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“Let me guess. The model that gave you your nickname?”
I picked up a piece of shrimp and tossed it into my mouth. “Among other people.”
She smiled. “Want to know what I’d call you?”
I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter. “Do your worst.”
And when her gaze locked with mine, she didn’t hesitate.
“I’d call you typical.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of the statement, but when I realized I wasn’t breathing I quickly turned my attention back to my food. I shoveled some shrimp and roasted peppers onto my plate before walking over to the kitchen table and I forced myself to stay on track. No, she wasn’t my puzzle to figure out. No, I refused to ask her what the fuck that meant. There was no sense in making idle conversation because that wasn’t the purpose of our involvement.
I wanted to ask, though.
I wanted to ask her what the hell she meant so fucking badly.
“Typical” wasn’t a word that was usually ascribed to me. Dickish, sure. Billionaire, yes. Emotionally removed, absolutely. Isolated, a bit. But, typical? Like everyone else? One of the masses?
No one had ever called me that before.
After retrieving a full glass of lemonade, I made the choice to take my meal out onto the balcony. I needed space while I wrapped my head around the fact that the woman I had just strapped to a chair with a fuck-machine between her legs had just called me… normal. Had she done this kind of thing with someone before? Was I not showing her things that were new to her?
I found myself dwelling on those points before her voice sounded behind me.
“Care for some company?” she asked.
I swallowed the piece of steak I had been chewing on. “I don’t care.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her toss her leg over the lounger beside me. With a table separating us, she set her dripping glass of lemonade beside my own. I forced my eyes to stare straight ahead, locking with the darkened horizon that was barely visible in the pathetic amount of moonlight that just so happened to grace the top of the water.
And as she crossed her feet at her ankles, she settled her plate on her stomach.
“So, are we trying the talking thing, or…?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She nodded. “Very well, then. I hope you enjoy your food.”
Silence surrounded us, but it wasn’t awkward. I didn’t find myself wanting to get away from it. I mindlessly cut into my food, and with every bite I mutedly admired how luscious it tasted. The woman had skills, I’d give her that. And part of me wondered if she was just as good with breakfast as she was with surf and turf.
Yet, all too soon, my cell phone started buzzing in my pocket.
“Gonna get that?” Eden asked.
I set my plate between my legs before I ripped out my phone. “Any chance you’ve got dessert in there?”
She snickered. “You had dessert first as far as I’m concerned.”
A grin spread across my face. “It was a nice one, too.”
“Only nice? Somehow, I’m offended.”
“Yeah, nice. You know… typical.”
She shot me a look which was met by a stare of my own.
