but he breaks from the shock-spell fast, clasping his hands together between his spread thighs, one eye squinting. “And Ben?”
Of course he’d go there.
Not more about my addiction,
but how I’m feeding it.
“Ben is my… boyfriend—technically, yes.
“But it’s not how you think.”
Andrew’s eyes dart between mine.
“How is it then?”
“It’s a business transaction.”
I force myself to hold eye contact
when every nerve is screaming to run.
“It’s structured. He works for me.
“Gives me what I need, when I need it.
“Follows the rules.”
I explain it as if it’s like hiring a chef four nights a week,
except they're the ones eating.
“He’s been in contract for three years.
“He doesn’t care about me.
“And I don’t care about him.”
The truth makes me sound cold.
Hell, maybe Iamcold.
Andrew’s sitting there, gutted,
with amaybe-it-wasn’t-reallook,
probably wondering if he was just a good orgasm in a bookstore.
“I know what you’re thinking right now,” I say.
He pulls off his glasses,
one hand dragging down his face.
“You know what I’m thinkin’.” He smiles.
“C’mon, then. Let’s hear it.
“Tell me how you think I see you right now.”
