“Current?”
“No.”
“Yours?”
“No.”
“Does she know that?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
Again.
Lady nods slowly, lips pressed together like she’s making a decision she doesn’t want to show hurts.
“That’s what I thought.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Of course it’s not. It never is. She just texts you before breakfast to see where you slept because she’s a devoted historian.”
I step toward her. “I haven’t touched her since before you.”
“Before me?” Her eyes flash. “That sounds official. Did I get a ceremony? A patch? A memo? Because from where I’m standing, I’m just the glitter girl you screw above the city while some clubhouse sweetheart thinks you still owe her.”
“She doesn’t matter.”
“Then why is she so comfortable?”
That shuts me up because it’s a good question.
Cherry is comfortable because I let old mess stay old mess. Because I never cared enough to sweep it clean. Because when a woman wants to think I might come back around, and I don’t say yes or no, the silence becomes a leash she makes for herself.
I didn’t owe Cherry forever.
But I should’ve cut the rope.
Fuck.
Lady turns away and starts dressing fast. Black bodysuit. Torn jeans that probably cost more because they’re torn. Gold hoops. Rings. Armor, piece by piece.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me. “My noon set.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“I’ve been going alone since before you knew how to get into my building.”
“Lady.”
She whirls on me, one heel in her hand. “No. You don’t get the growly voice right now.”
“I’m sending a prospect with you.”
“You send a prospect to babysit me, and I’ll make him cry on livestream.”
“You think I’m playing?”
