I close my eyes a moment, and she’s still there beneath my lids as if she’s taken up residency.
“You deserve roses and chocolate, Marley.” I pause a moment because, judging from her own words, that’s not something she believes in.
She shakes her head disbelieving. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I read your articles.” Her face bleaches just a touch as I say it. “You should fall in love, and, when you do, that right person will gift you all of those amazing adventures. Sex shouldn’t be some bucket list you create, checking off items as you execute them. It’s not a treasure hunt. It’s a lifestyle. One I hope you can achieve, and, when you do, cherish it because it’s a little like a needle in a haystack.”
“Impossible to find?” Her voice floats through the air, soft as powdered sugar. “I’ve seen romantic love up close and personal. It’s ugly. It leaves tear stains on your pillow, makes you guzzle its brand of bullshit like gasoline, then lights a match and watches as you burn. No thanks. I’m not asking for seconds.” Her lashes blink so fast I can feel the breeze. “What about you? You a roses and chocolate kind of guy? How many relationships have you had in the last two years?”
She’s got me there. “Zero.” I force a smile. “And it’s a nice round number I’m happy with.” I think. “So how was school?” I ask, shuffling through the mail piled up on my desk.
How was school? Can I sound anymore like I’m trying to be her daddy? I’d laugh if it were even a hair funny.
“School is school. First day always throws me off a bit. I started a business venture with Baya—she’s Annie’s sister-in-law. It’s a class project. We need to start a business and walk through the entire process by semester’s end—ideally with a profit.”
“Just a few months. That’s an ambitious undertaking. What kind of business?” She’s smart. I like that.
“Thrift store couture.”
Maybe not as bright as I thought.
“Say again?” Old pappy here couldn’t possibly have heard right. “Did you say thrift store?”
“I know it sounds amazingly ironic, but trust me, it’s what all the cool kids are doing.” She gives a little wink. “Actually it’s what all the cool kids are buying. Baya and I are sort of the first to market with the idea. It’s a niche but definitely one that shouldn’t be overlooked. I’ll be sewing the garments myself, and I’m positive I’ll be able to push them out the door just as fast as I can make them.”
“Whoa. There goes any growth potential. And just when I saw real promise.”
“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of growth potential.”
“Not if you’re sewing each piece yourself. There are only so many hours in the day, and there’s only one of you. Let’s say you’re able to make six pieces in one day—” I click on my accountant-grade calculator better left in the twentieth century, but I like the way it whistles and purrs, something about this sound that technology can’t seem to replicate.
“Two at the most,” she interjects. “I can maybe make three, but that’s with little sleep, and, for sure, I’d have to skip my breakfast ramen.”
I glance up. Marley is fit, thin, and, according to her, bordering on malnutritioned. Beautiful as hell, though.
“If you can only provide two then your business won’t thrive for long. Did you account for burnout?”
She bites down on those perfect crimson lips, and it’s hard to judge from here if she’s wearing lipstick or not. Marley is simply that perfect. Ruby lips, eyes like an iron sky, and those thighs still haven’t left my mind since the other night. My mouth waters just thinking about them.
“If you take Saturday and Sunday off, you’re looking at ten pieces on a good week.” I connect my fingers at the tips trying to keep my eyes from drifting to her cleavage. “I’d say at best you’re buying yourself a nice, mid-salary job.”
“Boy you really know how to take a girl’s dreams and hack them to pieces. Would you like to drive a stake through my beating heart while you’re at it?” Her lips twist. “My mother has high blood pressure and the onset of diabetes, would you like to give me a readout on the equally bleak future of my health?”
Shit. Did I just do that?
“I apologize.” My phone vibrates and jumps on the table before I can elaborate exactly how bad I feel for taking a giant crap all over her dreams. If I didn’t think I was an ass before, it’s pretty clear, now.