"I know!" She slaps her palm onto her knee and turns towards me in her seat. "I cannot believe you paid so much for someone with no references or experience. It's not even logical! You're the one giving me a sexual education and you're paying me for the privilege. You should really work on your negotiation skills, because I think Vince hosed you." She finishes that speech with a little shake of her head before continuing. "I don't think buying me was a sound financial purchase. I bet your financial advisor is going to be very disappointed when he finds out."
I glance over at her to gauge if she's serious right now. My guess is one hundred percent serious.
"I'm sure Anthony will manage his disappointment accordingly."
"Maybe he can find a way to put me on your taxes as an expense. Like the swag. Filed under grand opening entertainment or something? I'm sure Vince will give you a receipt, right? If he invoices this as entertainment it wouldn't be a lie. Sex in and of itself is sort of entertaining."
My certainty about if she's fucking with me or not just dropped to eighty percent so I keep my mouth shut, which she takes as an invitation to keep talking. I miss quiet Lydia. I enjoyed her for the five minutes I knew her.
"It would be one thing if you were terrible at sex and you needed to pay someone to fake having a good time, but you're super-good at sex! I didn't have to fake anything."
"Thank you," I deadpan in reply.
"Oh, shoot, was that rude? I bet you're good at other stuff too. You must be, you're very successful. I bet you're good at CEOing stuff.”
"Besides negotiating."
"Yeah," she says with a small sigh. "Besides that. But you know, you're probably just not thinking clearly right now, what with the grand opening just around the corner. I'm sure you're a much better negotiator when you're not under so much stress. But it's fine because you're good at so many other things, like working out and making your own bed and recycling." She's counting off on her fingers as she rattles my accomplishments off, pausing after the third finger. "And sharing. You're an excellent sharer." She jiggles the iced coffee with one hand and holds up a fourth finger on the other. “And—" She pauses again, clearly having run out of accomplishments she can praise me for, which vaguely disappoints me. It also makes me wonder what sorts of accomplishments might impress her enough to win her respect. "Did you by chance have anything to do with the coffee machine in the break room? Because it's phenomenal."
"What was the thing, Lydia? To begin with? Remind me why we're having this conversation?"
"Oh! Right. The thing is I didn't realize this was for a month so I only purchased one set of sexy underwear. My regular stuff is all cotton bikini bottoms. Not even thongs ’cause I prefer underwear that covers my butt."
The idea of Lydia with a drawer full of boring cotton panties that she doesn't expect anyone to see has me hard again. Maybe there's something wrong with my cock? Like some kind of stress-induced permanent semi-hard-on? That doesn't sound right.
"And I don't have any sexy pajamas either. So I'm not sure what you expect me to pack. That's what I was trying to ask you about expectations. I got the sex part, I'm just not sure what you expect from me the other twenty-three and a half hours a day."
"Last night was a hell of a lot longer than half an hour," I gripe as we hit another stoplight.
"I know! I'm sorry! But you kept going down on me and kissing me and doing all those things that were not putting your penis inside of me. I don't think that article I read was counting all that other stuff when they came up with that seven- to thirteen-minute average and I didn't know yet about that other stuff or how long you'd want to do it."
I'm going to need Jesus to take the wheel of this car if she doesn't shut up soon.
"Anyway, we can be quicker, I'm sure. I know you're busy so maybe we can have a couple of quickies and that will bring our average down. Like if we have sex a couple times for five minutes and one time for an hour, then that's an average of like twenty or twenty-five minutes per sexing. Shoot, is that still too long? Maybe three quickies for every long one? You're the one with a schedule so it's up to you."
Jesus. Wheel. I adjust my cock as she continues chatting away.
"Anyway, that wasn't really my point," she says, taking a breath.
Thank fuck for small favors.
"My point was that I don't have any sexy stuff but I can run out and buy some today. I just need to know what you're into because that stuff is expensive and you didn't seem that impressed with the negligee thing and I'm not a mind reader."
The negligee thing she was wearing on stage in front of other men. She's right about that. I hated it.
"Just pack whatever you'd normally wear, Lydia."
"Whatever I normally wear is not what you think it is, Rhys. Are you sure you don't want me to run out and get some stuff? Or I could ask my new friend Staci for help. She could probably tell me where to order online if you're into something a little more hardcore than what I can find at the Fashion Show mall. Do you want me in leather or netting or dressed like a pony or something? Just tell me."
She brings the straw to her lips and takes another sip, blinking at me in innocent curiosity and without a hint of judgment.
"I want you exactly the way you are."
"Oh." A tiny line furrows her brow as if this is confusing to her. Or perhaps she was hoping I was into bondage or some shit, it's hard to tell with her.
"Were you hoping to experience something extreme, Lydia? Did you want me to get you a butt plug with a tail and ask you to crawl around my apartment? Pierce your nipples? Paddle you?"
"Not particularly, no. I just want to be good for you. I like it when you tell me I'm a good girl. That really does it for me."
"Does it?"
"Mmm-hmm," she murmurs and wiggles in her seat.
I tell her I need some quiet time after that.
The complex she lives at is nice. An upscale development just twenty minutes from the Strip, close enough to be convenient but far enough to have a relaxed residential feel. She lives in a unit near the clubhouse which must have a gym, as some sweat-covered asshole passes us on his way out. He calls out a “Hey, Lydia,” as he passes, which pisses me the fuck off.
"Friend of yours?" I question as I trail behind her to her door, carrying the orange cat lamp.
"I met him at the pool once," she says, flashing me a chagrined smile over her shoulder. "But I can't remember his name so I'm always just like 'Hey, you!' when he tries to talk to me."
I'd tell her that he wouldn't give a shit about reminding her what his name is if she'd be willing to give him the time of day, but fuck that. I'm not paying her to give her tips on picking up other men.
She unlocks her apartment door and calls out for her roommate, who doesn't appear to be home.
"Weird, I thought she was here," Lydia says. She looks sad about missing her. "I guess I'll see her tomorrow," she says with a shrug.
"Are you close?" I ask for lack of anything else to talk about.
"She's my best friend."