Sophia has either gone too high, or she and her husband have been spending far beyond their 400k income.
揑s this correct??I ask politely, trying to hide my incredulity. 揧ou spend five hundred a month on manicures??
揑t抯 pedicures also,?she says. 揋els, so it抯 more expensive.?
揂nd doctors?visits梩wo thousand a month,?I continue. 揅an you tell me what that抯 about??
It抯 probably wrong that I抦 hoping she抣l tell me she has a serious medical condition. In my defense, though, I have a better case if she does.
揑 see an alternative practitioner for my food sensitivities, so that抯 about a hundred a week because I need these infrared colonics and supplements.?
My optimism dies. No court is going to look at food sensitivities the way they might Parkinson抯。 揙kay, and the rest??
揥ell, facials and Botox and filler, mostly,?she says. 揑t really adds up.?
揜ight, sure.?So far, she抯 spending three grand a month just on her face, hair and nails, an additional eight hundred on personal training and a gym membership, and two grand a month on clothes. We haven抰 gotten to her mortgage, her car, insurance or her phone梬e haven抰 even gotten to her kids梐nd she抯 already spending far more than I抣l be able to get from her husband.
Sophia is telling me she needs acupuncture every week for some disorder few doctors believe is real, and my mind wanders back to Ben. Ben, moving over me in a dark room. Ben, cupping my face and kissing me like I matter to him. Admitting he抯 been bringing strawberries in, just for me.
Is this real, or is it just a castle of cards he抯 constructing, careless of the mess he抣l make when it inevitably falls apart? My throat tightens the way it always does when the past creeps in.
揇on抰 get married,?Sophia says. 揂t least not to an LA guy.?
I blink, as if I抳e been caught at something. 揑 don抰 intend to,?I reply.
Ben walks into my office at dinnertime, looking scruffy and slightly day-weary: tie loosened, some serious five o抍lock shadow along his jaw.
I rise and walk around to the other side of my desk. I want to tell him I抦 busy but I just can抰。 揝hut the door.?
His eyes flicker over me, head to heels. His hand goes to his belt and his mouth opens slightly as he considers it, but then he winces, and his hand falls away. 揕et抯 go, Gemma.?
He抯 obviously going to be tedious about this. 揑 need to work.?
揙n what??
揑棓
His tongue taps his upper lip, and I lose my train of thought. God, I love when he does that.
揝tuff,?I conclude.
He gives a low laugh. 揝tuff? Must be important. I抣l be at your place in thirty minutes.?
I have every intention of saying, 搕hat was a one-time thing? but I抦 already shutting down my laptop.
I抦 at my apartment when he arrives with takeout in hand. I glance at it, wondering if this is the point where we start acting like boring grown-ups who eat dinner, watch TV, and fall asleep too fast.
He drops the bag on the floor and pushes me against the wall. So I guess we抮e not that boring.
揟hese outfits of yours are going to end me,?he groans, tugging up my skirt as he kicks the door shut behind him.
My hand is already on his belt. I get his pants down, and he steps out of them while he moves me back toward the bedroom. We land on the bed together.
揂dmit you抮e glad I came over,?he says, as I roll him onto his back.
揥hatever.?
He pushes inside me, and I gasp at the feel of it.
揑抦 pretty sure that was a yes,?he says.
An hour later, we抮e sitting at the little table in my breakfast area. He抯 only in boxers, and I抦 wearing his t-shirt, which hangs to mid-thigh. It抯 bizarre that I抦 sleeping with the terrible Ben Tate, but it抯 even more bizarre that we抮e sitting at my table together half naked, like an actual couple, and I抦 completely comfortable with it.
My phone, sitting next to the rice, lights up with a Zillow notification. Having no respect for boundaries whatsoever, he lifts it to read. 揥hy are you hunting for houses in厰 He squints, 揗anassas, Virginia??
I frown. 揑抦 not. It was for my mom.?
揝he抯 moving??
I suppose this is where normal people open up, divulge a bit about themselves. I could tell him about the situation with my mother梐bout the shithole apartment complex she lives in and how I tried to convince her I wanted to buy a house there as an investment property, which all backfired on me when she said she wouldn抰 move梑ut the further you open yourself to someone, the harder it is to shut it off later, when it all goes to hell.
揘o,?I tell him. 揝he decided against it.?
His gaze flickers to my face for a half-second. It抯 as if he抯 always assessing to see if I抦 lying, and that抯 smart because a lot of the time I am. Whatever he concludes, he opts not to pry any further.