The Devil You Know

Home?” I murmur, glancing at him. “I didn’t know humans were allowed to jaunt back and forth over the River Styx like that.” His eyes raise to mine. His mouth twitches. “There’s a small toll. It’s really quite civilized.

You don’t need to do that,” I gasp. I feel his breath against my skin as he laughs. “Gemma, I’m doing exactly what I’ve wanted to do for two fucking years.

I hang up, and Ben turns to me. “So who’s the lucky sixty-nine-year-old?” I roll my eyes. “Your dad.” He smirks. “My dad is dead.” “That,” I reply, “would explain why he’s been so pleasantly quiet in bed.

I want the world to be a different place for the women who come after me. And the only way to make that happen is to ignore the fact that it isn’t different yet. But I’m so goddamned tired of staying silent just to get the things I deserve.

I want to be someone you trust enough to invite home, Gemma. And I’m willing to wait for it.

They think it’s a slur when they refer to me as a castrating bitch, but all it says to me is that they’ve finally realized I’m not someone to fuck with. I was someone who was fucked with a lot, once upon a time. It won’t happen again.

You want to burn the whole world to ash, just to make sure every path she walks is cleared for her. I know the feeling.

I won’t play the game—I don’t bake cupcakes and make cooing noises over pictures of everyone’s kids. If a man doesn’t bake cupcakes and make cooing noises, you know what they call him? Senior Partner. Ben hasn’t made cupcakes once. But men expect you to be more thoughtful than they are—softer, more accommodating. And when you are paid less than your peers, or assaulted on a date, or lose a promotion, they’ll tell you it was your fault—you were too soft, too accommodating.

Are you certain you’re a doctor?” I open my refrigerator, which is just as empty as I anticipated. I should have actually eaten at this morning’s brunch. “Like, was it a real medical school, or was it a strip mall with a handwritten sign out front that just said medical school?

We’re lawyers, Walter,” I say with a smile. “None of us are nice.

I’m so goddamned tired of staying silent just to get the things I deserve.

Anyhow,” sighs Fields, who is now fondly remembering the days when you could just call a mouthy woman a witch and have her drowned,

the principals here don’t give anything away freely—partnerships, bonuses, praise. If it was up to them, they’d pay us in nickels thrown at our feet while we dance.

But men expect you to be more thoughtful than they are—softer, more accommodating. And when you are paid less than your peers, or assaulted on a date, or lose a promotion, they’ll tell you it was your fault—you were too soft, too accommodating.

Men will vilify you for enjoying sex, and they’ll vilify you for using it to get ahead…but they’ll punish you if you don’t enjoy it, if you don't use it to get ahead. There should be more choices left to me than either slut or prude.

A jury will label a distressed female as shrill or hysterical for the exact same behaviors they’d term righteous indignation in a man.

Maybe he’s actually on a romantic weekend away, just him and a blond named Lotus who is extremely flexible and thinks 9-11 was a conspiracy because she wasn’t born when it happened.

want to be someone you trust enough to invite home, Gemma. And I’m willing to wait for it.

Ben: I flew across the country and drove over an hour, only to see you. I’m heading to my room. #312. The door is unlocked.

You bring up my dick an awful lot.” His eyes fall to my mouth, and that traitorous devil inside me likes it. “I wonder if that means something.

He leans across the table and presses his lips to my forehead. “You can bring as many books as you want.

phone calls. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought he was different.” Yeah. I did too.

We could have gone there THIS weekend if you’d fucking invited me.