"Aria—"
"Well, don't beg me. It's not becoming of you, Riggs," she teases.
"You know what the rules are, Flower," I remind her.
"Oh, not fair! You know I still get weak-kneed when you call me that," she scolds.
I chuckle. Flower was the nickname I gave Aria. I assert, "Then say yes to tonight, and you'll hear more of it."
"Ugh. Riggs, I like this guy," she whines.
"Bring him. I'll train him for you," I offer.
Another moment passes, and she lowers her voice, confessing, "He's not in the lifestyle."
My pulse pounds quicker. Aria and I are good friends. There's nothing between us except that, and I care about her well-being. I claim, "You know that'll never work."
She groans. "Things change. People can change."
"No. That's not how our lifestyle works. You'll get bored."
"I won't. He's a really great guy!"
I reprimand, "Aria, you can't go backward."
The line turns silent again.
She says, "Riggs, he's different."
"Then you have to convert him," I declare.
"He says he isn't into it."
"Then dump him," I order.
"No."
"Flower, I'm trying to look out for you," I state, then veer left to avoid a semi.
Horns blare, and I give the driver my middle finger. And I'm frustrated with this entire conversation. I can't risk losing my pet, and Aria will realize after tonight there's no backtracking into old lifestyles once you're in ours. So I use my most commanding voice, demanding, "Loverboy will wait. Tonight, Flower."
She sharply inhales, then stays quiet.
I can imagine her squeezing her thighs together and lightly scratching her neck. And this is exactly why she can't be with a vanilla-sex guy. She needs a Dom. One firm order, and I know I have her, but I still question, "Is that a yes?"
She sighs. "Okay, but you owe me."
"But you love reminiscing so much," I remind her.
She snorts. "Don't push it. Apartment Thirteen?"
I grin. "Always. And bring your stud. Let him learn."
"Hard pass," she says.
"Suit yourself. I need blueish-purple highlights put in your hair, and call Isabella. Tell her to rush over the gold heels and lingerie I bought the other day. Wear it tonight. I'll send a driver around six." I hang up and continue to deal with the traffic. I crack my window but within seconds shut it when the smog seeps into my Porsche.
I almost call Blakely but stop myself. It's too soon for her to hear from me. She needs to wonder what I'm doing and when I'm returning.