I’m watching a couple hold hands as they walk their dog across the street when I hear my phone ring. I open my small clutch and reach for the white rectangle that holds my entire life in its minuscule memory chip. I smile when I see the picture of my best friend—the only person who knows the real me.
“Yo,” I answer. We like to pretend that we can talk all cool, but we’re pretty lame at it if we’re being honest with ourselves.
“Sup, lady?” she answers.
A cab finally stops in front of me. “One sec, Elly.” I grab the handle and pull the door open. Once I glide to the middle of the backseat, feeling the coolness of the leather underneath me rub against my bare skin, I give the address to the cab driver and go back to my conversation.
“Back, sorry about that. Anyway, how are you, stranger? I feel like I haven’t spoken to you in ages.”
Elly laughs. “That’s because you’ve been too busy sucking Walker and his wallet dry.”
I smile. “You’re correct … on both accounts.”
My answer makes her laugh once more. “You’re shameless, Blaire, but that’s why I love you. And as long as he treats my girl right, I don’t care if he’s a pompous ass.”
“You know he does, and I thought he grew on you?” I want to add that even if he didn't treat me right, I'd stay with him by choice, but I don't.
I’m very attracted to Walker—his cock is a religious experience, and he’s the kind of guy who men respect and women dream about. He’s filthy rich, and we have a lot of fun and wild times together. But here's the thing ... as horrible as it sounds, I wouldn’t give him the time of day if I knew he was broke and a nobody. I may not believe in love, but I do believe in practicality and goals. I don’t want to live comfortably—I want luxury. I want an easy life. And a broke guy would never be able to offer all those expensive things to me.
It all comes down to priorities. And a faux happy marriage to the man I love, two point five kids, with a moderately sized Victorian house in the suburbs doesn’t make the top of my list. Because what they fail to show you in the catalog of life is that behind those walls, the couple will eventually fall out of love and become strangers. The mom will grow tired of taking care of her kids and of her mundane life, growing anxious as she wonders if looking at a pile of folded clothes is all the excitement left in her life. The father will grow bored of fucking the same woman over and over again. Maybe he’ll grow frustrated and dissatisfied with his life and turn to alcohol instead of another woman. Or maybe he'll grow resentful of what he has to give up in order to provide for his family. And what about those two point five kids who look so happy in the glossy pages of said catalog? Behind those pretty smiles are hidden tears of neglect, laughless hearts, and days upon days of loneliness.
And that is not my dream.
So am I calculating? Yes, completely. I’m a gold digger, but I’m also smart. Love fades … or it’s selfish … or unkind … but a diamond? A diamond will last forever.
And because I’m a cynical bitch, I’m very aware that I need to capitalize on my looks while I still have them because those will fade as well.
“I guess I still don’t trust him fully,” I hear Elly say. “I wish you could just settle with a nice guy who loves you for who you are and not what you look like.”
I laugh as I stare out the window, watching the cab picking up speed, people and street lights blending together. “If they knew the real me, they would run for the hills, Elly. Come on, let’s be honest here.”
After a moment of silence, she replies, “Not if they knew the real you. The one you try so hard to hide. May I remind you what you did for me?”
“Blah, stop it. But seriously, I can’t believe you’re still iffy about Walker. We’re good together. Anyway, tell me, how was your vacation?” Elly was away for two weeks visiting family in California.
She huffs. “Don’t go changing the subject on me, Blaire. And I don’t know … there’s just something about Walker that throws me off.”
“I think you’re thinking too much into it. We’re just having fun.”
And we are.
I was the pretty hostess of Homme, an upscale restaurant in Midtown that Walker and his friends used to frequent around lunch hour when we met. At first, he only saw me as a nice piece of ass to spend a couple of hours with whenever he felt like it (and maybe he still does—who knows). I saw the expensive suit, the even more expensive watch, and when I heard his last name, my panties almost fell down to the ground. He was like the long lost City of Atlantis for girls like me.
The click and clack of utensils and the buzz of chatter filled my ears as I stood in my booth by the front of the restaurant, I preened like a peacock for Walker.
First stolen glance.
I felt my skin tingle.
Second stolen glance.
I felt my skin grow hot.
Third stolen glance.
I was burning.
Our eyes continued to connect over and over again—we couldn’t stop.
By the time his bill was paid, I’d thought he was going to stop by the front and ask me for my number like so many other men before him had. But he hadn’t. As a matter of fact, as he crossed the small space between the metal booth where I was standing and the large glass doors, he didn’t even glance my way. I watched his perfectly combed blond hair shine like burnt gold in the sun as he stepped into the street. When I heard the roar of his laughter at something his friend must have said, I felt it vibrate in my bones.
And then he was gone.
I wish I could say that I didn’t care and that the moment he walked out the door he walked out of my mind. But it would be a lie. He remained in my thoughts for the rest of the day. When my shift was over, I kissed my coworkers on the cheek goodbye, grabbed my coat and headed out the door.
I felt my heart stop beating as soon as I saw him.
Walker.
Reclined against his black BMW parked across the street from the restaurant staring straight at me. His sleek hair parted to the side in a way that should have been obnoxious, but on him it totally worked. A confident smile graced his face. It was the kind of smile that only those born in privilege and to whom the word “no” is nonexistent have. He looked gorgeous. And the slut in me instantly wondered what it would feel like to run my hands through his long hair as I rode him like a mechanical bull.
I watched him cross the street, walking in my direction. When he was standing in front of me, he simply said, “Go out with me.”
I wanted to say yes.
But I knew that if I wanted him to treat me differently, to give me everything I wanted and to want me more than any other pretty face he could have, I needed to make him work for it. I needed to make him work for my attention. Isn’t the chase always better than the catch? Guys like him thrive on it.
So I gave him my best smile—a smile that said yes with the eyes but no with the tongue. “No, I’m sorry but I’m busy tonight and I don’t even know you.”
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with a devious light. “Somehow I had the feeling that you were going to say no.”
I ran a hand through my long hair seductively, watching him follow my movements. “Smart man. Anyway, I’ve got to go—”