Page 82 of The Roommate Subtext

Oh god. A rush of embarrassment replaced the shock. She’d told him her filthiest fantasies. He’d had her do some kinky, submissive shit and she’d loved it, and she’d never have done any of that if she’d known it was him.

Right?

She couldn’t imagine saying or doing anything like that in front of Blake. Yes, they’d slept together, and yes, it had been incredible, but he made her feel safe. Blake made her feel safe, and the Pimpernel made her feel like she was on a rickety bridge over a chasm, and somehow they were the same fucking person. She had no idea how to process that, and now she was processing it from across the restaurant, watching him watch her have this moment of realization. He wasn’t freaking out, so he must have figured it out at some point. But when? Things had been normal between them, until after they’d had sex … after they’d had sex, when he’d looked in her drawer of sex toys …

Of course. He’d seen the sex toys, and he’d put two and two together, and he’d figured out that she was Curious Rose. Then he’d practically run from the house. And he’d come back and said they were OK, but were they? He’d had a chance to admit the truth to her since then, multiple chances, and he hadn’t done so. He’d kept the date tonight. Why, so she’d show up and look like a fool?

Did he even want it to be her?

Still standing frozen right inside the doorway, she looked at Blake again. He wore his argyle sweater and dark jeans, his expression calm and—and no, not calm. She took in the rigidity of his shoulders, his hands clasped tightly together, his visible nervousness. With his mouth set in a thin line, eyes wide behind those horn-rimmed glasses, he looked vulnerable. He sat waiting for her to decide what came next, waiting even though it was probably killing him to wait.

She wasn’t going to run away. She’d been a coward about too many things. They were going to talk like grown-ups and figure out what to do next. There had to be some path forward.

She desperately wanted a path forward.

Maggie straightened, unsteady but determined, and locked eyes with Blake. No way out but through.

Blake had never been this nervous before a dinner in his entire life. He was early, because he couldn’t not be early, and he’d requested a table with a direct line of sight to the door. He wanted to see Maggie when she walked in. He wanted to see the moment she figured it out. She would walk in, and she’d put the pieces together, and either she’d stay or she would leave. But at least he would know.

The door opened, and Maggie entered the restaurant. Blake’s breath left his lungs. He’d told her to wear the yellow sweater dress and she’d done it, paired with leggings and knee-high black boots, and her hair was wavy and loose around her shoulders. Her gaze landed on him. They stared at each other. A series of emotions flicked rapid-fire over her face: confusion, surprise, embarrassment, and hurt, that last one landing on his sternum like a blow. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, ever. He tangled his fingers together, desperate to rush over to her and explain everything, but forcing himself to give her time. She might leave, and he would let her. This was entirely in her hands right now, and for once, he had to be the one to give up all control.

After an endless frozen moment, Maggie straightened and strode over to him. Whatever was next, she wasn’t running from it, or from him. He got to his feet as she reached the table, and her lips curled in the tiniest of smiles.

“Hi.” She extended a hand. “I’m Curious Rose.”

Blake took her hand, holding it, his eyes locked with hers. “Hello, Rose,” he said, and just like that, all his nervousness faded away. “I’m the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

NINETEEN

Maggie slid into the chair across from Blake.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” His words were out before she’d even settled.

She put her napkin in her lap. “You haven’t known long, though.”

“Saturday night.” He nodded. “I thought it would be easier to tell you on neutral ground.”

She gave a short, high-pitched laugh. “As opposed to in the condo, where it’s harder to get away.”

He hesitated. “Do you want to get away?”

She looked up at him, considering, and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m still deciding.”

He watched her for signs of discomfort, but she seemed to be taking this well. “If I’d have known it was you sooner, I wouldn’t have let it get that far.”

“Well, then,” Maggie said, a twinkle in her eyes, “I’m glad you didn’t know sooner.”

Before he could wrap his mind around that, the server, Rachel, came over to get Maggie’s drink order. Maggie gestured to Blake’s glass. “You’re only having water?”

“I want to keep my head about me.” He took a sip.

Maggie flushed. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have the same.”

Blake folded his hands on the table and leaned closer to her. “I’m glad you told me about the article. About all of it. Even before you knew it was me.”

Maggie’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry it took me that long to get out from under Chauvel’s thumb.” She sighed. “I didn’t think I had another choice. It took a conversation with Cora to realize otherwise.” Rachel returned with the water, then left to give them time with the menus.

“Will you be all right?” he asked.