I pushed myself onto my elbows, my body loose and heavy. “You can’t afford to live here.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“Whatever I muttered though a smile.
She finally sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest while the towel unraveled completely and fell into her lap. Her hair was pressed flat on one side and stuck up in the back, and I just stared at her.
“What?” she asked with a frown.
“Nothing.” I lied.
“Fix your face then.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to; your face is a bully.”
I reached for my robe and tossed hers across the space between us. “Put this on before you scare the employees.”
Tasha caught it against her chest. “See? Mean, this is why your shoulders damn hard.”
By the time we left the spa, the late morning sun was doing its job. The cool peace of the treatment room vanished the moment the glass doors closed behind us, replaced by traffic, car horns, and pure heat. Tasha slid her oversized sunglasses onto her face and lifted her chin toward the valet stand. She wore a loose cream jumpsuit that fit her curves and flat sandals decorated with tiny gold charms from Coach. Her lips were glossy, her toes were white, and within thirty seconds of stepping outside, she looked as put together as if she hadn’t just spent ninety minutes drooling through a face cradle.
“I feel rich,” she announced.
I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out. “You paid for a massage, not a yacht.”
“Same spirit.” She shot back.
The valet pulled my car around, and Tasha stopped beside the passenger door to inspect her reflection in the window. “You hungry?” I asked her.
“Girl, I’m always hungry.” She admitted.
“What do you want?”
“Somewhere with drinks.”
“It’s barely noon Tash.”
“And?” She quizzed.
“You drove here.”
“So?”
“So? You’re not getting drunk.”
She opened the door and lowered herself into the seat. “Why do you always jump from drink to drunk? There’s a whole journey in between.”
“With you, it’s a very short journey.”
She placed a hand against her chest. “I feel judged.”
“That’s because you are.”
We ended up at a restaurant on beach with wide windows overlooking the water and greenery hanging from the ceiling feeling like somebody’s expensive backyard. The hostess led us to a booth near the glass. Tasha slid into the booth first and immediately reached across to move the small vase of white flowers out of her line of sight.
“I don’t like stuff blocking me from seeing who I’m talking to.”
