Page 136 of Bad Words

“Arthur,” I said, “could I borrow you in the hall?”

“I—what?” He glanced at Parker, who shrugged. “Um. Okay.”

Leaving Parker chatting with Jacob and Cassie, I led Arthur into the small, deserted hallway that looped back toward the kitchen. When we were far enough from the door, I stopped and said, “Look, Arthur. I’m sure you still have some misgivings about me, considering what I wrote about Parker.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Right.” I set my champagne flute on an end table. “And maybe you think I’m responsible for what happened before his launch. I still feel responsible. So I understand.”

Surprise showed on Arthur’s face, his thin mouth loosening.

“Believe me,” I said quietly, “you and I are on the same page, if you think I don’t deserve him.”

Arthur shifted. He shook his shaggy hair back and looked at the ceiling. “He did say you’d be intense,” he said eventually.

“Yes,” I said with a small smile. “I’ve been told that.”

Arthur took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this. It’s nice to meet you, too.” He stuck out his hand. “But also, if you hurt him again, I’ll—”

“I know.” I took his hand and shook.

“What’s this shady backdoor deal that’s happening?” said Parker’s voice down the hall.

“She bought my affection,” Arthur said as we made our way back toward the party. “She bribed me with a lifetime subscription to City Magazine.”

“Completely untrue,” I said, reaching Parker’s side. “Good idea, though.”

“Everything okay?” he murmured in my ear as Arthur moved ahead.

“It’s good.” I kissed him, then looked out into the glowing room ahead of us, at the circles and arcs and pairs of people, at Jacob and Cassie, laughing at some comment of Arthur’s. I looked at this sliver of my life, and then back to Parker, to the warmth and care in his face, and I said, “It’s all good.”

The party slowly filled wall to wall. Authors and publishing professionals leaked in, some of whom performed double takes when they saw Parker’s hand on my waist. It was easy not to pay them much mind. Cassie mentioned something about climate change, and Arthur eagerly leaped in with six different options to volunteer for climate policy, while Jacob, Parker, and I talked about how baffling it was that an experimental book from last year called Alaya’s Elephants was getting a film adaptation with major studio backing and Saoirse Ronan set to star. Our corner of the room felt so comfortable that I finally understood why people felt compelled to stay at parties until two in the morning.

Around eleven, though, Jacob and Cassie headed home to relieve the babysitter, and Arthur spotted a friend in the crowd and disappeared. Parker and I stepped backward into the empty hall, just beyond the door, in the wavering light of Scott’s vintage chandelier. Parker looked so handsome then, his hair rumpled, his tie loosened under his jacket, his gaze skating over my shoulders.

I glanced toward the door down the hall and traced my fingers over the knot of his tie, across his chest. He leaned in toward me. “What are you thinking?” he murmured in my ear.

“That I want you,” I said, but I was thinking, That I love you so much I could never find the words.

Parker moved closer and slid his hand down my back, lighting fire where he touched me. “Now what are you thinking?”

“Take me home,” I said, but I was thinking, I’m already there.

Chapter Twenty-NineParker

Selina in the morning. As usual, she was right. I could have written a twelve-hundred-page book with no drive at all, and this would have been the subject: her body in the sheets, the slope of her waist into her hip, her dark hair loose across my pillowcase, the way she propped her elbow up on the pillow, half smiling, to look at me.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice scratchy. “How’d you like the place?”

“I don’t think you have enough books,” she said, nodding to the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

“I can think of a way to fix that. Don’t you have a few books?”

Selina reached out and toyed with my hair, cool-eyed. “I do. I’m open to joining forces.”

It occurred to me what, exactly, we were saying, that I’d just joked about moving in together not even two months into an actual relationship. This should have felt like an absurd thing to do, but instead it felt like an obvious answer to an unspoken question, because I knew, I just knew, that this was it for me: Either I would have her for the rest of my life, or I would think about her for the rest of my life.

I breathed, feeling laid bare, as we looked at each other. Then my hand strayed for my phone, and I opened it to find a mess of notifications.