“You mean work for you?” She tosses off a laugh. “No way.”
He puts his elbows on the table and leans over in earnest. “What is it that you really, really want to do?”
She hesitates. Her pretty face is scrunched up, the way it always is when she’s in deep thought. He finds himself noticing things like these about her.
She says shyly, “For the last couple of years . . . since I got into it . . . I’ve kind of, like, wanted to open a gym.”
“A gym?”
“Yeah. You know, where people go to ‘hang out’.”
“You mean to hook up.”
“Same thing.”
To you, he catches her hidden meaning.
She says dreamily, “There will be classes. Zumba. Les Mills Body Combat, Sh’bam, Body Pump. Belly dancing.”
“I thought you said it was a gym.”
“Gyms can have so much more. There will be a swimming pool. Yoga. Pilates. Cafes. Foot massages. Sauna.”
“It’s beginning to sound like a spa.” He’s interested despite himself.
She jabs a finger at him. He’s glad it isn’t her spoon. “Would you sign up for such a gym?” she demands.
“If the female trainers are hot.” He has his own personal gym in his penthouse . . . and even a female trainer to help him out. But that’s an idea. He should be joining a public gym to pick girls up. Not that he needs help in that department.
“There you go.” Her smile is spread across her sweet rosebud lips – those very lips he likes to suck upon.
“So why don’t you?” he says.
“Why don’t I what?”
“Follow your dream. Open up on your own gym. You could get a loan.” Or I could loan you the money, he thinks but doesn’t say for fear of incurring assault.
She sighs. “There’s too much risk involved in striking out on your own. It’s always better to have a stable job with a fixed salary.”
He snorts. “Whoever told you that?”
“It’s easy for you to say. You’re Brian Morton. You’ve never had to worry about money for a day in your life.”
“There are a lot of other things a rich kid has to worry about, thank you.” Like getting mugged. Like the unpredictable mood swings of your parents and uncle. “But seriously, if you want to set up your own gym, I can – ”
“I don’t want your money, thank you.”
“I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted, that I can be your partner. A silent one.”
It’s her turn to snort. “I seriously doubt you can ever be silent.”
He’s enjoying this. But then, he has always enjoyed their banter. “You’re discriminating against me? If you’re going to open a gym, you’re going to need investors. Partners. Co-conspirators. And who better than friends to lend a helping dumbbell?”
She opens her mouth to protest, but he holds up his palm.
“‘I need to do this on my own’,” he mimics her singsong voice. “Christ, will you get a grip? Millionaires don’t get rich doing it all on their lonesome selves. They get help. Rich uncles. Investors. Friends. Internet buddies. The Billionaire Boys’ Club. No one does it alone anymore. We’ve come a long way since someone invented the wheel . . . and even he had prehistoric help holding it up.”
“I’m not used to taking risks. There’s a lot on my plate right now. And there’s that little thing about . . . ” She pauses.
He arrests her downcast eyes. “Let me guess. You don’t want to take anything from me.”
“I don’t want to make it seem like I’m only friends with you because I want to use you,” she mumbles.
He’s hoping she doesn’t feel that way about him either when it comes to sex. Because he’s not using her body for sex. He can have sex with anyone anytime. He’s with her because he wants to be.
“You’ve never given me that impression, not once,” he says, “except for when you’re playing with my penis. And I’m assuming you like to play with it because you don’t have a dildo.”
The expression on her face makes him want to laugh out loud.
“Life’s hard enough without having to be serious about it.” He reaches across the table to clasp her bunched fist. “So take your time to think about that gym.”
She hesitates, and then nods.
A shadow falls across their table. It’s their waitress – a spiky-haired teenager with more studs in her ears than earlobe space.
“Since it’s raining and all,” she drawls, “I’m going to close this place up early. So if you’re finished and all – ”
She picks their empty ice-cream trays up with a look that says, Get lost so I can clear up and go home.
Brian flashes his most charming smile. “Tell you what and all. How much would it cost you and all – ” He lingers on the ‘all’ “ – to let me rent this joint for two hours? I’ll even buy up every single tub of ice-cream you’ve got on your display.”
The waitress looks dubious. “Whatcha planning to do with this place?”
Brian’s smile widens. “Would three thousand dollars just about cover it?”
4
As Brian locks the main door of the creamery behind the departing waitress, who is beaming from studded ear to studded ear, Sam wonders what he has in mind. Is he smoking weed or something? He has offered her joints he has rolled before, and she has taken a puff to relive her college days. It had been heaven. They had mad sex afterwards, and she wonders if this is what he is leading to.
He flips the sign at the door to read ‘CLOSED’ from the outside. He turns. His grin is broad and infectious.
“Alone at last,” he says, striding to her.
He grabs her waist and bends her backwards. She can’t help laughing as he stoops to kiss her. It’s a rich kiss – full of promise and nuance and lip work. She kisses him back, feeling breathless, the way she always does whenever he initiates any sort of romantic gesture.
No, scratch that. Brian isn’t into romance. He has always made that quite clear. Brian is into f**king.
At first, she didn’t think she would be into their weird kind of relationship.
“It’s complicated,” she had tried to explain to Cassie.
“What’s so complicated about it?” her best friend demanded. “You’re f**k buddies, that’s all there is to it.”