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“Nothing.” She sat in the club chair and pulled her boots on.
By the time I had my shirt back on and my feet in sandals, she had her coat on, her bag over her arm. She seemed eager to leave. I put the take-out boxes back into the plastic bag they’re arrived in and tied the top off.
We didn’t say anything as we rode the elevator down but it didn’t feel awkward. Not to me, anyway. I hoped she didn’t feel awkward, though I doubted a woman who winked during a blow job was one to feel regret or uncomfortableness.
In the lobby, we saw her car pull up. The doorman opened the door.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” Felicia said. “Thanks, Michael.”
“I’m walking you out,” I said.
“You don’t have a coat on and you’re wearing sandals. It’s fine.”
“I’m walking you out.” I gestured for her to go first and she did. My doorman was studiously trying to not listen.
She rolled her eyes but obeyed.
I opened the car door for her. “Thursday at seven?”
The look she gave me was one of surprise, like she hadn’t expected me to still want to do dinner. But then she nodded.
“Good night.” I closed the door and waited until the car pulled away before returning to my apartment.
The doorman’s name was Sergio and he and I chatted often about basketball, so it didn’t surprise me when he gave me a grin. “Lovely lady, Dr. Kincaid.”
I couldn’t help but grin back. “Very lovely lady.”
One that I hoped to spend a lot more time with.
Five
When I put the key in and entered my flat, Javier was straight in front of me at the kitchen sink. “Hey,” I
said. “Did you miss me?”
He glanced back at me. “I actually thought you were in your room, so I guess the answer is no.” He raised his eyebrows. “And where have you been? Savannah’s? You don’t usually get home so late on a random Tuesday.”
“I was having sex with my new client,” I said, determined to be breezy about the whole thing.
“Wait, a new clothing client, or is this your way of announcing you’ve joined an escort service?”
I laughed. “Oh, shut up. A new clothing client. The guy I tried to set Savannah up a ways back. They didn’t hit it off.”
“Apparently you did.” He fully turned, a plate in his hand that he was drying. “Was it fun?”
“Very.” My cheeks felt hot just thinking about it. I peeled my puffer off and threw it over my arm. “We had sushi and wine and lots of fun.”
“Congrats. Hey, you need to open your mail.” He tilted his head. “You got another very official-looking envelope from Immigration today. That’s the third one and you haven’t even opened the first two.”
Shit. That was a mood killer. “How do you know I haven’t opened them?”
“Because they are still lying here on the only fucking twelve inches of countertop we have in this kitchen. You’re terrible at processing mail. I finally went through the pile because it was out of control and threw away your junk mail, and basically all you’re left with is the world’s biggest catalog from the shipping company you use for your business and three “Open me, bitch” type envelopes from Immigration.”
A tremor of fear went through me. I’d been intentionally avoiding those envelopes. They were never filled with great news. No “Congrats, you’ve won free citizenship!”
“You’re so aggressive,” I complained, dropping my bag and coat on the floor. “This could have waited until tomorrow. You’re ruining my post-shag glow.”
“You’re ruining my ability to chop vegetables.”
