I felt like I did in fifth grade when Salvadore Tarrucci passed me my first note in class. When I opened it, will you be my girlfriend stared back at me, causing my heart to go aflutter and my mind to fill with a combination of pride and self-confidence.
Michael was making me feel like I was in fifth grade again. My face felt like it was on fire. A tingling sensation ran from my pussy to my nipples. The six months of abstinence was apparent.
I crossed my legs nervously and grinned. “Thank you.”
It seemed too good to be true. A well-dressed handsome investor who was protective of me and wanted to retire on a remote island south of Mexico. And, it just so happened that he thought I was gorgeous and he wasn’t afraid to say so. He was a far cry from the men I was used to, the majority of which made profit from their criminal activities and shady behavior.
“So, other than kick guys in the nuts, what do you do?” he asked.
“Huh?” I was still wallowing in the compliment. He had just gone from a handsome ass-kicker to irresistibly adorable.
He tilted his head toward my computer. “What do you do?”
I wrinkled my nose. “With what?”
He coughed out a laugh. “Are you flustered? I guess I could have waited until I left to tell you that, but when you did that thing with your hair, it was just, I don’t know. You looked gorgeous.”
I was far from a teenager, and although prior to meeting him I would have described myself as confident, mature and fairly established in life, he was making me feel like a little girl again.
And I liked it.
“Sorry, I might have got all starry-eyed there for a minute.” I fanned my hand in front of my face. “So, you asked what I do?”
“You know,” he said. “For work.”
I did nothing. It sounded terrible to admit, but since my twenty-first birthday, I received an annual allotment from my trust fund. My family was wealthy, therefore, I was wealthy. I didn’t work, and if I hinted at getting a job, my father would throw a fit.
“I uhhm. I. Well...” I murmured.
I felt terrible for telling him my last name was Wilson, and decided to keep my little white lies limited to that and just one more. I couldn’t dare tell him the truth about my being rich and not having an actual job. I sighed heavily in anticipation of telling him a lie.
“I’m in the shoe business,” I blurted. “I inherited a store on Long Island. I kind of run it from here.”
Jesus, Terra. Where the fuck did that come from?
I had no idea where the response came from, other than I loved shoes and everything about shoe shopping. And, although it was a lie, it wasn’t. I was in the shoe business. The business of buying them.
He offered a slight smirk. “Shoes, huh?”
I narrowed my eyes. Maybe I wasn’t convincing enough. “Yeah, why?”
“Nothing.”
“You had a shitty grin on your face.”
“It wasn’t shitty. It was just a smile. Like, that’s nice. Nothing more than that. I was just thinking, shoes. It explains the red bottom you dropped at the door the other day.”
I found it hard to believe he knew what a red bottom was. “You noticed.”
“I tend to.”
I sat with my lips pursed and a slight grin on my face and stared. I felt tremendous comfort in his presence. It was a nice change to talk to someone without having them sending a text message or updating their Facebook status every ten minutes. I also liked it that he was observant, protective and didn’t hesitate to step in when Vincent was trying to drag me away against my will. Considering how we met, I decided to pry a little further.
“So, what did you think I did?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sure you thought something,” I said. “You seem like an observant person.”
“You really want to know?”
I didn’t see the harm in it. I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Actually, I was wondering what your father did.”
What? My mouth went dry. “Why uhhm. Huh?”
“You told your ex you’d have your father cut him into little pieces and toss him in the Missouri River. So I wondered what he did for a living.” He reached for his coffee and cocked an eyebrow playfully. “Obviously not shoes.”
If my father found out what Vincent had done to me, he would cut him up and toss him in the Missouri River. I’d painted myself into a corner with my lies, so I had to continue. “He’s not crazy protective of me or anything, but he’d be really protective of me if he thought someone was abusing me.”
“As he should be.”
I decided to change the subject back to me, or at least attempt it. “So what did you think I did? We were talking about that. Your sixth sense or whatever.”