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Lydia slaps his shoulder playfully as he walks away, then turns back to me. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I tried. You wouldn’t shut up,” I deadpan.
Her smile falls slightly. “I’m sorry. I just assumed he hurt you.” I can see her mind wander to a different place. The one where Malcolm lives along with what he did to her.
I rub her arm. “Hey. Stop it. He didn’t, okay? I’m okay.”
She nods and shakes away the bad shit. “Well, who was it?”
I walk to the freezer and grab my ice cream before pulling a spoon from the drawer. “That’s the thing, I don’t know.”
She grabs the same bag of chips Carter was demolishing and follows me into the living room. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
I plop onto the couch, trying to not think about her and Carter just fucking on it moments ago. “Just that. I don’t know. The only thing I do know is he fucked me so good.” I squeeze my legs together and pop the lid off the ice cream container. “I’ve never felt so fucking… liberated.”
She sits next to me and pulls her legs under her. “He made you feel all of that and you don’t even have a name?”
“Nope. He told me to call him whatever I wanted, so I’ve just been calling him Stallion.”
“Stallion?” She scrunches her face.
I nod with a shrug. “That’s his name online.”
“Online? You met him online? Let me see!”
I laugh and slide the phone from my pocket and pull up his profile. It’s bare, just like the rest of them. Only a username, picture, and general location. No name. No age. Nothing.
“This is the only picture? You hooked up with a guy who has a dog as his profile picture?”
I snatch the phone from her and click the attachment in our messages. When his body pops up on the screen, I groan internally. I so badly want to touch him again. Feel him. Taste him.
I flash it in her direction. “Fucking hell,” she murmurs.
I nod. “That. That’s why I agreed to hook up.”
“Can’t blame you there.”
“And he paid me,” I add it as nonchalantly as possible, but of course, it doesn’t go over that smoothly.
“Paid you?”
I take a bite of my ice cream. “He’s kinky. Kind of. Like, I think there is more to him than wanting to choke me out, but because of that, he paid me. Maybe he thought I would say no if money wasn’t involved? I don’t know.” I leave out the chase. She doesn’t need to know that. For some reason, it seems more personal than the actual act of sex.
She shakes her head. “Carmen, money for sex… it’s—”
I cut her off, knowing exactly what she’s going to say. “This isn’t Malcolm, Lydia.” She cringes when I say his name. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring it up, but this isn’t the same. If someone wants to pay me to fuck them, then why not? Since I can’t get money from my dad, I’d be stupid to refuse. Especially when I enjoy it.”
I don’t go on to tell her how crazy sex helps me feel something other than sadness. Or how it makes me feel more wanted than I have in my entire life.
“I thought the same thing too, and look how it ended.”
I lean forward and set the container on the coffee table, then turn back to her. “You know, I never judged you or tried to make you feel bad when you told me what you were doing. I was expecting the same fucking respect, not you trying to be my mother.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Just be careful, okay?”
I kick myself on the inside because I know that was harsh. She’s only worried, and I get that, but this is different. “No, I’m sorry. And you know I’m always careful.”
She nods and grabs the remote from the end table and flips on the TV, letting the conversation die.
