“It doesn’t matter how bad things get,” I replied. “There’s not much a ride on that bike won’t fix. A thirty-minute cruise will squash an entire day of frustrations.”
She leaned away from the desk and brushed the wrinkles from her dress. “Are you really an asshole?”
“I can be.”
“I think we all can be.”
“I’m difficult to be with,” I admitted. “Knowing that about myself prevents me from being in a relationship. Hell, it prevents me from one-night stands. I tell myself I’m an asshole to make myself feel better about being perpetually single.”
“Why are you difficult to be with?”
I had the capacity to be in a relationship with the right woman. Finding that woman had proven impossible in all my years. My sexual preferences weren’t in line with any women I’d ever met. I wondered if there was such a woman.
“Do you want the truth or a lie?” I asked.
Her eyes widened with wonder. She glanced over each shoulder and then leaned forward. “The truth,” she whispered.
Kate was open-minded regarding my criminal history. I hoped she was equally understanding about my sexual shortcomings.
“I’m a sexual misfit,” I said. “To be in a relationship, I need to be with someone open-minded. Open-minded and quite adventurous.” I looked at her sideways. “Really open-minded. Without that person, there’s no sense in me trying.”
She seemed confused. “Can you define what a sexual misfit is?”
“Can I be candid?”
She slapped my bicep. “You big dork.” She glanced around the foyer. “It’s just you and me talking. Yes. Be candid. You’re not going to offend me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Ass slapping, hair pulling, biting, shoving my cock down someone’s throat. Humiliation. Saying degrading things, all of which I don’t necessarily mean. Stuff like that. It’s not a desire, it’s a necessity.”
“Oh. Wow.” She blinked. Repeatedly. “That’s interesting.”
“Is it?”
“It is.” She drifted into deep thought. “I’ll see if I can find you someone,” she said, meeting my gaze. “I’ve got an idea or two.”
The thought of her finding someone was laughable. If she could, I’d entertain a relationship until I was released from the federal government’s clutch.
I chuckled at the thought. “Okay.”
“For clarification’s sake, I’m Miss Missionary.”
“By choice, or by default?”
“Choice,” she replied. “I tried rough sex. Hated it. I like it slow and easy.”
I wasn’t disappointed to hear her sexual preferences. If anything, I was somewhat relieved. It placed her in a category that assured I wouldn’t fuck up what little bit of a friendly relationship we’d developed.
“At least you know what you like,” I said.
She gave me a half-assed grin and an equally unassertive nod. Then, a lightbulb appeared to go off.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” she asked excitedly.
“I was seeing a girl on and off before prison,” I replied. “I think she got married. Why?”
“No. A girlfriend. Like, a girl, and she’s your friend. She’s like your guy friends, only a girl.”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Do you want one?”
I gave her a look. “You?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded eagerly. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m fascinated with you. We could hang out. Find new places to eat. Talk. I’d help you out with girl problems. You could help me out with guy problems. I know everyone in town. I could help you find a freaky partner. You could help me find a guy who’s not an asshole.” Her eyes narrowed. “No sex,” she said, wagging her index finger at me as she spoke. “I mean it.”
I had no one other than a cantankerous old army veteran to talk to. He was entertaining, but our conversations were all over the place. What was for dinner, Wheel of Fortune, who was parked in the neighbor’s drive, and his bowel movements were his biggest concerns. Having access to a woman’s mind beyond the walls of the office sounded like a great idea.
I nodded. “I’d love to.”
“It has to be platonic,” she said, still doing the finger-in-my-face thing. “No tricks.”
I raised my pinkie. “Want to pinkie swear?”
Grinning from ear to ear, she hooked her pinkie to mine. “I hope you’re not the type to break promises.”
“Real bikers don’t break promises.”
“Are you the real deal?”
One of the summer’s daily torrential downpours was underway. It was dumping water so rapidly, I couldn’t see my motorcycle. It resembled a hurricane.
“I’ll let you decide.” I nodded my head toward the parking lot. “I’m riding to lunch in that.”
She glanced at the rainstorm. She shook her head. “No, you’re not.” She pulled her pinkie away and kissed it. “Friends don’t let friends ride to lunch in the rain.”
Chapter Four
Teddi
It took me a week to have professional photos taken and have a graphic designer format new flyers, datasheets, and sales literature for Margaret’s home. It was time to meet with everyone and advise them of our new approach.
I glanced around the conference room table. “Where is she?”
“She’s on the phone,” Kate replied.
“Can you remind her that we’re meeting, please? She’s probably talking to that idiot in Port Royal.”
“Be right back,” Kate said cheerily.
Port Royal, a neighborhood situated in Naples Bay, consisted of four hundred homes that ranged in price from six million to sixty million dollars. Each residence had water access through the bay’s channels. None had a private beach, nor did they have a view of the gulf. One of their residents, a man in his late sixties, had shown interest in Janine—who was thirty-four years his junior—during an open house. Based solely on his wealth, she was considering hooking up with him.
Naples was a great place to be a real estate agent. With the second-highest rate of millionaires per capita in the United States, there was in excess of a billion dollars being spent on homes each year. The problem—and it was a big one for young single women—was that the average age in the city was sixty-five. Considering there were fifteen thousand registered high school students who ranged in age from fourteen to eighteen in a city that was alleged to have a population of roughly twenty thousand permanent residents, the average realistic age of most men in the city was eighty.
I looked at Rhea. “She hasn’t fucked that guy, has she?”
“Not yet.” She cringed. “Not that I know of, anyway.”
Rhea was a hard worker, but she lacked experience. She’d been in my employ for a little over a year. She had a great personality, was the only one of us who was married, and she was driven to succeed by a desire to provide for her three children.
“Good work on that Crayton Road property,” I said. “That wasn’t on the listing long enough to be in print. Then it was gone.”