“Those two ladies sure seemed willing.”
He recalled the pair of brunettes who greeted him with overwhelming enthusiasm before he saw Elena. “That’s the issue. After Regina’s interview, I started to attract the wrong kind of woman. They wanna cash in on my fading fame, or they want an easy lay. It’s not like that. I explained it to you before. I didn’t do threesomes or go to orgies with her. We had an understanding that we weren’t sexually exclusive.”
She folded her arms over her chest, and crossed her legs. “Did you sleep with other women while you were with her?”
“A couple times,” he said, and his throat thickened. After having sex two different times with women he lusted over, he hadn’t felt particularly empowered or good about himself. But damn it, at least he was being honest—to Regina, to himself.
“Of course,” she said in a small voice, and his heart clenched like he just disappointed her. She stared down at the floor, and he could give a thousand pennies for her thought. Maybe not. He doubted she had anything positive to say about his unorthodox lifestyle.
“Yo. Elena,” he said, nudging her elbow. “I never lied to her, never cheated on her.” Never hurt her.
With a nod, she shifted to face him. “Didn’t you ever try a monogamous relationship?”
No.The last thing he wanted was to find a woman who made him an emotional slave, like his mother had been to his father. Someone who didn’t discern right from wrong, and who had no self-esteem. “I’m not good at those.”
“How do you know?” she asked him in a voice softer than silk. “Does this mean that while you’re teaching me how to up my sex game, if you see someone down the street you like, you’re going to screw her?” She rose to her feet, then started to pick up her dress and shoes from the floor.
“No. I would never do that to you,” he said, massaging his temples. Tension filled the air. An exasperated sigh left his lips. Why would he waste his time with another woman when the one in front of him occupied his thoughts even when she wasn’t around?
She avoided looking at him. “Why not? You aren’t into exclusivity.”
How come the pillow talk got so complicated all of a sudden? “This isn’t a relationship, Elena. This is something temporary. I’m helping you out and you’re helping me out. That’s different,” he said, his words losing energy at the end. Somehow it seemed like he was saying them more to himself than to her, which was ridiculous. He, of all people, knew exactly what they were and weren’t.
“Of course not,” she said, her voice a notch more cheerful. She slid her feet into her shoes, and flashed him a glance so quickly, it was impossible for him to read the message in her bedroom eyes. Despite whatever attitude she was trying to pull off, he noticed her hands trembled as she smoothed her dress. Shit. “Well, I have to get going. It’s late and I’m exhausted.”
He stood, and didn’t even bother to cover himself with his jacket anymore. He was about to reach for his shirt and put it on, when he heard her heels clacking toward the door. “Give me a moment. I’ll take you home.”
“Don’t worry." She clasped the door handle, and he was about to walk to her and kiss her cheeks, when she gave him a tremulous smile and waved him off. “I know the way out.”
***
“Thanks again,” Elena said, before knocking on the door of a beautiful townhouse in Madison Avenue.
“Anytime,” Devon said, even though he probably wouldn’t meet her family again. A strange emotion welled inside him, and he swallowed hard to push it down.
Rather than use the company jet, they had flown first class to New York City to avoid suspicion. To his surprise, they chatted about all sorts of subjects, including music, politics, and current events.
Truth was he enjoyed her company, even on a non-sexual level. Not that that level wasn’t there, lurking beneath casual conversations.
The door swung open and an older version of Elena filled the frame. The woman whose skin color was a shade darker than Elena’s, had her reddish brown hair up in a bun, and wore a light blue dress, covered by a black apron.
“Come in, Bambina!” she said, lively, and snatched Elena in a hug. She said something that was either Italian or just above a whisper, because he couldn’t understand. Then, her gaze slid to him, and she smiled.
“Mom, this is Devon. Devon, this is my mom, Arietta Moretti.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Moretti.” Devon said, and was about to shake her hand but she enveloped him in a warm hug.
“Please call me Arietta. So nice to meet you. Come in, come in.” She gestured for them to enter.
An obscene amount of pictures crowded the beige walls. His mother certainly never wasted any time with such displays of affection, and when he had moved in with Imani, well, she had been kind and warm despite the circumstances that brought him to her door. Especially given the circumstances. But her place was far too refined for that amount of stuff.
“This is so exciting,” her mother said. “So Devon, do you have any food allergies? Any of this gluten-free nonsense? Almond milk obsession?” She lifted her hand to her chest, and widened her chestnut eyes. “Wait. You’re not vegetarian, are you?” she asked as if accusing him of a hideous crime.
“Nope. I’ll eat anything.” He bit back a smile, and could see Elena rolling her eyes behind her mother.
Arietta tapped his arm and smiled. “Well son, whatever you’re eating it’s working. You’re quite a strappy man.”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Should he thank her? His experience with women was vast, but Arietta’s enthusiasm was something he wasn’t sure how to respond to. Older women hit on him, but never ones that old.
