“I completely understand,” Samuel says, probably glad to be rid of us.
I dash around the living room, gathering our things, and we exit as quickly as possible.
Turns out I was right. Tonight’s ending was quite different than last night’s.
* * *
“Stay still,”she scoffs.
“I’m trying.”
Rosetta wraps the measuring tape around my chest. “The crap I have to do to earn a living,” she complains as she scribbles a number on her notepad.
“What’s this all about?”
“What do you think?” she asks. “You and Boss Man are definitely hiding the salami.”
I stifle a laugh. “We are not.”
“Well, he definitely wants to hide the salami.”
I shake my head. She moves down to my waist, and then to my hips. She then gets quite familiar as she measures the inseam of my leg. I do know what this is about. I’m not stupid. He wants to buy me a dress.
“You promised you’d tell me all the juicy details, and you haven’t said a peep,” she whines. “I’m disappointed.”
“I’m sorry.” I really am. But I certainly can’t tell her about the spanking and biting, the tying up, and the mutual masturbation. I wish I could share something with her, but it’s all kind of weird and sordid. But in a really fun way.
“He’s buying me a dress, isn’t he?”
She smiles up at me. “I believe so.”
“You should get him to buy you something too,” I suggest. “It’s only fair.”
Her eyes turn skyward. “I like the way you think, Honey. Excellent idea.”
* * *
“So Samuel’sgot the hots for me,” I tell the girls.
Abigail puts down her menu. “No way.”
“When it rains, it pours,” Claudia says. “You’re quite the catch these days.”
“I’m having the spinach omelette,” Mischa chimes in, seemingly uninterested in my statement.
“Did he tell you so?” Abigail asks.
“Yes… I thought he was seeing women through the dating sites, but he tells me none of them are as good as me, and he says he can wait for me.”
“Oh my God,” Claudia chirps. “Stalker.”
I shake my head. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. He just likes me.”
“And why wouldn’t he?” Abigail says. “You’re awesome.”
I smile.
“Is he attractive?” Mischa asks.
