Page 15 of Dirty Money
She broke into a grin.
-Do you still want to see me? You can pick what we do-Forty-five minutes earlier. Then, twenty-two minutes later.-I’ll bring the bug, I promise-
Maybe he’ll assume I’m asleep too, Aullie thought as she turned out the light and wriggled under the covers. She was too tired to respond anyway and happy to keep the rich boy waiting until morning.
The next morning, Aullie was thankful for her indigo curtains. Not only was the dark color beautiful but the thick silky fabric blocked out all the blaring sunlight that came through her East-facing window. Since she was such a night owl, and her job rarely required her to be up before eleven, she enjoyed her ability to sleep in.
After she rolled out of bed around ten-thirty, she brewed a cup of coffee. While the dark liquid trickled slowly into yet another eccentric mug, Aullie pondered what she should say to Weston. She still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that seeing him again was what she wanted, but she was probably up to about eighty percent and figured that was enough.
-Sorry, I passed out early last night. As long as you bring the bug, we can do whatever you want :)-
As soon as the send button was pushed, she instantly regretted it. Not only was her hard-to-get game ruined but she had meant to come across as flirtatious, not sexual. The way she had worded that could totally be taken that way.
‘Shit’, she thought, wondering if maybe she should just drop the whole thing. Until recently, Aullie wasn’t really the dating type. She liked to meet guys, befriend them, have sex with them and then keep it that way. It wasn’t that she was a slut, she just usually preferred to keep things low stress.
With her ever-climbing mountain of student loans and their subsequent pressure, it wasn’t like she could afford the drama, and all this unnecessary stress with Weston was exactly why.
“This isn’t who I am,” she grumbled to herself as she choked down the bitterness of cheap black coffee. Perching her perky little butt on top of the huge turquoise table, she considered the painting she had done the first night she had really met Weston. She reminisced about their time together; his fun little slug bug, the unique hole-in-the-wall place he had taken her to, his names for all the plastic birds.
Aullie had thought she had an idea about the man. He was smart but quirky, down to earth and working hard to make his own way, just like she was.
He was not only rich but practically famous. She wondered what he actually did for work, if anything, considering how loaded his family was, what his house looked like, and if his Aston Martin was even his only fancy car.
She had let herself feel, so strongly and recklessly, that she had attached herself emotionally to a man she hardly knew. Stupid, stupid, stupid, was becoming her mantra.
It was time to shower if she was going to make it to work on time, and she didn’t even bother checking her phone. After her little rumination, Aullie was no longer so sure about what she really wanted. She thought and brooded through her shower, scrubbing her body clean and working her rosemary-mint shampoo into her long black hair. After she dried off and blew her ebony mane dry, she stared at herself in the mirror.
Aullie could admit that she was pretty, but more like waitress-in-a-bar pretty not pretty-pretty. She had pretty, slightly hooded eyes and full lips, but her nose was a little small and she hadn’t quite kicked her acne yet, so she was usually adorned with a few noticeable blemishes.
Why me?
If this man, this rich, sexy, accented man, wanted any woman in the world, he could probably have her. Exotic beauties, waif-like supermodels with extreme cheekbones, or curvaceous centerfolds. He had said something about liking her for not being interested in his money but she just didn’t understand why he was so fascinated with her.
As she fastened the buckle on her belt, Bruce emerged from whichever of his many hiding spots that he had been enjoying all morning and came to rub against her legs and purr like a little Diesel engine. While his concern that her jeans weren’t covered in enough cat hair was touching, she shooed him away.
As she gathered her keys, coat, and wallet, she also grabbed her phone. There were two texts, one from Brittany, asking if she wanted anything from Starbucks, the other was from Weston.
-Well I have a few ideas :)-he had typed, Aullie was grateful it was a smiley face and not a wink.-I’ll call you on Monday, we can work out a time. However, I’m about to catch a flight, I may be out of cell range through tomorrow night. Have a great weekend.-
Aullie was actually grateful to have a few days to herself, to decide if pursuing a relationship with a man so far out of her league, who apparently also traveled for his fancy-schmancy job, was a good investment of her time and effort.
Problem is, she thought with a sallow smile as she walked out the door, we artists aren’t known for being especially logical thinkers.
The weekend passed in a blur of work, coffee, and sore feet. Monday morning broke, and Aullie was actually happy to get an email that her Monday class had been canceled. Though she usually resented any stolen opportunities to create, but she was so tired and achy that she almost hoped that Weston wouldn’t call so she could just lay in her blanket burrito all day.
Of course, the sexy Brit was a hot topic of gossip with the Tackleman’s crew. Aullie was so thankful that Brittany had known better than to tell everyone about his money too. If she had, Aullie imagined that most of them would fall in love with him right then and there, then she’d never get them to shut up. However, their encouragement had built up her confidence in her choice to see Weston again.
Around noon, semi-surprised she hadn’t heard from him at all yet, Aullie finally decided to get up. She brewed some energizing tea and lit some incense, happy that she had a little break to do some yoga. She powered up the yoga app on her phone and spent half an hour bending, lunging, stretching and moaning for the first time in weeks.
As she lay in savasana, consciously relaxing from her toes to her fingertips, she turned her mind inward. She realized how many parts of herself, of her life, that she loved and that she wasn’t making time for lately. No wonder I’ve been so moody, she thought.
Standing up, with a heady rush of endorphins, Aullie wandered into her little excuse for a kitchen and checked her fridge. There wasn’t much there; she really needed to go get some groceries. Her hunger overrode the nagging voice in her head that reminded that she really should try to eat better, though, as she nuked a frozen dinner in the microwave. It’s just a chicken breast and some mashed potatoes, how bad can it really be? She justified to herself.
Bruce stood up and stretched, his stripy gray back arching up toward the raw concrete ceiling, as Aullie plunked down next to him on the couch. The soft plastic slid and bent as she cut her food into bite size pieces and mixed it all together into a brownish, gravy soaked pile.
She ate, her lazy, exhausted body thankful for the bland food, and checked her phone. It was just past one, and still nothing from Weston. She wondered if she should call him but immediately dismissed the thought. This whole thing was his idea, and he had been almost too insistent.
Hmm, what to do now, she thought. There was a home painting project due in her class next week that she foolishly hadn’t even started yet. Her medium of choice had always been oil paint, the texture, and depth it provided was unmatched, but it was infamous for its incredibly long dry time. She’d have to do a quick drying base background layer in acrylic, then layer the wetter paint on top in order to finish it.
