She looks at me over her shoulder, still cupping Tom’s face in her hands.
“And who the fuck are you?”
Heat floods my face. I look away. This can’t be real.
“Tom, who the fuck is she?”
“Easy, kitties. No need to hiss. Please, this is just a misundersta—”
The girl slaps him in the face. I choke on my breath.
What the fuck. Did I fly almost six thousand miles to Europe just to find out Tom has a girlfriend? Kitties!? He called both of us kitties!?
“Sorry, sorry, that was a joke.”
The girl storms off into the other room. Tom goes after her, and so do I.
It’s the bedroom and…words fail me.
Mirrored ceiling. Jacuzzi in the middle. A dance pole next to a Victorian canopy bed.
Tell me again how this isn’t giving brothel vibes?
“Okay, Yosh, this is Kimmy. Kimmy, this is Yosh.”
Kimmy doesn’t bother to answer. She opens a closet and pulls out one of Tom’s hoodies.
Tom turns to me. “I have no idea what she’s doing here. I asked her to water the plants, but she just told me she’s between apartments and thought she could stay here for a couple of weeks while I was in Avalon.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“No, no. Just casual.”
That earns Tom a second slap in the face.
“Is this why you haven’t answered my texts? Is he your boyfriend? Are you suddenly gay, or what?”
“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend and…yeah, whatever.”
Whatever?That’s one hell of a way to explain your sexual orientation.
He’s dodging, the same way he dodged with me. I brought it up once, and he ended it fast, saying he doesn’t like to label himself. So I let it go because I respected that. Maybe he’s still figuring himself out. Or maybe he really doesn’t feel the need, which is fine.
But thiswhatever, and especially the way he said it, lands like a slap in the face. Which is ironic, given the amount of slaps flying around in the last five minutes.
Okay, deep breath. Bad choice of words, that’s all.
Kimmy sizes me up from head to toe. It's clear to see she wants me dead.
Tom grabs my arm and steers me back into the living room so his fling can change and collect her things. At least, that’s what I assume. That’s the plan, right?
“Tom, the fuck!?” I hiss the words the second we’re back in the living room ofChez Brothel.
“Please, love, don’t be mad.”
“You never ended things with her?”
He shrugs. “There was nothing to end. She’s one of Joan’s friends. I slept with her a couple of times, asked her for the plants. That’s it.”
