street clothes. It would spoil the surprise (and kill the mood) if, before ravishing Bryce, I had to go lock myself in the bathroom to spend fifteen minutes putting everything on, and then ask him to help me fasten the clasps that I couldn’t reach.
After paying the rental fee and signing the paperwork (I guaranteed I wouldn’t misuse the sword and agreed to forfeit my deposit if I damaged the outfit), I donned my raincoat, which covered me from neck to shins, and headed for the subway.
Upon reaching my stop, the walk from the subway to our apartment was chilly, since my chainmail loincloth wasn’t practical for a brisk autumn evening in New York, but I was too excited to care. When I got to our building, I bumped into Mr. Dalrymple, our landlord, who lived on the ground floor. He was a tall, plump, older gentleman with a face like a basset hound. He wore baggy wool sweaters with little holes in them, loved gardening in his window boxes, and was always very polite. Maybe because he was English.
“Ah, good evening, Miss McConnell,” he said as I entered the building. A slight frown creased his lived-in face. “Hmm, this is a surprise.”
Feeling self-conscious about bumping into someone I knew while dressed the way I was, even though my coat covered the costume, I mumbled a greeting as I ducked past him and headed for the stairs.
“Aren’t you usually at your class now?” he asked as I started climbing to the second floor, where we lived.
“Canceled,” I called down, feeling embarrassed as the chainmail loincloth clinked and jangled.
“Oh, dear,” I heard him say.
I got to the top of the stairs, headed down the hall to our door, and put my key in the lock with a feeling of relief. I entered the apartment, closed the door, and called, “Bryce?”
I heard a sound in the bedroom. So I removed my coat quickly, hung it up, and then pulled my little silver-horned headdress out of my daypack and put it on.
I called Bryce’s name again as I knelt to pull the sword out of its carrying case. I wanted him to get the full effect of his warrior queen in the very first glance.
I heard him grunt and then he called, “Huh? What . . . Cathy?”
I struck a pose and tried to adopt an attitude to go with the outfit. “That’s Catherine the Manslayer to you!”
“Huh? Um . . . Wait a minute! I’ll be right out,” he called.
I realized that since the bedroom was where I wanted this scene to end up anyhow, it made more sense for me to go in there than to stand around posing in the living room.
“No, you wait,” I said, embracing my role. “Stay in the bedroom, where you can best serve my pleasure.”
Oozing savage sword-wielding woman attitude, I stalked across the room in my tight metal bodice, thigh-hugging boots, and swinging chainmail.
I entered the bedroom, big sword pointed straight ahead of me, and said sternly, “I give the orders around here—”
A pretty blond woman was sitting in our rumpled bed, clutching the sheets to her chest. She appeared to be naked. Also startled. Very, very startled.
Beside the bed, Bryce was frantically pulling on his trousers. He’d obviously been naked a nanosecond ago.
I froze and stared at them.
They froze and stared back at me.
My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of what to say. I just stood there staring, still pointing my sword at the naked woman in my bed.
Then Bryce said, “Cathy? What are you wearing?”
“What? Um, oh . . . God.” I was mortified. I lowered the sword. “Oh, my God.”
“That’s not yours, is it?” He finished pulling on his pants while staring at me. “I mean, I’ve never seen it before.”
“What’s going on?” I asked stupidly. I suppose I was hoping, having just been air-dropped into the humiliating end of my relationship without any warning, that there was some explanation other than the obvious one.
“Nothing!” Bryce said. “Nothing’s going on. We were just, um . . . um . . . working late.” He took a breath. “Have you met Janice before?”
“Janice?” I said blankly.
“Maybe not,” Bryce said. “I think she joined the firm after you were there.”
“Who is this?” the woman asked Bryce.
“You’re . . . working?” I said incredulously. “Naked?”
“It’s not what you think,” said Bryce.
“What is it, then?” Tears clouded my vision. “Bryce, what are you doing?”
“Oh, my God, it’s her, isn’t it?” the other woman said slowly.