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He gave me a look.
“What? I have to ask. One should never make assumptions.”
He offered a look of recognition. “You’re right about that. Now, answer the question.”
“Same.”
“You? Two partners.” He cocked his head like he was waiting for the punch line.
“Yes. Me.” I feigned offense. “My parents are very religious. But my father had a lot of affairs. So I guess you could say I learned early not to throw that part of myself around freely.”
“How early? You’re so young.”
I laughed. “I’m twenty-two. That’s not that young.”
He didn’t say anything. I don’t think he knew what to say.
“Okay, maybe I’m a little young. But I know what I want when I see it.”
“And what is it that you want?”
“A little fun, a little distraction with someone I can trust.”
“So, not much.”
I acted like I was giving it some thought, when really, I had it all figured out. I knew I had to make myself Tom’s ideal. I had to create an illusion for him. I had to find out what was missing in his life and become that. Doing that for a person may not be love, but I wasn’t looking for love.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Love is common. But being someone’s ideal is rare in today’s world. It takes effort, and time, and most of all, patience. It requires attention to detail. Why go through all this when these days all you have to do to find a lover is swipe right?
I’d been there and done that. I’d had my fun. And now, I wanted more.
Tom had the means to be the more I was looking for. He had the means to fulfill those desires. Tom was a safe bet. Smart, boring. Looking to win, as was showcased in the meeting down in the bar. Basically, Tom was easy prey. But don’t get me wrong. The seduction started well before I got him up to my hotel room. In fact, it started down on the street. I looked for subtleties, and I found them. I made a point of reading what was said between the lines. “No,” I told him finally. “Not too much at all.”
“Scottsdale? You thought Arizona was an ideal place for a honeymoon?”
He shifted. “Have you been here before?”
“No.”
“Well then, you wouldn’t know, would you?”
It’s familiar, though, this place. I remember my former sponsor, Josie, posted photos of a trip she took to Scottsdale not long before things went south for her. “What are we going to do here?”
“Whatever you want?”
He doesn’t actually mean whatever I want. But I intend to make him mean it.
When we arrive at the hotel, the man unloading our bags makes a comment to our driver. “Could be his daughter…could be his whore,” he laughs. “Who’s to say?”
Before I realize what’s happening, Tom has the guy pinned to the ground by his throat. “She’s my wife,” he says.
“Tom,” I say. “Let go. His face is turning blue.”
He isn’t looking at me and he doesn’t let go. “Apologize.”
I’m afraid he is going to kill the guy. His lips are purple. “Tom,” I say. “You’re choking him.”
