“What’s wrong, Ivy?” My father hurried my way, noticing the urine around my legs. “Baby, let’s get you cleaned up—”
“M-mr. Smith.” Saint tapped his arm and pointed to Mom.
My father cried, “Jesus! No, Gloria! No!”
He let go of me and rushed off to her.
Holly screamed in horror.
Something shook me.
A deep voice sounded off in the distance. “Ivy, are you okay?”
I turned to my Christmas present showing the bike. “No. I’m. . .not. . .”
“Ivy?”
Waking up, I rubbed my eyes. “W-what?”
“Ivy?” Red gathered me into his arms. “You were screaming for your mother and talking about a bike.”
Blinking, I scooted out of his hold. “What?”
“You must have been having a nightmare—”
“Sorry. I. . .I slept here.”
“That’s not a problem.
“Sorry, I woke you up.” I shook my head and sat up in bed.
“You were yelling for—”
“Sometimes I have nightmares like that around this time.”
Concern covered his face. “You have nothing to be sorry about. What was the dream about?”
I checked his clock on the nightstand and then climbed out of bed. “Fuck. I can’t believe I spent the night. I have a plane to catch this morning.”
“What? Wait, Ivy.” Red hurried out of bed too, not even covering himself. “Where are you going?”
I picked up my pants from the floor and began dressing. “My best friend’s wedding is this week, right on Christmas Eve.”
“It is?”
I yawned and stepped into my pants. “Yeah.”
“Well, where is it?”
“Finland.” I grabbed my bra. “Why?”
“Because we’ve been fucking for three months now and I don’t know anything about you besides what I can Google.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It’s your social media persona. I would like to get to know the real Ivy like what are your—”
“Red.” I snapped on the bra and then searched for my shirt. “We’re just a fun situation. There’s no need to make it bigger. You like to fuck. I like to fuck. We fuck together—”
“But there’s more to this now.”
Stunned, I stepped back. “Is there?”
“I would like to think so.”
Sighing, I checked the nightstand. “Where the hell is my shirt?”
“Ivy, there is more to us.” He picked up my shirt on the lampshade. “Here you go.”
“How did that get over there?”
“You arrived here pretty drunk off champagne and did a striptease.”
“What?” I took his shirt. “Fuck. I must’ve blacked out for that part.”
“You kept singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas.’”
I put on my shirt. “God. Sorry for that—”
“Stop apologizing for being yourself and letting me in.” He walked over and handed me my panties. “Before you go, I have a present for you.”
Shocked, I stepped back again. “Umm. . .so. . .listen. I’m so sorry, but I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“You’re Muslim or Jewish?”
“Yep.”
“Which one?”
“Pick either one.” I gave him a weak smile, grabbed the panties from his hand, and headed to the other side of the room. “However, the present is super thoughtful. Thank you so much—”
“Ivy, can we talk?”
“I have a plane to catch. If I didn’t, I would stay.” I shoved the panties in my pocket. “Red, you’re a really great guy, but I’m not interested in more than sex.”
“Because I’m a model?”
“What? No. Why would that be a problem?”
“Some designers don’t like to get entangled with models—”
“That’s not my reason. It’s just that. . .I’m not into the whole relationship thing.” I patted his shoulder. “So, let’s just keep this how it is.”
He frowned at my hand. “Just fucking?”
“I like to fuck. You like to fuck.”
“I like to do more than fuck, Ivy. I like to talk and go to the movies and even know who the hell I am fucking.”
“You know me a lot more than most.” I rushed over to my coat and purse.
“I don’t know what makes you laugh or cry—”
“That’s good. Trust me. I’ve got serious issues. I’m doing you a favor.”
“Mommy issues?”
Horror surged through me. I spun around. “What did you say?”
“You screamed for your mother over and over—”
“Listen.” I held up a shaking finger. “Forget about that.”
“What happened—”
“Red, leave it alone.” I put my back to him, put on my coat, and grabbed my purse.
“Okay, but we could at least start going on dates or something.”
Whoa!
“I would love to show you more about me.”
“Sounds good.” I picked up my shoes, didn’t put them on, and hurried out of his bedroom. “I’ll have my assistant set up something.”
“What?”
“See you later.” I rushed to his front door and left.
Holy Mother Mary. Why am I always fucking the commitment guys? Where’s the ones that just want me for my body?
I’d read so many articles about women having a difficult time trying to find Mr. Right. Men were full of shit. When women came on strong, they ignored and mistreated them. When women ignored and simply used them for their bodies, then they wanted something more. I bet if I wanted to be with these guys, they would sing another tune.
Poor, Red. I thought we had at least another month of sex.
I turned on my phone and dialed Park.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello. I’m at the gate waiting for our flight. I don’t see you. I hope I don’t have the wrong—”
“I’m late. I’ll be there soon.” I checked my watch and went to the elevator. “How did the dinner and auction go?”
“Dinner was fabulous. Everyone was worried about your absence. It was announced that you were sick and couldn’t attend. There were all sorts of gossip that went around the rest of the night.”
“Gossip?” I pushed the button. “Like what?”
“You’re pregnant. You overdosed backstage. You’re being investigated by the FBI and they were there to arrest you.”
“Typical.” I rolled my eyes. “How much did we raise?”
“Close to a million dollars. I’ll have to go over everything again. But there were several store contracts offered for the pants suits and the crystal-embellished gowns.”
“Good shit.” I stepped on the elevator. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
It took me a little over an hour to get home, shower, grab my suitcase, and arrive at the airport. I hurried through the security and ran to the gate. Another five minutes and I would have missed the plane.