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Dr. Costello was resourceful.
He must’ve mistaken my surprised face for another emotion, because he said slowly and thickly, “Sorry it didn’t work between you and lover boy. Unless, of course, you don’t mind being Bonnie and Brendan’s fifth wheel.”
“He can have Bonnie.”
“From what she told me, when she came to get her electronic card back this morning, you also told him I have two penises.”
I could feel myself getting redder and redder, but I didn’t reply to this.
Cruz threw me a little patronizing smirk. “Actually, I have just the one, but I can see why you’d make that mistake, considering its length and width. I’m flattered you paid such close attention.”
“Why’d you say you weren’t alone, then? She wasn’t with you.”
“Just to see your face. You hate seeing me win.”
“True.” I sighed. “Which sucks, because you’re Dr. Cruz Costello, so you always win.”
“Not always.”
There was a lull in the conversation, and I felt the urge to fill it, somehow.
“I have to say, it’s pretty creative of you to find a way to take my potential sugar daddy away from me before I even made a move.”
The waitress served me my flat white and pastry and hurried to the next table, where people weren’t discussing penises and sugar daddies. Or were they? I took a bite of the buttery dough, washing it down with the hot liquid.
This was definitely better than an orgasm. Or so I told myself, since an orgasm wasn’t in the cards for me. I was bad at giving one to myself and always forgot to plug my vibrator into its charger, since I could only do it when Bear wasn’t home.
Anyone who had a teenage son knew better than to leave things in plain sight. Bear always looked for something in my room, be it a charger, a battery, an elastic band, or some change.
“You don’t need a sugar daddy.”
Was it just me or did Cruz Costello sound super annoyed all of a sudden?
“Why not?” I purred.
“You can get an actual damn husband if you put your mind to it.”
“Ha.” I took another sip of my coffee. “Not in Fairhope.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” He gave me his superior look. The one that reminded me he was so much better than me.
“What’d you hear?” I cocked my head, curious all of a sudden. “Is it Tim Trapp? Because you know I cannot, in good conscience, marry that man and have my son become Bear Trapp.”
Cruz stared at me with a mixture of irritation and revulsion, shaking his head.
“I haven’t heard anything specific. All I’m saying is that if you put a bit of effort—and a lot more clothes on—you’ll find people aren’t as allergic to you as you think.”
“I thought guys liked big hair and boobs and tiny clothes.”
“Not the kind you want to attract.”
“And who should I want to attract?” The conversation was taking a surprising turn once again. “People like you?”
“For instance.” He took a sip of his espresso, crossing his legs like George Clooney in a private plane commercial or something. “Why? Would ending up with someone like me be so terrible?”
No, it’s just that someone like you would never look at me in a billion years.
“Yes,” I said curtly, the sting of rejection already prickling my soul before he blew me off. “It actually would.”
