Wherever the Dandelion Falls Read Online Free Page B

relationships with women. I always pictured my future with a man. It was the easiest thing to fit into my life.
    Seconds later I realized something: Faye Nguyen and I had plans to go out for coffee this weekend. I had inadvertently agreed to go on a date with her.
    I thought of Dr. Turner and his sexy swirling lab coat and how he never gave me more than stiff nod, and on Friday, he'd wish me a nice weekend. That was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend, which Justine told me was an absolute crime. I was in my prime, physically and sexually, and according to Justine, I was wallowing it away lusting after Dr. Turner, who thought I was as interesting as upholstery swatches.
    It's funny, how other people's views of us shape who we are. Perhaps if I had been in a different job surrounded by different people, I would have seen myself differently. But I thought of myself as a carpet swatch, and a beige one at that. Beige without an interesting texture. Something that would compliment a nice piece of art or distract from dirt: purely functional, never decorative or exciting. Just like my underwear: plain cotton, white, nude, or black.
    But then it dawned on me: if I went out with Faye, I wouldn't be beige. I wouldn't even be an upholstery swatch. And that thought appealed to me very much.
     
     

     
    I have no idea why I lied about name. I knew it was a bad idea to give a fake name to someone I was going on a date with. Maybe it was because he made me feel like a new version of myself: someone powerful and in charge. I gave that person a name, and the only one I could think of at the time was Violet.
    Dr. Turner arrived at my apartment right on time and took me to a dive in the Castro. We had just been served our drinks when I felt him losing interest. When he was turned away, I surreptitiously unbuttoned the top of my blouse, knowing I had worn my best push-up. I leaned forward and made intense eye contact with him. For the rest of the meal, no matter if we were talking about neuroscience, baseball, or the weather, he didn't take his eyes off me.
    When he invited me back to his place after, I decided to go with him. He was charming and handsome and, for most of the night, had been eying me as though I was a steak he wanted to eat. I was used to it. Most of my graduate classmates were guys, and whenever I wore tight-fitting yoga pants or a low-cut shirt, I got looked at a lot. But getting those looks from Dr. Turner was very different. My classmates were in the same boat I was in: homework, tests, loans, papers, and stress. Dr. Turner had moved past all of that. He owned his own research company, guest lectured at UCSF, and had money.
    So when he invited me back to his place, I said yes. I wanted to see what my life could look like someday if I made it big like him. Was his furniture leather? Did he have valuable art around his apartment? Did he have a walk-in closet with rows of perfectly starched shirts and shined loafers? I couldn't wait to see. The promise of getting laid by someone who wasn't going to have leftover pizza for breakfast was enticing.
    His apartment was spacious, with large floor to ceiling windows on both sides overlooking Nob Hill. His bedroom was neat and clean. His bed was square and perfectly made. There was a single leather chair in the corner and a dresser with nothing on top. It was minimalist and elegant. The hue of the wood was a deep burgundy, almost black. The room smelled clean and dark and sexy. I loved it.
    "You seem like a nice girl, Violet,” Dr. Turner said with a quirk of his eyebrow.
    "Oh, I am," I said, giving him my best wicked grin.
    "Hopefully not too good," he smirked.
    "Only when I need to be," I flirted back.
    "Do you want music or something?" he asked.
    "That's okay, I don't need any."
    "How'd you get into this?" he asked, taking a seat in his chair and leaning down to remove his shoes.
    I wasn't sure what he meant, but he was eying my waist, so I figured he was talking about my