I crack a smile. “Does Trick know Kathleen goes both ways?”
“Oh, yes. Apparently, you’re not Trick’s only best friend. But Trick doesn’t know Marie-Colette’s in America because, quote, ‘Scotty’s a lovely, loyal brother and therefore might murder MC on his way to the Boston airport.’”
“Does Trick blame the French woman for turning Kathleen onto girls?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Kath said she was a teenager when she confided to him she was sometimes attracted to girls. His response was ‘Yeah, me too. I’m surprised all girls aren’t.’”
I smirk. “That sounds about right coming from him.” I grab my wallet from the counter and take out a credit card. Sliding it across the granite, I say, “Make some time to stop by that lingerie shop you like.”
“Just window shopping for us today,” she says as I pick up my cup again. “We bonded over being girls on a budget.”
My eyes study her from over the rim of my mug. “Come again?”
Zoe’s dark purple fingernail taps the credit card, then slides it back toward me. “You’re paying for too much of my life already.”
Frowning, I set my cup down. “Says who?”
“Me,” she murmurs, looking down at her coffee. She takes a sip, and then, without looking at me, adds, “I’ve been living here rent-free for quite a while, C. And then you bought an incredibly expensive piece of real estate in New York so I’ll have a place to stay when I’m in the city. It’s too much.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Zoe?—”
Her cup clatters as she drops it on the granite counter accidentally. “Don’t get me wrong. I really appreciate it,” she says quickly and a little too loudly. She gets this way when she’s upset, or nervous, or both.
I guess she needs me to soothe her and to remind her that I like having a place in New York so I can spend time with her there. And to remind her that her buying sexy outfits benefits me too, since I get to enjoy looking at her in them. The curve of her ass in her leggings already has me sporting wood. As I’m thinking about what to say to get her to reframe how she sees the financial aspect of our relationship, my hand reaches out for hers. The touch doesn’t land. Instead I find empty air because she’s moved farther way.
Next, she blurts out, “I think I should remind myself that I’m not rich. I’m a dancer who’s between shows. The only reason I have any income at all right now is because I’m on the payroll for our production company, which is funded completely by Rachel. And she got that money as a wedding present from Sasha. My situation is different from Rach’s, which is hard to remember when I have your platinum card in my purse. I don’t want to get addicted to sugar baby money.”
I try to school my features so I don’t scowl. On and off lately, we’ve had some rough fights about our relationship. In my opinion, everything’s great the way it is. There’s no need to rush forward or to back up. But for Zoe, standing still is a hard thing to do. Our friends are getting married and we’re not, which doesn’t sit well with her.
Now she’s gonna hit me with a sugar daddy label for spending money on her, like I’m buying her company or keeping her as a mistress?Come on,I think.Why go there?She’s my live-in girlfriend because we’re in love with each other. She submits to me because I’m dominant. Neither of those things has ever been associated with a price tag.
Ever since I shut down talk of getting engaged this year, she’s been trying to play the independence card more often. She’d never ditch me of course, but when I’m not with her in New York, she’s been known to slip away from her bodyguard in favor of taking the subway alone to wander around the city and live off street tacos for a day. I try not to make a federal case of it when she rebels against what she’s decided is too much oversight. I do worry about her though. My enemies in New York might take notice of her roaming around alone. Now that Trick’s wedding is behind us, I hope everything will get back to normal. So far there’s no joy on that account if she’s refusing to go shopping on my dime.
With a disapproving shake of my head, I put my credit card away. “Do what you want, Z.”
“I will, thanks,” she says softly, putting her cup in the sink.
“Do I get a kiss goodbye? Or is sugar baby sugar something I shouldn’t get addicted to?”
She chuckles and then comes to me, sliding her arms around my neck and giving me a lingering kiss on the mouth. “Have a good day, meu amore.” Then she slips out of my arms and out of the kitchen.
Hmm.
My phone buzzes, and I open the group thread for the five of us, Zoe, me, Anvil, Rachel, and Trick. There’s a new message. Trick’s posted a black-and-white picture of the five of us plus Laurelyn from the night before. Looks professional, so probably came from one of the photographers. There are big smiles from everyone except Anvil. There’s maybe a hint of smile on his face, but that’s the most anyone ever gets from him in pictures. It’s not a reflection of the kind of time he was having. Rachel on the dance floor had his undivided attention, and his expression said he wanted to use her as an ice cream topper that he licked into oblivion.
Heart emojis appear instantly from Rachel and Zoe in response to the pic.
I study Zoe’s face in the photo. She looks radiantly happy, but she’s a performer so what’s on the surface isn’t always the whole story. She definitely had a great time when we were dancing, and last night in bed was as hot as always. But in the sober light of day, something’s off.
My phone buzzes, and I look down at the text thread.
Trick:Headed to airport. got satellite phone in case of crue emergency
I type a quick response and send it.
C:We’ve got it covered. Have a good time.
Trick:always
