B.” He put a finger to my chin. “You know I’m dying to learn all about you.”
Crazy shivers spun through my system and I clamped my thighs together. “Why are you saying all this?”
“Why do you think?” He flung himself back to his side of the couch. “I like you. I’m interested in you. I’m pretty sure you feel the same way about me, and yet I think you’re playing hard-to-get because of some sort of outdated idea of what romantic relationships should look like. And,” he added, standing up, “I have a strong personal interest in making sure the thesis of your C.B. tonight makes you sound as desirable and sexy as possible, rather than reading like a laundry list of broken dreams.”
Now, if that wasn’t a promise, I don’t know what was. “If you had your way, my C.B. would suddenly acquire an extra entry,” I said to his retreating back.
“Say the word, babe.” And then he was gone.
Interesting. Laundry list of broken dreams, huh? And here I’d been laboring under the impression that George didn’t know me very well at all; that to him, I was another conquest.
Was I dismissing him unfairly? Had I bought into his player persona so fully that I didn’t recognize when he was actually trying to make a connection with me? I figured if I didn’t sleep with him, there were easily half a dozen others who would gladly take my place. I automatically assumed every time he ditched the Diggers for another event, it was because some pretty young thing had agreed to see his etchings. But maybe I’d pegged him all wrong.
I stood up and my gaze caught on one of the bookshelves lining the Common Room. A thick burgundy volume stuck out from the shelf, and on its spine in silver lettering was embossed:
The East German Uprising of 1953:
Its Effects on the USSR and Other Nations
of Eastern Europe
Or maybe not.
I hereby confess:
They’ll get our respect
when they deserve it.
5.
Apple of Discord
It’s more complicated than you might think to choose an outfit in which to publicly report on your sexual experiences. You have to veer away from anything that screams “slutty” or, at the opposite end of the spectrum, “frumpy,” and Persephone help you if the ensemble bears any resemblance to something worn in any of the following fetish-fantasy situations: schoolgirl, librarian, secretary, or Lara Croft. A white T-shirt makes you look like a candidate for Girls Gone Wild: Cancùn, and low-rise jeans are out, for fear there might be any peeks at a thong. I finally settled on a pair of sleek brown pants and a cardigan over a not-low-cut sleeveless top, and boots (ankle, not dominatrixy) with a low heel. There. Not too conservative, not too outlandish.
Kind of like my love life, come to think of it.
At precisely five past six (VI in Diggers-time, which always runs five minutes off the rest of the world) I filed into the tomb with the others. First, we ate. Tonight, Hale had made us Cornish hens stuffed with wild rice and tarragon. Would it be awful of me to admit that so far, my favorite part about being a Digger was escaping dining hall food a couple nights a week?
“Nervous?” Angel asked. She was at my right, carefully dissecting the poultry on her plate with a skill indicating just how much time she’d spent in debutante class. My family was more of a chicken tenders type. “Don’t be. We’ll love you no matter who you’ve fucked.”
“Or how?” Lucky prompted from my other side. “Personally, I think this whole tradition sucks. Does it really foster brotherhood for
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