"It means that when Luis is here, or Dale, or Cassie, or anyone, I'm your supervisor and you're my volunteer. We work, we keep our distance, and you don't look at me like that."
Sloane licks her lips. "Like what?" She's sitting against my headboard with the sheet at her waist and her breasts on display, and she knows exactly what she's doing. "I'm just listening." She takes a sip of her coffee, her flirtatious gaze on me over the rim. "To my supervisor."
"That's not a listening face and you know it." I point at her, which achieves nothing. I'm trying to lay down the law from the edge of a bed I just spent the night in with her, and we're both aware of how much authority that gives me.
"Fine." She drags a hand through her tousled hair. "Okay. Anything else, boss?"
I should leave it there, but I can't help teasing her some more. "Maybe don't smile as much when you're working." I shake my head at her. "Nobody smiles during their community service, Sloane. You used to look like you were walking into a sentencing. That was correct. That's the energy we want."
Sloane throws her head back and laughs. "So let me get this straight. You want me to be miserable, and to look at you like I find you average."
"Exactly."
"That's going to be a problem." She reaches over and grabs a fistful of my shirt, pulling me a little closer. "Because I'm a terrible actress." Brushing her lips against mine, she trails her hand under my T-shirt.
"Sloane —"
"Come on. Just ten minutes. I'll be miserable and average all day, I promise."
I smile and kiss her. It's meant to be quick but I'm coming to learn there's no such thing with Sloane. Her hand slides into my hair, her mouth opens against mine, and she moans and pulls me on top of her. She arches up underneath me and the kiss turns fierce — deep and demanding, her breath coming fast, her heel hooking around the back of my calf to pin me down. She kisses me like we have all morning, and God help me, I kiss her back the same way while my hand finds her breast. Her fingers start tugging at the hem and somewhere underneath the heat of it, a faint voice reminds me that Luis is on his way.
I tear myself away and stand up, out of arm's reach, breathing hard. Sloane stays where she is, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
"That was not ten minutes," she protests.
"No, and it wasn't going to be ten minutes either. We both know where that was heading." I back toward the door before she can argue. "Fifteen minutes. Downstairs. Miserable."
51
SLOANE
The last few days have knocked me sideways. The entire architecture of who I thought I was got rearranged in Duster and although I'm not in a hurry to put it back, it's disorienting to stand in the rubble. I’m lying on my bed when Sita interrupts my fantasies about Maggie for the fifth time.
I finally answer and prop myself up with a sigh.
"Sita."
"Oh my GOD. She LIVES. Sloane. I've called you like a thousand times. I was about to call your parents.”
"I'm sorry. I've been terrible."
"You have been terrible." A pause. "Are you mad at me? About the club? Because I need you to know I went off at Mel after you left and I told her exactly what I thought about her filming you. I haven't really spoken to her since?—"
"I'm not mad at you." And I'm not, I realize as I say it. "I'm not mad at you, Sita. I've just been distracted."
"Distracted. With what? Taking mud baths?"
I laugh. "Something like that."
Sita lets it pass. She's clearly bursting with something and can't hold it any longer. "Okay, listen. Listen. The reason I've been calling — well, one of the reasons, the other reason is that I love you and you abandoned me — but the actual reason is I'm planning something and I know how you feel about surprises so I'm doing the right thing and spoiling it in advance."
"Sita—"
"A welcome-back party!” she yells, interrupting me. “For when you're done. I know, I know, you hate a surprise, so I'm telling you, but you still have to act surprised on the night, of course." She's off, the words tumbling. "I'm thinking the place in Venice with the rooftop, or Nicole offered her house but I said no after Palm Springs, obviously. Actually, you should pick. You tell me the venue, the food, the guest list — I'll cut anyone you want cut, I mean it, this is your night. And S-mag that wants to cover it, photographer and everything, very tasteful, very you." She finally breathes. "I can’t wait to have you back full-time. It's been so weird without you."
Part of me isn’t surprised. This is Sita all over — turning the end of community service into a comeback. She’s always been over-the-top, even more so than me. The other part of me realizes that the old me would have loved this. But now, I’m just not feeling it.
"Sita, that's so sweet of you. Really." I pick at the hem of my t-shirt. "But I’m not even sure when I’m coming back."
