"Maybe. I just… I don't want you to think he's…" Oh my God, why do I care if my sister thinks Ian is a selfish or generous lover? "I am satisfied."
"I hate to pull this card, but I know what a satisfied woman looks like."
"You fuck one woman and you're an expert?"
She sits back, surprised. Speaks softly, "I've been with other women."
Oh. "Who?"
"A few." This time, her expression gets shy. "I thought you knew? There was a girl at the hospital… and two this year. I just… I didn't like it, when we moved fast. So I wanted to move slow with Marisol."
"That's sweet."
"I like her so much."
"She is really smart."
She lets out a dreamy sigh. Takes a long sip. Catches herself drifting into fantasies. "Uh-huh. We're talking about you and Mr. Moneybags."
"Mr. Moneybags?"
"Yeah, I have something called Google. And it's got a lot of zeroes after his net worth. I showed Marisol his picture and she… I got really jealous, actually. She's never gone that gaga over me."
"She's really into you."
"Maybe. But the way he looked at you… I've never seen that before."
My cheeks flush.
"You did have sex? At his apartment."
"Not exactly."
She raises a brow. "You realize who you're talking to?"
"Yeah. We uh… yeah."
"It has been an entire day."
"It feels like a million years." I bite my lip. "I want to go over there right now. And just… touch him. You know? I want my skin against his skin. However, I can get it."
She nods I know. "Why don't you tell him that?"
"I… I left the ball in his court."
"Trust me, Evie, he wants his skin on your skin too… why does that sound like something a serial killer would say?"
It does. It's easy to laugh. Easier than facing how much I want him. "I just want to touch him. And feel him touch me."
"You really like him, huh? In a forever kind of way?"
Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter. We have terms. I understand them. "It's not serious."
"Why not?"
I'm not explaining that. I don't want to think about it. It's so ridiculous. How can I want him this badly? It's like he owns my mind. I only want to think of him. "It's not what he wants."
"How do you know?"
"He was clear when this started."
"Well… maybe his feelings have changed. Or maybe they will. Or maybe… you only get this. And it's like Casablanca. And don't tell me that you can't stand that there are no strong female characters in Casablanca. That's true but beside the point."
"Since when do you like Casablanca?"
"Since always. It's romantic! The point is… it's better to have loved and lost. Which would you regret more? Going for it? Or not going for it?"
"Not having these breakfast conversations with you." I strain my tea. Add almond milk and a little honey. Tap my glass against hers.
"That's very sweet. But also beside the point."
Maybe.
"You always go for it. That's what I admire about you." She brushes a blond strand behind her ear. "One of the many things."
"But the only one that serves your point?"
"Maybe."
"Totally."
"Okay. Hold on to your heart if you want. I get that. But go." She motions to the check sitting on the table. "Go get laid."
"Oh my God."
"Trust me. If you don't… you're going to regret it."
"He might be busy."
"I said go. Not give me excuses." She motions to my purse. "Get your cell. Then go."
"What if I want to invite him to our place?"
She laughs. "It's way too hot. But sure. I have to do some summer reading anyway. Go. I'll be out for a while. Text me when it's safe to return."
"Oh my God."
"I said go." She pushes me gently. "Less talking. More whatever straight people do…"
"Okay." I take a long sip of my mug. "Can I at least finish this?"
She shakes her head. "And you can't get the check either."
"Not even a takeout cup?"
"I said go. Now! Get your rocks off. That's an order."
Chapter Thirty-Six
Eve
It's right there. My cell, lying on my desk, next to my notebook and my closed laptop.
Flashing with a text from Ian.
Ian: I thought of you.
Short, simple, incredibly suggestive.
Of course, he doesn't say I came so hard when I thought of you or I fucked myself as I thought of you.
He's waiting for me to ask.
Trying to make me earn what he'll give.
I don't care that the room is stuffy—even after I open the window. I still want him here. Want him undressing me.
Watching me undress.
Watching me.
Eve: Did you really?
Ian: Yes.
Eve: When?
Ian: Last night.
Eve: In your bed?
Ian: Yes. It still smells like you.
Eve: What did you think of? Exactly?
Ian: The look in your eyes when you watch yourself. Of how much you like watching and being watched. Of how much I want to watch you come.
Eve: Oh.
Ian: What are you wearing?
Eve: A dress.
Ian: Show me.
Eve: Show you?
Ian: You took a picture naked in my bed. You know what I'm asking.
Eve: You didn't say please.
Ian: I don't say please.
My sex clenches. That shouldn't be so hot. But it is.
I pull up my camera. Put it in selfie mode. Wave as I snap a photo of my outfit.
There. Send.
A normal picture. Something I might put on social media. Hey, look at my short black dress. Perfect for summer. Why is it so hot in New York?
Only it's not that at all.
It's inviting him to undress me.
Ian: What are you wearing under it?
Eve: Underwear.
Ian: Do I need to come over there? Make you behave?
Fuck, yes.
Eve: What if you do?
Ian: I'm not coming until you invite me.
He's making me work for it. And asking for permission. In a way that sounds like an order. He's good at that. Asking what I want. Giving it to me.
Eve: What if I do?
Ian: I'll bend you over my knee. Spank you until you behave.
Fuck.
Ian: Is that what you want, vixen? Want to be punished for being a bad girl?
Eve: Maybe.
Ian: Or do you want to be rewarded?
Eve: What's my reward?
Ian: Show me what you're wearing under your dress.
It's the only way he'll give it to me. Whatever it is he's giving.
I turn my fan on. Slip out of my dress. Turn the camera to me.
There.
I send him the photo.
Me, from my shoulders to my toes, in black lingerie. From him. A lace bra. Matching bikini underwear.