A throat cleared. “Yes, of course, sir. . . Naturally, due to the inconvenience, all services will be on the house for the rest of the month.”
I wondered what services that entailed. I bet the usual was a naked woman dancing on a pole while he ignored her.
The cop stepped forward. “Listen, sir, a . . . wet and poorly-dressed woman wouldn’t happen to be in here, would she?”
Poorly dressed? No doubt Alfred had given him that description.
“We have reason to believe she might have come in here about ten minutes ago.”
As a kernel of panic bloomed inside me, I wondered if they had a surveillance camera in the hall.
“And you think, what? That I’m hiding her underneath the table?”
A breath of relief escaped me when I realized he wasn’t going to give me away. He probably wanted to take me out back, hit me over the head, and dump my dead body in the river himself.
“Of course not, sir,” Alfred rushed to say.
“Are you accusing me of something? Should I call my lawyer?”
I stifled a laugh.
The expensive fabric of this man’s pants looked incredibly soft, like fine wool. I ran my hand down the material. He threaded his fingers through my hair and pulled my face toward his dick. I sank my teeth into his thick thigh, hard. He didn’t even flinch.
Alfred spewed a plethora of apologizes, sounding as if he’d agree to a little self-flagellation for the error. Then the pair left, and the door shut behind them.
I climbed up between Mr. Romano’s legs, straddling his thighs as if I’d done it a hundred times before. God, he was warm. And hard all over. I made it a rule to not sleep with men I didn’t like, but I’d almost make an exception for this one. I took the initiative to straighten his already-straight tie.
He eyed me cautiously. “What are you, a thief?”
A smile touched my lips. “Only of men’s hearts.”
I smoothed a palm down his silk tie, my fingers moving lower of their own volition. He grabbed my hand just as it reached his lower stomach, the muscle beneath tense and burning through his shirt. He had abs. I was just as much a sucker for abs as I was for whiskey.
Disappointed he’d stopped me, I pouted. “You’re just mad I’m not going to take my clothes off for you.”
“I assure you, it’s a relief.”
I was getting him all wet—as platonic as it was—but I still relished the idea that, after I left, I’d leave an imprint on his expensive and handsome veneer.
He let me slide my palm against his, measuring the gross difference in sizes and the contrast between my chipped black polish and his clean, blunt nails.
My skin was a shade darker than his olive tone.
I received all my melanin from my father. He was a black car salesman who worked at Autos 4 Cheap. He didn’t know I existed—in a familial sense at least—but sometimes I’d walk the long way home just to give him a wave from the sidewalk. He’d wave back while he charmed his customers with a toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile.
I wondered if he had ever loved my mother; if he was bereft when she suddenly left him behind for a string of other men. Most of all, I questioned what he would think of me if my mother had ever told him he was my father.
“Have you ever been in love?” I asked, my voice suddenly soft.
“No.”
“Do you want to be?”
“No.” He slipped his hand from mine, and a weird sense of loss expanded within me.
“Why not? No, let me guess,” I hurried to say as if he was actually going to answer me. “Your parents are cold and so full of ennui they never showed you any affection, so you don’t know how to love. And even if you did, you think all women are just after your money. How did I do?”
He grabbed my thigh and tipped me right off his lap to the floor.