Must be nice to not care about money. “Sounds boring.”
“Hey, it’s how the other half lives. You’re born. You do what they tell you and have fun while you can until it’s over. Are you hungry?”
The conversation just got way too deep. My stomach rumbles in response to the talk about food. “Hell yeah.”
“Alright, I’ll order up some room service.”
By the time I’m done staring at the water and looking for the horizon in the darkness, the food’s here. They’re quick. There’s so much food you’d think we’re having guests. “How many people is this seafood platter for, anyway?”
“Doesn’t matter. Eat up. Put some fucking meat on those bones.” He grins while cracking a gigantic lobster claw.
“What are you trying to say?”
“That I don’t want you to break when you’re under me.”
I roll my eyes, but crude come-ons are almost a relief. This Gavin I can deal with, even if the thought of him over me makes me tingle. I’m not letting him know that. I don’t even want to know that. Gavin can dream all he wants, but it’ll never be more than that. There’s still Paul, if nothing else. “Then I’ll eat as little or much as I want, because that’ll never happen.”
“Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow night. But some night. And soon.” That cocky smirk again.
The stupid thing is that I can’t quite keep the smile off my face either. It must be the white wine, or the chocolates, or the sea air. It’s definitely not him. “In your dreams.” I raise my glass to him. “To all expenses paid luxury cruises.”
He raises his, responding with an eloquent, “Fuck yeah.”
Chapter 8: Angie
The rest of the evening, he doesn’t mention sex at all. It’s like aliens stole the Gavin I know and replaced him with a well-behaved clone. I hate to admit it, but he’s actually pretty fun when he’s not in asshole-mode. He might not have been college material, but he’s done a lot of crazy shit and he’s smarter than he acts. Maybe it’s more that college wasn’t Gavin material. Either way, with all the tension between us, it feels weird to actually have a civilized conversation with him.
“So.” He looks at me across the table, looking as stuffed as I feel. “If you could have anything in the world that you wanted, what would it be?”
“Anything?”
“Anything. Absolutely anything. But a thing, not some world peace bullshit or whatever.”
I mull it over. Cars, jewelry, designer things. All nice, but I know right away it’s none of those. “Old books. I love the smell and feel of them, with the rough cut paper and fancy print. And I’d need a nice bookshelf to keep them in. Maybe one of those fancy libraries that you have in mansions with shelves everywhere and deep leather chairs, know what I mean?”
He eyes me like I was just offered ice-cream and chose broccoli instead. “Books? Seriously? Who’s your favorite author?”
I blank. “That’s like asking a mom to pick her favorite kid. I don’t know, there are so many.”
“Pick one.”
“Lewis Carroll.” I second guess myself right away when I see the look on his face. Too childish? Heinlein? Steele? Nabokov? I don’t know. It’s not fair to ask me to choose.
Gavin laughs, a short burst. “Alice in Wonderland? Really?”
To be honest, I’m surprised he even knows who Lewis Carroll is. “Really? You’re a reader?” I’m pretty sure the disbelief comes through clearly in my voice.
“You think I showed up on Earth like this? I was a kid once too you know.” He grins. “But I probably just saw the movie.”
“Oh whatever. What about you?” Before he answers, I hurry to add, “And for you it can’t be something you buy. You can already buy anything you want, so the question’s pointless then.”
He pauses, thinking, opening his mouth once as if to say something, but doesn’t. I arch an eyebrow at him, but he only glowers. “You know what, this is a stupid game. Let’s do something else.” His eyebrows rise. “We could get naked.”
And there we go, the aliens returned the real Gavin. “Not happening, hot shot. Why can’t you answer? You owe me. I answered yours.”
“I don’t owe you squat. Forget the question, alright?”
Wow. Something set him off there. “Fine. Whatever.” I don’t know why he tries so hard to pretend nothing matters.
“Fine,” he mocks.
We both drink, awkwardness filling the air between us like a miasma. I glance at my phone. No new messages, but it’s 12:42. No wonder I’m tired.