“Because you always go straight to the worst case scenario,” I corrected.
She turned the flatiron off and leaned her hip against the vanity. “That’s called experience, GG."
I caught her eyes in the mirror.
“And what experience has taught me,” she continued, “is that men love a fantasy. They love theideaof us. But the second reality hit—the second they realize you're not just some mysterious, pretty woman, but a sex worker…” she shook her head. “Whole vibe changes.”
I sighed because she wasn’t wrong. I had experienced it the few times I've tried to date. “Yeah. I know.”
“And that’s before you even add the other stuff,” she went on. “The grieving widower thing. The kid. The emotional baggage. That’s not light work.”
“I ain't saying I'ma marry the nigga so relax," I cut my eyes at her. "All I'm saying is he seemed cool. The vibe was there.”
“That’s because you met him during dessert and wine,” she shot back. “Life ain’tdessertandwine.”
"It could be though," I laughed. “And you're being a hater.”
“I’m being a realist,” she smirked. Picking up the brush, she began brushing through her 30-inch, platinum-blonde tresses while her eyes stayed on me through the mirror. “So, what you gon’ do?” Ronnie asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
Her brow lifted. “Nothing?”
“Like you said…we don’t date,” I reminded her. “I meant that.”
“But you keep smiling like that card burning a hole in your purse.”
I rolled my eyes again, “It’s not like that.”
“Mmhm.” She finished her hair and set the brush down. “You like him. I can tell.”
I hesitated just a second too long.
Ronnie pointed at me. “Boom. There it is.”
I huffed. “I was curious. That's it,” I defended.
“Curiosity is exactly how shit start.”
I reached over and nudged her shoulder. “You're so damn dramatic.”
Ronnie grabbed her lip gloss and applied it carefully. “Not dramatic—protective.” Her tone softened a little when she said it. “You my girl. I’m not tryna see you get wrapped up in some situation that ends messy.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand briefly. "I know, babe."
She turned back towards me. “So…what’s his name anyway?"
“Remy.”
She nodded slowly. “He is fine, bitch,” she admitted reluctantly.
I laughed. “Very.”
Ronnie smirked. “Look, I get the interest. And honestly, if you do decide to call him, that's your business. I want you to be happy sis." She shrugged. "I don't know…maybe if he likes you enough you can convince him to get on your client list. He still gotta pay…sweet or not."
I laughed. "They all pay in one way or another anyway."
"Period." Ronnie snapped her fingers. "As long as you remember the objective." She grinned reaching over and brushing hair out or my face. "Anyway…you ready, pretty girl?"
