“How many people stay here?”
“A couple hundred.”
“Should I assume that they’re all wealthy?”
“Probably.” He smiles. “Let me show you to your room. I’ll order the pizza afterwards.”
As we walk past the living room—a room with a slow burning fireplace and all white furniture, he tells me that he’s been living here for about two years. He’s supposed to attend monthly meetings with the neighbors and show his face at the huge holiday parties, but he never has the time.
“This is my room.” He opens the door to a massive beige room with floor to ceiling windows and a balcony, and I have to prevent my jaw from dropping. I’ve only seen another room that was halfway as nice as this, and that was on some reality show I saw last month.
“You can sleep here tonight.” He places my bag onto the bed. “The bathroom is behind the door to your right.”
“I thought you said I could stay in the guest suite.”
“I think you’ll like this room better.”
“Okay, either you’re delusional or you don’t understand plain English. I told you that I wasn’t having sex with you, and I wasn’t sharing a room with you. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“I’ll be sleeping in the guest suite tonight.” He smiles. “But you’re more than welcome to join me if you don’t like this room.”
I roll my eyes. “This will be fine. Thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’m more than willing to fulfill all of your needs.”
Silence.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
“The pizza usually takes about twenty minutes.” He opens a closet and tosses a few blankets onto the bed. “If you need anything else just let me know.” He walks away and closes the door behind him.
As soon as I hear his footsteps trailing down the hallway, I start to look around.
There are a few photos hanging on his walls—mostly ones that feature him and a small brown-haired girl. Her eyes are a stunning green like his, and her smile is just as infectious. I would assume that she’s his daughter until I notice a small note scribbled at the bottom of one photo: “I love my Uncle Blake!”
How cute...
Curious, I step into his massive walk-in closet. All of his suits and ties are organized by color, and his shoes are perfectly arranged inside clear boxes that bear designer names.
I open all of his dresser drawers in search of something that will prove that he definitely has a girlfriend—a picture, a cami-shirt, an earring, but there’s nothing. Only more organized ties, and condoms. Lots and lots of condoms.
The last two drawers are stocked full of them, and they all boast “XXL” on their wrappers.
Right...
Rolling my eyes, I head into the bedroom and flop onto the bed—quickly calling David.
“Have I ever told you that you have the worst timing in the world?” He answers with a sigh.
“Have I ever told you that best friends can call each other whenever they want?”
“I was about to have sex.”
“Well, you must not have been too excited about it because you picked up the phone.”
“True.” He laughs. “Did you make it to Boston yet? I emailed you a list of things I’ve scheduled for you to do.”
“No. I’m stuck in Washington because the flight was canceled. I just wanted to tell you in case you had someone waiting for me at the airport.”
“Thanks. Is that all?”
“That, and I’m going to bash your f**king head in whenever I see you again.”
“I take it your mom told you I cried at the party?” He chuckles. “My tears were Oscar-worthy.”
“I’m sure they were. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Wait. What aren’t you telling me, Paris?”
“What?”
“There’s something you’re not telling me. I can sense it.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Please don’t make me guess.”
I contemplate hanging up right then and there because if there’s anyone who can sense when something is up, it’s David. “Okay, okay...I’m spending the night with this guy I met on the plane.”
“This guy you met on a plane?”
“Are you having problems hearing?”
“What’s his name?”
“Blake.”
“And?” He laughs. “Is that all you know about him?”
“No! I know that he’s a lawyer, and he um...Trust me, I asked all the right questions.”
“You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
“Of course not!”
“Yes you are.” He’s smiling, I know it. “If he was able to talk your suspicious ass into going home with him, you have to be more than attracted to him. Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. As a matter of fact, I think you should f**k him while you’re there.”
“What?”
“I didn’t stutter. You need to be f**ked, Paris. Badly.”
“David...”
“I’m looking out for the both of us. I’d do it, but I don’t want you to become addicted to me. Besides, it’d be really nice not to hear you complain about another man’s dick anymore, or be forced to listen to you whine about how you only cum three times a year.”