Page 29 of The Cost of Love

We are seated at a table with cheesy tacos, dipping sauce, and beers. Over the course of the first few bites, I am so enthralled that I can’t speak. I hate to admit it, but these have to be the best tacos I’ve ever had. Even better than the ones from our first date. He watches me like he is waiting for me to concede, but I refuse. Instead, I focus on the one thing I have been wondering about since we met.

“So,” I say, licking my lips, “what’s it like to be rich?”

He takes a sip of his pale ale and thinks on it, holding it in his hand. I was surprised when he ordered it. Assuming he would either get a fancy tequila or one of their overpriced cocktails. But he got one right alongside me.

“What do you want to know?” He finally puts the drink down and takes a bite of his last taco.

“Well, it must be everything, right?” If I had a hundred pounds for every time my lack of money is an issue, then it would no longer be a problem.

“In most ways it is, but in others it’s not at all.” He lifts his shoulder and drops it. “I mean, I am not going to complain because I have it better than ninety-nine percent of the world. With that said, there is a lot of obligation and strings that come along with the money.”

Is it the people in his life who control those strings, or is he referring to public opinion? I mean, I’m among the people who are all for eating the rich. So it’s easy to see in this turning tide, when it comes to capitalism, that more people are watching him and waiting for him to fall.

“Yeah, I guess no one really cares what I do,” I say, even though I know it’s not true. I have three little people wholly invested in all my decisions. Outside of that, as long as I pay my bills and do my taxes, there is no one to tell me what I need to do.

“Well, what’s it like for you?” he asks, before putting in another round of drinks. He also orders us churros, and I don’t protest at more free food.

“You don’t want to know.”

He rubs his jaw with this adorable, curious look on his face. “Yes, I do.”

“All I have are problems, and one thing would solve most of them. I feel like if I list them out, though, you will offer up what you think I need.”

His beautiful lips pull apart as he gives me a breathtaking smile. All the charm he is accustomed to wielding is pointed in my direction.

“Why don’t you want me to?” The fact that he would is unnerving, facing me with a choice I never thought I would have to make.

“You said it yourself, money has strings attached to it, and I don’t want to be your puppet.” The rich white guy saving the poor Black girl is too close to those sad African kid commercials meant to make you give money to a white savior foundation.

“You wouldn’t owe me anything.”

I can’t help the laugh that comes out at that. “Yes, I would. Whether you wanted me to feel that way or not. I would have to be nice to you, because you are doing me this huge favor, and I would also have to keep you in my life even if I don’t want to. Not to mention the fact that I would essentially be a sex worker, since this is mostly a sexual relationship.” He goes to cut me off, but I hold my hand up. “I just want this to be fun. I don’t want to feel like I owe you, and I would, no matter what you say.”

He relents in a way that I’m becoming used to. Even though he has been in charge of our sexual progression, he has never made me talk about something I don’t want to. I can appreciate that in him, even if it means I have to concede in other areas. Which reminds me to check in with him on how slow we are actually taking things.

“When are we going to have sex?” I ask, catching him just as he takes a sip. He coughs around the liquid trying to force its way down his throat. I laugh at his expense despite the pained look on his face.

“Impatient, are we?” he says once he has gotten himself together.

“Yes. I want you to take me in Every. Single. Way.” I say the words slowly, hoping he really gets the point. His eyelids lower, giving me a hungry stare.

“Next time.” With those two words, he makes me another promise, one I know he will come through with.

“Okay, and is that when you are going to let me suck your dick?” This time, I don’t catch him off guard, and he raises one eyebrow while giving me a lazy grin.

“No.”

I am starting to think he doesn’t like it. The cocky bitch in me thinks I can make him. After all, I’ve been perfecting my craft since I was in secondary school. I might be a little rusty, but I can definitely be enthusiastic enough to make up for what I lack in practice.

I pout my lips and bring one hand to rest under my chin. “Why not?”

“I will only care about my needs once I have made you come at least ten times.”

Seemed unfair, but who am I to argue with continuously promised orgasms?

“I’m holding you to that,” I say, licking my lips.

His eyes go there like I wanted, and I blow him a kiss before taking another sip.