I’d caught a picture in a fancy living room before the hostesses arrived.
“Lame.” The espresso machine gurgles as if agreeing with her.
“It wasn’t lame. It was amazing.”
“Ugh.” The faint rush of liquid pouring hums in my ear.
I chuckle, but my tone grows serious. “You know my break from work has nothing to do with you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I know it’s because she does know.
“A good lineup of meaningless fucks would’ve solved your problem.” As expected, she sidesteps it with raunchy humour.
“Not my style.”
“Could’ve added some mental images to your clit closet.”
Her female version of a spank bank.
“Lord knows, I have my own finger vault full of memories and the perfect tools to achieve mind-blowing orgasms.”
“You’re getting off track.”
“Am I?” She sighs, her mug tapping on the counter through the receiver. “My socials tanked after you left. My engagement has disappeared. My numbers went with you.”
“You’re lying.” A deliciously decadent scent attacks my nostrils.
Woody, warm, like cedar smoldering in a fire.
Hints of something darker—smoke? Black pepper?
Whatever it is, it lingers.
I like it.
“How would you know?” A swoosh of milk frothing hisses through the speaker. “You don’t even go on social media.”
“I go on it.”
Is the bathroom fan humming? Or is it the pipes?
“Liar. Name the last time.”
The scheduled videos I uploaded for her a couple of weeks ago.
Yeah, I’m not telling her that.
I step over the pile of bags. “Listen, I’m safely in my room, so I’m going to get settled.”
“Um. No. FaceTime me. I want to see the room.”
I glance around. Floral wallpaper. Ruffled patterned curtains. Lace-trimmed pillows. It’s all shades of pinks, and every surface is dotted with porcelain trinkets and tiny flower vases that match the wallpaper.
“It’s an old-school floral explosion.”
“Now Ineedto see it.”
“Alright, just a second.” I press the camera button and, as I walk under the bathroom threshold, join at the same time, straight into a wall of warm, very solid humanity.
