“No, Turo, in America.”
“Broke it off just before I came here.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. It had gone on too long.”
“You didn’t love her?”
“No. I also didn’t care enough, and not the way she wanted me to.”
Her lips tipped up. “Well, aren’t you in demand?”
I leaned over and brushed her upper arm with my lips, and she shivered. I grinned at her, enjoying her reaction. “Women see a certain thing in me they want and try to get it.” My tongue traced a circle on her shoulder. “I offer things in return.”
She eyed me. “You’ve designed that very well.”
“Designed?”
“Your relations with women sound like an objective business transaction.”
I released her arm. “I don’t look at it like that.”
“From how you’ve just described them, they have a non-organic quality—”
I let out a laugh. “Non-organic?”
Her lips pressed together. “More practical and pre-organized. Efficient. Rather like—”
I slanted my head. “Don’t say it.”
“—hiring a prostitute?” She licked at her upper lip. The satisfied cat.
“I do make sure terms are clear and understood, that certain expectations are exposed and deflated before proceeding.”
“And if they’re compliant with your terms, they get rewarded, I imagine? You seem to be a fair sort. An extravagant night out? The theatre? An expensive meal, jewelry on occasion? Good sex?”
“Yes.”
“To all the above?”
“Yes, but most especially the good sex. Always the good sex.”
“Very fair,” she murmured, a grin stealing over her lips. “But you are a…Tefal.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tefal—em, a frying pan that does not stick.”
“You’re comparing me to a non-stick frying pan? That’s a first.”
She let out a small laugh. “Nothing can attach to you. Everything slips over and around you with ease.”
Her words blared their hard light on my winter of discontent. I ground my jaw. Why did that annoy me? Why did I give a fuck?
Because I gave a fuck about her opinion.
The waiter brought us a second round of whipped iced frappé coffees. Adriana’s phone went off. “It all begins,” she murmured, eyeing her screen.