My jaw dropped. “Are you joking?”
He howled with laughter. “Yes I’m joking! Although, it is less than two thousand.”
I smacked his bicep. It was like hitting a rock. “Be serious.”
He struggled to make his face a mock mask of seriousness. “Amy, I am always serious.”
“Yeah, sure. Just tell me, how many girlfriends?”
“Fine. Not many, honestly. I had one in high school, two in college, and one about three years ago.”
“Four girlfriends? Seriously, that’s it?”
He made a ‘what can I say’ face and shrugged. “I was really busy most of my life. You’d be surprised how infrequently you meet people in this industry.”
“But I mean, look at you. Women probably throw themselves at you.”
“Sometimes they do, but it’s usually less for me and more for my money.”
“Can you tell the difference?”
“Not always. Which is why I rarely dated.”
That made a lot of sense to me. And it explained why he had a lot of trouble trusting me. He had given me small gifts all week, but I tried as hard as I could to resist them. On Friday, when I realized I was out of clean clothes, several boxes of designer pieces appeared in the foyer, all in my size. I refused them, but he insisted I try it all on for him, one at a time. When he gave me a direct order like that, I found myself compelled to obey him. The fashion show didn’t last long, thankfully, as he tore a particularly revealing dress from my body.
“Well, I’m only in this for the money,” I said jokingly.
“Good, because I’m only in this for your body.” He leaned over and kissed me.
“Well, what about you then?” he asked, pulling back.
“Three boyfriends. Two in high school, one in college. You’re the first person I’ve been with since I moved back to Philly.”
“That’s a real shame.” He shook his head.
“What do you mean?”
“The world was missing out on all of this,” he said, and gestured at me.
“Don’t be a jerk,” I said, and laughed.
This was the hard part, and we both knew it. Neither of us wanted the week to end, the easy ebbs and flows of our days blending into each other, the blurred lines between our bodies becoming ever more blurry. He ran his fingers down my hips and I shivered. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I should probably get dressed,” I said.
He grunted his response. I lifted my head up off his lap and stood, looking around the room. My clothes and his clothes were scattered everywhere, making a hurricane mess of his usually pristine bedroom.
“Oh wow, I really am a wreck,” I said.
“I had some hand in that mess. Carelessly threw your clothes around and such.”
I laughed and picked through the forest of clothes. He stood and helped, which only distracted me more. Eventually, after a few prolonged kisses, we managed to pack my bag and dress.
“Come on, I’ll ride with you to your apartment,” he said.
“No need for that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I insist. I’ll call the car, meet me downstairs.” He left the room, carrying my suitcase.
I took another look around. For some reason, I felt like I’d never have this perfect moment again. The bittersweet reality of the ending to our week of happiness washed over me, and I tried to savor it all. I looked at the books and the bed, a tangle of sheets and pillows. I remembered his body pressed against mine in too many places to count. The only thing I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to come back to this place, and to stay here like we did this past week.
After a minute of savoring the memories, I followed him downstairs. He was waiting for me in the hall, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a light leather jacket.
“Car’s outside. Ready?”
I wasn’t ready at all. “Let’s do it.”
He gave me a long look, then kissed me. “Why does this feel weird?”
“I don’t know. I’m seeing you tomorrow. It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go before I try to stop you some more.”
He opened the door and we walked out into the fading day.
We didn’t take more than a few steps before a man moved toward us. He was leaning against a car a few houses down, smoking a cigarette. As soon as he saw Shane and I, he picked something up from his chest and started jogging closer.
“Mr. Green! Mr. Green!” the man called out, and lifted the object to his eye.
“Fuck,” Shane said quietly, and hurried me down the stoop.
I heard the click of the camera’s shutter before I understood what was happening.