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“Nope. He had to rush off for business but didn’t say for how long. He texted, but I’m not ready to talk to him after Wednesday night.”
“Wait.” Hugh is silent momentarily. “What happened Wednesday night?”
I shake my head, still trying to make sense of what happened. “He surprised me by buying a condo a few blocks from here…” I point out the window, “… and said it’s mine.”
“The condo? You can stay in it. Or rent it from him?”
“No. It’s mine and in my name. I just have to sign the papers.”
“Woah.” Hugh’s eyes widen. He leans one hand on the desk. “Is that his way of saying he loves you back?”
“No,” I snap. “It’s like you said… this is his way of telling me my place is not good enough and buying me something he thinks is better for me. I didn’t make him stay over. Everything about Malibu is business now. I’ll get it finished ASAP. He can’t buy my love.” I let out a frustrated groan. I thought he was different. “Why can’t men just admit their feelings? He either likes me or he doesn’t. I don’t need gifts or…” I lift my hands then drop my arms to my side, “… or saving.”
“So, I’m not following exactly. Do you think it’s your payment for the remodel? It could be a tax thing for him.”
He did mention working something out for both of our taxes. “Who knows because the man doesn’t talk to me unless—” I stop talking and look at Hugh, my eyes burning. I fight it so the tears don’t well. “I think you were right,” I whisper. “It’s a sex thing because it’s fucking great, and is it bad that I don’t want it to end?”
Hugh smirks, and a single laugh bursts from me, yet it’s not humorous. “So you both need each other for sex. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Only I’m not the one trying to buy him or manipulate what we have.”
Hugh takes in what I’m saying. “What did his message say?”
“In a nutshell, he apologized and told me to think about the condo.”
“And have you?”
“No. Nothing in that message convinced me to think any more about it. No emotion. Just a statement as though I’m a business colleague with benefits.” I stop and stare at Hugh with it all making sense. “Malibuisa business project. Hopefully, I can get most of it finished before he returns.”
“Sienna is away until Sunday. Do you want me to help you tomorrow?”
I smile at my friend. “Please. I need to shop at local artisan stores and start collecting the furnishings. There are two bedrooms upstairs we can sleep in and a bathroom. The rest of the house is being gutted. And since yesterday, Franklin’s bedroom doesn’t have a roof.”
“Why don’t we skip work drinks, grab a bottle, and head there tonight? We can go over everything, and when the workmen arrive in the morning, we can go shopping.”
I hug Hugh and grab my keys. Franklin told me to use Royce, but he deserves a break while Franklin’s away. I send him a message telling him I don’t require him to drive me this weekend, and I’ll see him maybe when Franklin returns.
Before I’m on the Santa Monica Freeway, my cell buzzes with a call from Franklin. The car screen lights up. “Don’t answer it,” I say to Hugh, and I switch to my Spotify playlist. A message flashes across the screen, and I flick it away.
“Do you want me to read it to you?” Hugh has my cell in his hand.
“No, it can wait.”
I turn the music up, and Hugh and I belt out the lyrics to Abba. They were my parents’ favorite band, and Hugh appreciates my love of the seventies and eighties music.
While singing my heart out, I wonder what music Franklin loves. It doesn’t matter. Franklin was a bad decision, just like Bernard. I should have never given my heart to a man I barely know other than what we have between the sheets.
* * *
Before the lights switch on,dust hits my nostrils. I lock the door to the garage and step into what used to be the kitchen.
“What a mess,” Hugh mutters as we step over planks of wood and small pieces of concrete from the wall. “What’s your plan for here?”
“I’ll tell you after we eat.” We head out to the balcony with our takeout burgers, fries, and a bottle of wine. “I’m not sure where the glasses are, so we’ll just have to drink from the bottle.”
“Reminds me of when we were in college.” He grins. “Only our taste in wine has improved one hundred percent.”
I laugh. “Yes, but are we classier?”
