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~ Darren ~
Past
Idon’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe it’s because I want to pound this judgey disapproval she has of me out of her. All of a sudden I want to drop the groceries and maul her against my car. I want to feel her squirming beneath me. I want to taste her lips. She might let me, too. Her breath is uneven. The pupils in her eyes have dilated. Yeah, she wants to be kissed.
But I say when. I say where. I say how.
Suppressing my desire, I back off. She collects herself, trying to pretend nothing happened, that she didn’t get all flustered by my proximity. We walk a block to her apartment building and head up the stairs.
“It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but it’s rent-controlled,” she explains as she unlocks the door.
I doubt anything in this neighborhood comes close to being the Ritz Carlton, but there are some nice, albeit old, homes a few blocks away that are valued at more than a million or two.
“I room with Amy and two other girls,” Bridget says.
We walk into what I consider a small space. There’s a mural of what might be African goddesses on the main living room wall.
“Simone’s an artist,” Bridget explains.
“Your landlord approves of improvements like this?” I ask.
“We’ll paint over it if we have to.”
I follow her into a kitchen that’s barely large enough to fit the two of us.
“You want your egg-boiling lesson now?” she inquires as she unpacks the bags.
“Sure,” I answer, half wondering what I’m doing here.
She bends over to put the collard greens in the bottom bin of the refrigerator, inadvertently giving me a view of her ass. It’s got a nice curve to it. Definitely spank-worthy.
After putting away the groceries, she grabs a carton of eggs. “Put the eggs in the pot first, then cover it with water.”
She demonstrates, covers the pot with a lid, and puts it on the stove.
“How long before it boils?”
“Depends on the stove and the cookware. You want something to drink? We’ve got zero-calorie cola, sparkling water, and iced tea.”
“Where are your roommates?”
“Kat spends most of her time at her boyfriend’s place. Amy’s at work, and Simone might be in her bedroom.”
My cellphone rings. It’s Tony Lee.
“I should get this,” I say as I walk out to the living room.
I watch Bridget pour herself an iced tea while Tony says, “So you met with Eric Drumm.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I called ’cause he said he met with you a few months back.”
“C’est vraiment un trou de cul, celui-là.”
I don’t speak French, but I catch the key word in his statement and reply ironically, “So you like him.”
“The resort is a vanity project. It’s shit. You won’t see a dime. Even Virginia questioned it.”
“Who’s Virginia?”
