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“Let’s walk up a few blocks. We’ll have better luck,” I say. “And I think you could use the fresh air. Tell me all about Gray Prada. You two looked friendly when I saw you last. Spill it.”
“Weaver,” she says, placing both hands on my shoulders and stopping me in my tracks. She’s trying to look serious, but she’s definitely swaying. “Let me tell you what I know about Chris. He’s not a guy to take lightly. His family is one of the most powerful and wealthiest families in Europe. He’s not just some guy to hook up with. I see that he’s sexy, and he’s definitely charming, but he comes with a lot of baggage that I’m not sure you want to get involved with.”
“Kate,” I say, matching her tone. “I hear you, but there’s no serious happening here. We had a night together, we ran into each other at the club, maybe we’ll see each other again while he’s in town. I don’t need to know the intricacies of his life to see the guy again. He’s no more important to me than Gray Prada is to you.”
“I just worry about you, Weaver,” she replies. “I’m so happy to see you again, but I’m sad. I feel like I hardly know you anymore.”
I take Kate in a big hug. I squeeze extra tight because I understand what she’s feeling. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know the half of it, and it’s my fault.
“Don’t say that,” I say. “You know me. And you’ll feel better in the morning.”
I pull away from her and hail a cab that’s vacant. Tomorrow at Piccolo Formaggio I’ll tell her everything. After all, she’s right. The man who’s been supporting me for all these months, who hid his identity from me, and then ambushed me at the club, he is complicated. More than I might realize. And I’m going to need someone in my corner as I navigate this.
9
Weaver
I could barely sleep last night, so after tossing and turning through the early morning hours, I snuck out of my apartment and hit the pool.
I’ve lost count of how many laps I’ve swum. I’ve lost count of how many times my feelings have changed about Chris’s revelation last night. As I do the breaststroke across the pool, my shoulders burn from the exertion, and I play back every conversation we’ve had on chat, trying to figure out if he ever tried to tell me. Did he get off on the con? Was that part of the fun for him, tricking me?
On the way back across the pool, on my back, I notice I’m smiling, grinning like a total dope, because I have a rare feeling of excitement, excitement for someone. Despite all the unknowns, I’m positive I do like Chris, and regardless of how things have transpired over the past few months, I want to see him again.
I could swim for the rest of the morning debating and analyzing in my head, but it won’t get me anywhere. I pull myself out of the pool and quickly dry off.
Back upstairs I peek in on Kate. She’s dead to the world and I don’t think she’ll be making the food and wine expo like she’d planned to. I close the door softly behind me, so I don’t disturb her. She’s going to have a wicked hangover when she wakes up, so I decide to prepare her some huevos rancheros for later. I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee when I hear my phone ping. It’s Sugar Girl, and a message from Chris. It’s weird to have him contacting me through the app, but he doesn’t have my phone number and I don’t have his.
You promised me I could see you today. Now seems like a good time. You free?
He adds the address of his hotel to the message.
Kate surely won’t be awake for another couple of hours, so I don’t feel guilty leaving her. But if I go to see Chris, I’m going for answers. Real answers. I can’t continue in this limbo, filling in the blanks on my own, trying to understand what motivated him, what he wants. It’s tempting to go to his hotel, to order room service and then forget about it, falling into bed together instead. But that would only be postponing the inevitable and continuing down an uncertain path. A hot and sticky and sexy path, my primal brain pipes up.
Before I have a minute to reconsider, I text him back.
Let’s grab breakfast instead. I’ll meet you at Good Enough to Eat. Twenty minutes work for you?
He replies instantly,
I’m already grabbing my coat and heading to the elevator.
I can’t stop the smile that creeps on my face as I read his last message. The idea of him running down the hallway, hopping into a cab, speeding up Broadway to see me makes me feel good. Damn good. And I decide I’ll take my time getting showered and dressed. It will take me five minutes to walk to the restaurant, and I could get there in twenty minutes—easily, but I think I want to make him wait. I’ve been at his beck and call for months now, he’s had total control, and it’ll serve him right to have a taste of his own medicine. So I shower and wash my hair, rinsing the chlorine from my body. I have a bruise on my hip where Chris grabbed me last night, and he left a small mark on my shoulder from sucking there. I wash between my legs gingerly, because it had been a while since I had sex and Chris isn’t a small man. Fuck, he’s not even an average man, he’s pretty big, and my pussy feels sore, thoroughly used after last night.
