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“Oh, I see. So you’re one of them,” he retorted, and the conversation went downhill from there. When Emma chimes in, it becomes an avalanche.
Kojo leans forward, returning her sneer with one of his own. “I know that girls like you do nothing but hunt for sugar daddies, act like sluts, and then move on to your next victim once you’ve bled them dry.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” She shoots back, leaning across the table toward him, pointing her finger backwards at her chest.
“I know enough.” He returns spitefully. He leans forward, too. His finger pointed at her in accusation. “You think that because you’re beautiful, you can get away with whatever you want.”
“I do not think anything—wait.” Bambi interrupts herself and leans back in her chair,
“You think I’m beautiful?” she asks softly.
Kojo shrugs, but his face loses some of its tension. I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe we’ve reached a stalemate.
“You know,” Emma’s voice is full of scorn as she moves her angry glare between Kojo and me. “Men like you are what’s wrong with the world. You think women owe you something.”
My desire for peace forgotten, I jump to my friend’s defense.
“He didn’t say she owed him anything. Except for maybe the truth,” I added, unwilling to let Kojo, no matter how much he deserved it, face two angry women alone.
“Why does she owe him that? He slept with her. What else does he want? Her soul?” Emma says in exasperation.
“No, but maybe it meant something to him,” I shoot back.
“Well, more’s the pity,” she says, taking a sip of her wine and glaring at me.
“Really? So, sex means nothing?” I ask her, tilting my head at her, knowing that she couldn’t really mean it.
“Exactly. And if you’re hooking up for one night, it’s less than nothing.” She looks away from me, but not before I see the discomfort in her eyes.
“Good to know,” I say under my breath, but when she flinches slightly, I know she heard me. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“Look, Kojo,” Emma says softly, in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “I don’t think anyone should use anyone else. Especially not for money. But if they’re adults and they’re both willing, there shouldn’t be expectations beyond that.”
Bambi snorts in disgust. “You’re being too nice, Emma. He’s stupid and probably cheap, too. He obviously thinks treating his girlfriend,” she says ‘girlfriend’ with a sarcastic drawl, “to a meal or whatever is too much to ask.”
“Is it also too much to ask that if you’re a prostitute, you make that clear before you start whispering sweet nothings,” Kojo says, and Porsha gasps in affront and throws her napkin down and stands up.
“You are not worthy of my company,” she declares with the dignity of a Queen at court, and then she turns to leave.
“Good riddance,” Kojo says and then throws his own napkin and stalks off behind her.
Emma stands up, glares at me and hurries after them.
I sit there, staring at the three empty chairs. My plans for the evening are blown away like the grains of sand on the beach behind us. I look down at my full plate of food in disgust. I decide to finish my wine before going back to my room.
I’ve just asked for my check when I sense eyes on me. I look up to find her standing in the entrance watching me. When I see the look in her eyes, I know I’m probably not going to enjoy whatever she’s come back to say or do. They are alight with annoyance, and one glance tells me she's here to wreak havoc.
My heart stutters in a violent trip that has me rubbing the center of my chest. And not because I’m afraid of her anger. It’s because, even in the heat of her self-righteous indignation, her beauty puts the stunning backdrop of this paradise to shame.
And of course, she's come back to give me a piece of her mind. I want to walk over to her and kiss that mouth before she can say words that will spoil everything.
I shake my head hard and fast.
After what happened at dinner, I clearly need to think twice about getting involved with anyone I meet here. Especially her. She's more likely to slit my throat than go down on me.
I sit up straight in my wicker chair and pick up the glass of Pinot Noir I ordered with dinner. I take a fortifying sip of the fruit forward wine as she reaches my table. She's practically vibrating with anger, her hands clenched in fists at her side. She's dressed in all black - loose fitting trousers and black tunic. Again, covered up completely in clothes that don't make sense on a hot, humid, tropical island.
She’s sweating, the curls that seem to perpetually cling to her neck flutter slightly as the large overhead fans whirl above us.
