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"What?"
"Find a kitchen, find a grocery store, buy some eggs, some bacon, some toast, and then bring it to me and serve me breakfast in bed."
"You what?" She sits up, rubbing her eyes. She looks at me, and I can tell she's wondering if I'm joking. "Is this like a bad comedy sketch?"
"I just don't want you to think that tonight was…"
"Hold up," she says, extending her hand in front of my face. "You're being serious here? You expect me to go to the grocery store, buy groceries, cook them somewhere, and bring you breakfast in bed?"
"I think that's what I said," I say, shrugging. "And before you ask, no, I'm not going to tell you any more information about myself."
"You what?" She pulls the sheet up over her now. "Oh my gosh. You're a jackass. Of course, you just had to be a jackass. I knew it. I just knew it. Every single guy in New York City is a jackass, and you are a jackass with a capital A. Do you go neigh, neigh, neigh?"
"I don't think asses go neigh, neigh, neigh," I say to her with a smirk. "I think that's horses."
"Well, whatever donkeys do," she says.
"I think they snort," I say, staring at her. "But you don't have to call me a donkey just because I'm hung."
"I'm calling you a donkey because you are the rudest man I…"
"The rudest man you what? Things didn't go well for you?" I say, staring at her. There's a glint in my eyes. I want to fuck her again, but I can tell she's as pissed as me. Now that she knows she's been busted, she knows I’m giving her no new information. "You really thought you were smart, didn't you?" I say to her.
"What are you talking about?" She stares at me, shaking her head, her long dark curls cascading down her back. She rubs her forehead and blinks again. "Am I in a bad movie or something? What is going on?"
"You knew Ethan Rosser. That should've been my first guess." I’m speaking to myself now.
"Yeah. So I knew him. What does that have to do with anything?"
"And you have no idea who I am, do you?"
"No, Zeus," she says. "I don't."
"Smart," I say, laughing. "Very smart."
"What are you talking about?"
"Calling me Zeus and pretending you don't want to know my real name."
"What?" She blinks again. "Are you high? Did you take drugs last night or something?”
“I'm going back into the bathroom, and by the time I'm out, I expect you to have figured out what it is you’re making me for breakfast to thank me for the fuck of your life." I get out of bed and give her a dry smile as she glares at me. I reach down and give her a big kiss. She kisses me back for a couple of seconds and then pushes me away. "What, no longer want to give it up now that you know you're not getting any pertinent information from me?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care," she says. "This whole thing was a mistake."
"You're telling me," I say. I'm feeling angry again. Maybe it's because she hasn't admitted that she's a journalist trying to get a story. Maybe it's because I'm still pissed off about my dad. I don't know why I'm so angry, but I know I don't want to deal with her right now. I head to the bathroom again, close the door, and take a couple of deep breaths. "You may have been a hot fuck, and you may look as innocent as a schoolteacher," I mumble under my breath, "but I got your number, Zara Hathaway, and you're not going to take me for a ride. I'm not about to see my photo in the newspaper tomorrow morning exposing all my family's dirty laundry."
I turn on the cold water and splash my face. I'm hard, horny, angry, and I know that I want her one last time. I have a feeling that she wants me as well. I lick my lips, wondering if I should give in to temptation. Why is it that the women who were the best in bed have to be the craziest and most devious? I don’t know, but I’m determined to find out.
9
Zara
Dear Sandra,
I wish we never drank alcohol.
Ever.
