"I don't just sleep with men and discard them. I date them. And yeah, maybe the date ends with sex but I'm not using people."
"Who says I'm using people? Do you think I used you the other night?"
"No … "
"I got you off, didn't I?"
I roll my eyes. "Yes. You don't need to remind me. Remember, that's something that can't happen again."
"Regardless, I didn't use you. We both got what we wanted. There's nothing wrong with that."
"It's dirty."
At that he grins, even though there's a hint of coldness in his eyes. "Dirty? I admit I like it dirty, but I'm clean. I always use protection. Don't you?"
"Yeah, but … "
"But nothing. What's really the deal here? You can sleep around and have sex with as many guys as you want and it's empowering or something. Because you're a woman. And that's fine. But don't give me the double standard."
"Women have been getting the double standard all our lives!" I exclaim.
"I agree. I know they have. But no one should be judged for the way they operate their sex lives, men or women. If they're being careful and not hurting anyone, I just don't see why it's anyone's business."
I know I should keep it to myself. That my personal life doesn't belong in something that's fake. But I can't help it. Verbal diarrhea strikes at the worst times.
"My father was like that," I blurt out. "He was a gambler, a drunk. Always getting into trouble. He was cheating on my mother all the time for as long as I can remember and finally left her high and dry, all alone to take care of me and my four sisters. I don't know where he went. Back to England maybe. Who knows. Really, who cares. But when he wasn't a supreme asshole, he was nice and charming and constantly trying to win her back, win us all over. And then he would fuck up all over again until he disappeared one day with just a single note. So yeah, I've seen the damage that kind of thinking can do. I've seen the truth about that type."
More silence envelopes us. The engine hums, the dashboard lights making everything glow with an eerie quality. I can't believe I just unloaded all of that on him.
After a few long, agonizing beats, Emmett clears his throat. "I'm really sorry your dad was an asshole. To leave your mother and you like that, well, he's no fucking man, that's for sure. But this isn't even something you need to worry about with me. We're not actually dating, remember? It's all for show. You don't have to worry about getting hurt when there's nothing at stake."
I stare at him curiously. What's odd about all that is that he's not promising he's not like my father. He's just reminding me that it's irrelevant. Does that mean if we were actually dating, his faithfulness would come into question?
I guess that shouldn't surprise me if it's true. And in the end he's right. It doesn't matter.
"Tell me something," he says to me. "Did you mean what you said earlier, when you were talking about the theatre?"
I nod, looking out the window as the city flies past. It's getting darker earlier now, a sign that summer is coming to a close. I always get painfully sad as July turns to August, mourning the end of summer before it's actually over.
"You just … " he pauses. "You said everything I was thinking. Or that I've been trying to tell myself."
"Well it's true," I tell him. "I know it feels like all or nothing sometimes in life, but there's nothing wrong with living in the space in-between."
"Very astute," he says. "You're smarter than you look."
I twist my head to give him a dirty look. "Hey."
He shrugs, biting his lip momentarily. His eyes are back to being playful, mischievous, the same kind of eyes that lured me into having sex with him. Now, more than ever, I have to stay vigilant. "Just being honest. You're blonde, you've got gorgeous tits, a sweet ass. Skin like cream. Fuck me eyes." His smile broadens. "Or fuck you eyes, depending on your mood."
"What's my mood telling you now?" Man, the nerve of this guy.
"Oh, you're definitely giving me the finger," he says with a laugh.
"Do you really think we're going to survive three months of this?" I ask him. Point-blank. No beating around the bush.
"I've had to survive a lot worse than you, sunshine," he says to me. "I know you're going to get on my nerves and push my buttons and tease me with those lips of yours. But I'm always up for a challenge. Surviving is just another word for adapting. I'll adapt to you. You'll adapt to me. We'll survive each other. Got it?"
"Got it," I tell him. If he's this game for it, then so am I.
We're almost at my apartment when he lowers his voice and asks, "So, forty thousand dollars. Can I ask again what you're planning to with that money?"