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“No, it’s fi—
But I’m up and out of the bed, immediately concerned. I don’t want her to have a hangover tomorrow. Besides, she drank more than she normally would because she felt out of her element and I feel bad about that. Cocktail parties with total strangers aren’t an easy social feat, and I should have been more sympathetic to that.
Padding to the kitchenette of the suite, I pull a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge. I bring it to the bed, untwisting the cap for her.
She gives me a small smile, propping herself up in bed and taking the water from me. “I can untwist a cap.”
“I know.” Even as I say it, I’m pulling the bedspread back so I can flip it over her, not wanting her to get cold, even if it means covering her tempting naked body. “I like taking care of you.”
She takes a sip. “You’re good at it.”
Climbing back onto the bed, I slip under the covers so I can align my body with hers. “What else can I do for you?”
We both know I’m not asking a simple question.
“Just love me,” she says, simply.
“Done.”
So I carry Dani into the shower and make love to her under the rain head faucet, massaging the tension out of her shoulders with shower gel in my hands, and taking her against the wall with easy, relaxed strokes in and out. I towel her off, and order her a snack from room service, then coax her to drink more water while we wait, finding a romantic classic film on TV for us to watch. When the food arrives, I feed her strawberries and cheese, catching the juice that trickles down her chin with a flick of my tongue, before dribbling some on her nipple to taste.
By the time I’m done, she’s relaxed and sleepy, and dozes off several times, before finally giving me a mumbled, “I love you.”
Once she’s fully asleep, I ease out of the bed and go to the couch, finishing off the water I opened for her. I open my phone to check texts and emails and see I have a text from my real estate agent.
My apartment has been for sale for three months, since Cookie & Co. decided to buy a house together, and I finally have an offer on it. The inspection was the week before and it’s been radio silence, which James had assured me was fine.
Now I have a message.
Buyers pulled out. They didn’t like the water damage on the kitchen ceiling.
That makes me frown as I sit down.
There’s no water damage.
They said the moisture meter indicated water.
Can’t we just give them a credit?
No, they’re done with the deal. There’s no saving it. I’ve been trying for three days. Their minds are made up.
It makes me unreasonably irritated.
I’ve been very reasonable with them.
They looked at the property three times before making an offer, which was way under list price. My gut had told me to tell them to go pound salt, but the agent had encouraged me to accept the deal. I should have listened to my gut.
I know. But we’ll just sit tight and wait for another offer.
Water bottle in hand, I glance over at Dani, asleep in bed, and at the flashing lights of the Strip beyond. I should have closed the blinds for her.
Just remove the listing. I’ll hold on to the place and re-list in a year when the market is more stable.
I didn’t think the property would be so difficult to sell.
But I didn’t think loving a woman would be hard, either. Or rather, not loving a woman. Having a relationship. With a woman I love and two other men.
I realize I don’t want to re-list the apartment until I know where everything stands with me, Dani, and the guys. This is more complicated than any of us anticipated. Loving someone is the easy part. Blending four lives is a bigger challenge than any of us expected.
