“No I get it. Who doesn’t like a full body massage?”
I shot him a glance from the corner of my eye. “Neck, shoulders, and back,” I corrected him.
“Uh-huh,” he agreed. Or at least I think he did. “Are you hungry?”
“You mean for food?” With him, I could never tell if we were talking about the same thing. Every word out his mouth sounded like a euphemism for sex. There was also a strong possibility Kris was just making conversation and I was the one construing his every word into a double entendre. That is of course when I wasable to focus on his words and not just stare absentmindedly at his thick lips or perfect ass.
“Yeah, what areyoutalking about?”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re talking in riddles and rhymes to throw off my equilibrium and possibly wear down my defenses.”
“No, I just wanted to know if you were hungry. Pretty straight forward question. Going up and down like that can really work up an appetite. And whatever you’re craving, I’ve got you covered.”You’re seeing it too, right?It wasn’t so much the words but how he said them. They weren’t meaningless sentences he just strung together. It was like every syllable was leading toward something.
Coming into tonight, I was ninety percent sure I was going to sleep with him, but any lingering doubt had just gone bye bye. “I could eat,” I squeaked.
Kris leaned in to kiss me but I gave him the stiff arm to his chest. “Aht, aht, you didn’t win the race. Kisses are reserved for winners,” I teased, smacking my lips together.
“Noted.”
Enteringa code into the elevator keypad, the doors closed and we ascended to the top floor. I glanced at Belen whose eyes grew wider the higher the floor numbers climbed until it stopped at floor P, which opened directly into my apartment.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” My stomach was clenched in knots. I didn’t invite many women to my place, mainly to avoid the very look written all over her face. Her mouth agape, eyes full, trying to process the scene.
“Lucy, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do,” she half joked.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I love that show. My dad loved Lucille Ball. I think it reminded him of his mother who introduced him to the show and he in turn introduced the show to his kids.”
“You can’t go wrong withI Love Lucy. She was comedic gold.” Belen untied her scarf, pulling it from her neck. “But seriously, what … and I can’t emphasize this enough … the fuck?”
“It really looks bigger than it is.” It was technically a penthouse suite, but that was only because it was on the top floor with a wrap around balcony.
“Okay, that could be true if it was just this.” She waved to the main living quarters. “But then there’s that.” Belen pointed to a huge hole in the wall partially covered by thick clear plastic that looked into the apartment next door.
“That’s just some renovations.”
“So what, you just cosplay as a mall Santa in your free time, but live in a place that could be featured in architectural weekly?”
“No, I work as a mall Santa.”
Belen gasped. I don’t think her jaw had rehinged since we entered. “You clearly don’t need the income.”
“I’m not doing it for the money.”
“Right … you’re in the midst of a micro retirement. Taking time to experience life.” She picked up a picture of me and tech billionaire Miles Graves. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re a prince from a wealthy country who’s come to the states looking for a bride?”
“Umm … if you replace a wealthy prince with an app developer and a bride with a potential girlfriend, then maybe.” I took the opportunity to lighten the mood singing “She’s Your Queen to Be” fromComing To Americaand just like the actor, my tone was off-key and pitchy.
“You might want to add singing lessons to your micro retirement bucket list.”
“Noted.”
“So you’re a tech mogul who got tired of hanging out with the rich and famous and decided to slum it as a regular person? Although for the record, this house doesn’t give regular person vibes.
“I’m not a tech mogul. I’m an app developer who sold a word puzzle game for a few bucks. I’m not filthy rich.”
She thrust her gaze around the apartment, her internal bullshit meter analyzing my claims.
Removing my beanie, I said, “We should eat. I had the chef?—”
