Page 30 of Toy Shop

I clench my jaw.

“My feelings, exactly.” She rolls her eyes, huffing a long, exasperated breath. “That’s why I plan to open my own shop one of these days.”

I don’t get easily confused. Today, though, I’m thrown in every which direction. “But when you—”

“I love economics, love finance, love analyzing trends and working on budgets, and most of all having an impact, meager as it might be.” Her head whips at me, her ferocity etched on her face. “The endgame, though, after I’m done paying student loans and saving up, is opening my own sex store. An ethical, all-inclusive one.”

This girl in my arms, the essence of her, reveals another layer I’m insanely attracted to. She isn’t a pawn to get me off while working on my anger and sense of being powerless. She proves that in the goodness of her heart lies a key to maybe help this feeling be…permanent.

Permanent?

No.

Hell no.

You only have the now. Stick to the conversation.

“Tell me about your dream shop.”

“Toy Shop’s marketing targets one, wealthy, mostly straight part of the community we live in.”

“Kind of figured this out by the type of websites praising them.”

“Right. So, that’s the hefty part of our clientele. Those who’d pay for overpriced shit because a model claims on her social media that she and her boyfriend don’t buy anywhere else, despite living in LA or Manhattan or whatever.” Nola’s speech deflects the ludicrous notions out of my mind about having her for the long haul. I’m genuinely curious, listening to hanging on her every word.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she continues. “I mean, the lady model deserves a great sex life using the high-quality products Roger handpicks for her. My point is, there’s a wider, equally-deserving demographic. People of all races, income levels, and sexual orientations should have access to safe stores with organic and socially-conscious products. An Everybody’s Welcome kind of shop.”

Time ceases to exist for a second. Her inner beauty and devotion far surpass any ethereal feature on her face. I cup her jaw, kissing her because I just have to.

“I want to help,” I say when I come up for air.

Nola’s hands reach to my chest, pushing herself away. “No, I can’t accept any help, especially not one that’d cheapen what we have and make me a gold digger who hounded you down to be my sugar daddy.”

“Nola, you didn’t know who I was.” Her words, what we have, ring in my ears, though I’m not in any position to accept them.

“If anything—” I bring my words to a screeching halt. Under no circumstances will I utter I chased you to be my trophy wife. The last thing Nola needs is a messed-up man such as myself to be her husband.

And in any case, I’m not the marrying type.

I’m not.

“You’d never know for sure, though. Not really.” She shrugs. “Once money’s involved, the seed of doubt is forever there. Besides—and I don’t care if they’re pennies for you—but we’ve met like what, three times?”

“Four, including our phone call.”

“Fine, four.” She motions for the grapes.

When I offer her one, she only shakes her head, telling me wordlessly I need to keep my end of the bargain. She’s right. I pop one in.

A huge mistake, since I damn near cough it out listening to her ludicrous question. “I still don’t understand why you’d offer to help me, this no one.”

A no one wouldn’t tap with such ease on the darkened area of my soul, pressing the button familiar faces and experienced women before her were unable to reach. Unfortunately, I know how it sounds. Overwhelming and too-fucking-much.

“Let’s get one thing straight, you’re not a no one.” Applying the barest of pressure, I stroke my fingers across her lips, imprinting them to memory. “And it’s not just you. I give back, it’s what I do.”

“Let’s change the subject.” Her answer is fire.

My frown morphs into a glare. I can contribute in so many ways. “I—”

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