Taint(29)

“Douche-nozzle?” I ask, raising a playful brow. “Are you sure you graduated from Columbia? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not a word.”

“Yup. With honors, buddy. And I would gladly explain the logistics of a douche-nozzle, but I wouldn’t want you to toss your cookies. No pun intended,” she giggles, obviously pleased with herself.

I put down my mug and turn towards the refrigerator. “Well, lucky for me, I’ve got ice cream.”

Ally makes a noise that quite frankly sounds like a mix between a squealing pig and a drowning cat. Either way, it makes me laugh, and I turn to gaze at her with wonder.

What is it about her? What makes every little quirk, every idiosyncrasy that would usually annoy the fuck out of me, seem so goddamn adorable? I laugh like an idiot when she’s around. I worry about hurting her feelings or being too gruff. Hell, I’ve been eating ice cream like a hormonal chick with PMS! I just don’t get it. What’s next? Watching the newest Nicholas Sparks flick and drying each other’s tears?

“You’re not too cold for this, are you?”

Ally shakes her head vehemently. “Hell no. I could be in Antarctica, floating on an iceberg while ice skating with a family of penguins, and I’d still want it.”

I grab the pint and two spoons, handing her one. She digs in, and I quickly follow.

Ally scoops up a heaping spoonful and extends it towards me. "Cheers." We clink our spoons and devour that first creamy, cold bite of Mint Chocolate Chip with corresponding Mmmms.

"So...if you had to give up one, would you rather sacrifice your sight or your hearing?" She asks, going in for more.

"That's an easy one. Hearing. I'd definitely give up my hearing if I had to."

"Explain your case, sir."

"Well, for one, you can still communicate even if you're deaf. You can sign or read lips. And let's face it—we live in the age of excessive technology. I could just text or Instagram you."

"Yeah, but you'd never hear music. You'd never get to hear a child's laughter or the sound of someone saying, "I love you." You'd miss out on so much."

I look at her, seeing her. Trying to make her see me. "But to not be able to see a pink sunset fade to purple or a million stars in the sky, stretching to eternity...you can't manufacture that. Technology can't create a smile so bright that it makes you smile even when you don't want to. It can't manipulate true beauty. It can try, but it'll never duplicate that exact shade of red, fiery hair. Or the pattern of cinnamon freckles on your nose. Or even the way your eyes change from blue to green like a mood ring. You can't forge what has been perfectly designed. That kind of beauty doesn't require sound or words or even music. It doesn't need anything else. Anything more and it would overwhelm you."

She doesn't speak, and neither do I. I've said enough. I've said too much.

Eventually we resume eating, confusion heavy in the air. I know she's wondering where that came from—hell, even I'm not sure—but one thing is clear.

I've crossed a line. And whatever this is or was...I've tainted it with truth.

"Crap, it's late," she finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She looks at me and raises a brow. "Save the rest for later?"

"Sure," I nod, wondering if there'll ever be a later.

I give her a bag to store her wet clothing and walk her to the door. She turns just before she crosses the threshold. "By the way, I would've picked that too."

She walks away, leaving me with her smile. She doesn't say goodbye. Maybe part of her never really left.





TODAY ON E!... Breaking news on playboy prince, Evan Carr, as a sex tape surfaces, starring he and an unknown woman. The recording was leaked online just last night and has spread like wildfire, garnering nearly five hundred thousand hits in the last twelve hours. The mystery woman in the video is still unidentified, though it’s evident that it is not Allison Elliot-Carr, Evan’s wife of nearly five years. The pair has had a very public relationship, including rumors of infidelity on Evan’s part. Neither Evan nor Allison were available for comment, yet sources close to the couple say that Allison has been absent from their Manhattan home. Could this finally be the beginning of the end for the Upper East Side royal couple? Stay tuned for more on E!



Shit.

Shit shit shit.

I pull out my phone to dial, but it’s already ringing.

“You hear the news?”

No preamble. Just straight to the point. That’s my publicist, Heidi. I’m not surprised she’s already on it. I pay her a small fortune to ensure that stories like these don’t explode into full-on shit shows. As long as things stay somewhat quiet on the outside, I can do my job on the inside. But the moment things begin to fall apart in their absence, we run the risk of the wives catching wind and leaving. And exposing my identity. You see, Heidi also helps to maintain my anonymity. No one actually sees me until Day One, and they’re required to sign NDAs to safeguard against exposure.