Page 54 of Trig

I push his hands off my hips and slide off his lap. He squints at me in a weird sexy way.

“How old are you?”

He releases a frustrated breath. “Twenty-two.”

“And this.” I motion at the spectacle of a house. “Is all you?”

Oscar side-grins while drinking me in with his eyes. He nods.

“Lotta money for someone so young,”

“Lotta questions for someone who doesn’t want to be here,” he shoots back.

“Lotta evasion for someone who wants me to be here.”

“You know what I do already.”

“I know for sure you do more than supply. You have a two hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar painting in your entryway and you call it paper.”

He looks at me slyly and shakes his finger a few times

“I thought you said you didn’t know art.”

“Lucky guess at the price.”

“Mm-hmm. Are you hungry yet, Hips?”

“Why am I here?” I quickly respond. “Don’t you have a whole variety of women at your disposal? You have this very nice house, which I’m sure is a magnet for the ladies. Some of which would have already had sex with you on this bar if they were me. So again, why am I here?”

“I’m hungry and I want your company. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Mm-hmm,” I respond in disbelief, copying him.

He silently grabs my hand and slowly pulls me up off of the stool. He walks me out of the bar area and back into the entryway of his house. With his hand in mine, he stops and looks at me.

“That is the exit door, outside, there is a car waiting to take you home. You can leave now or we can go eat, enjoy each other’s company, and then you can decide if you want to leave or stay the night. I only took away your choice to come here. The choice to leave at any time is yours. I’ll be straight down the hall, first door to your right, if you decide to stay.”

He releases my hand and quickly turns, leaving me all alone. I’m now standing there in a state of fuckery, staring at the door. Spend the night? The arrogance of this man is beyond me. Pshhh. He wishes. I start to leave; my hand is on the doorknob when I remember his tongue on my neck. His lips on mine. His warm hands on my hips. I close my eyes, exhale, and let my hand drop. I turn around, and like a hormonal idiot, I follow the path right back to him. I walk in and stand in the doorway of what appears to be the dining room. Oscar sits at the table, not making eye contact with me. The entire table has a spread big enough to feed a party of six. There’s lobster, crab, chicken, and some vegan-looking dish.

“I’m not just some stupid easy girl.”

His eyes slowly rise from the table to mine.

“Why the fuck are you still here, Mya? You should go home.”

I’m embarrassed. I’ll admit it, but like a toddler unable to deal with her emotions, I walk up closest to his side and flip a plate off of the table. Chicken and broccoli fly everywhere. Oscar sits there unbothered. I’m not used to being toyed with. I do the toying.

“Is this a game to you?” I shout.

“It doesn’t have to be. Do you like me, Mya?”

“Like you? Right now, I fucking despise you,” I shoot back.

He stands up abruptly, flips a plate of his own and stares at me. Both of us are in a silent standoff and breathing hard.

“You’re difficult, defiant, and most of all, erratic. Would you sit down and let me feed you?”

“I don’t feel like eating anymore,” I yell.

---