Under His Roof by Sadey Quinn Page B

words make her uncomfortable but I still want to say them. “Thank you for having trust in me.”
    “You’re welcome.” She is playing with the hem of the robe. Fidgeting. “I have to go soon. Meeting at four at the office.”
    “On a Saturday?”
    “We’re closing in on a deal with a big client. So, yeah. On a Saturday.”
    “Hmm…” I place my hand on her knee and run it up her thigh, under the robe, and she sighs happily. “When will I see you again?”
    “I don’t know. Want to have dinner sometime this week?”
    “Sure. Sometime this week.” I kiss her earlobe and nibble on it lightly. “Do you date?”
    She looks startled. “Um… yeah. Sometimes.”
    “Can you please stop?”
    “Stop dating?”
    “Yeah.” I’m being awkward now. I give her a small, hopeful smile.
    “But date you?”
    “Uh. Yeah.”
    “Are you asking me to be exclusive, David Jacobs?” She’s smiling now and I’m relieved.
    “I suppose I am.”
    “Well… maybe…”
    I raise my eyebrows and try hard to give her a menacing look.
    “OK, OK,” she says, giggling. “Exclusivity it is.”
    “Good girl,” I murmur, and I go back to nibbling her ear and kissing her neck until she finally decides it is really, really , time to go. She’s dressed sooner than I’m happy with and at the door.
    I kiss her passionately, wishing she could stay. “How’s Tuesday evening?” I ask, breaking away from the kiss.
    “Tuesday works.”
    “I’ll explain more things then.”
    “Like what?”
    “You’ll see.” I peck her nose, then her forehead, and then I step back. Letting her go.
    “Until Tuesday, David.”
    “Until Tuesday, Rachel.” I watch her walk to her car. Get in. Drive away.
     

~9~
    Rachel
     
    I’m a nervous wreck, of course, before my date. I call Samantha who is back from the coast and ask her to come over for some emergency prep work on my body. I have, in the last twenty-four hours, acquired a major zit on my left cheek, just below my eye. I have never had a zit there before and I haven’t had a zit—period—since I was nineteen years old. The universe is playing a cruel trick and I am not happy.
    Samantha actually flinches when she sees it.
    “Just pop it,” she says, cautiously, and she steps around me to get into my apartment. Now, evidently, I have cooties, too.
    “I thought that’s what you’re not supposed to do,” I reply, touching the sore lump gingerly and following her inside. I’ve got on sweats and a tank-top and it’s five o’clock. David will be here to pick me up in exactly ninety minutes.
    “So who’s the guy?” Samantha asks, plopping herself down on my bed and sprawling out.
    “David.”
    “David…?”
    “Jacobs.”
    “I don’t care about his last name, Rach! Who is he? Job? Hobbies? What’s he look like?” Her face beams with excited energy. “I bet he’s hot!”
    “Um, he’s cute, yeah.” I say, kicking myself for not anticipating the third degree. All I want from Samantha at the moment is for her to be peppy, helpful, and very complimentary of my appearance.
    “Have a picture?”
    “Yeah, actually. Oh—” Shit . The photo he sent me is attached to a very incriminating e-mail which I do not want Samantha anywhere near. “I deleted it.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know. I want to take some better ones.”
    “His photo was with the ex-girlfriend, right?” she asks knowingly. “Did he crop her out?”
    “What?” I am truly confused.
    “So what’s he do?” she asks, changing the subject.
    “Life coach.” I start grabbing dresses from the closet and throwing them onto the bed.
    “That is hilarious. A life coach. No wonder you started acting civil again.” She sits up and starts stacking the dresses into two piles. “You must really like him. You’ve never asked me to help you before a date.”
    “I know.” I turn to face her, exasperated. “Will you please, please help me?”
    “Yeah, relax. I'll take care of you. Put your hands behind your