Page 35 of Twisted Fate

“You fucked me well.”

“Well?” I take her hand and nip at the tip of her index finger.

“Passionately.”

“Better,” I say, and nip the tip of her middle finger.

“Erotically,” she says, laughter lacing the word.

I nip her ring finger.

“Sensually.”

I nip her little finger. “More.”

“Mind-blowingly.”

“I’ll accept that,” I say, surprised by the ease between us. I am not the type to linger after sex. The fact that I want to be here, in this bed with Alina, is unusual for me.

She leans down and presses her mouth to mine in a soft kiss. Then she gently touches my cheek. “You need ice for that cheek and that eye.”

Before I can stop her, she bounds out of bed, taking the sheet with her and dragging it around her naked body. I’m disappointed that she’s blocking my view. She heads to the kitchen and I hear her puttering in there before she returns with some ice wrapped in a dishcloth. Climbing back onto the bed beside me, she sits cross-legged and lowers the ice to my face.

Her expression is focused, intent, her hands gentle. An odd feeling suffuses me. When was the last time someone took care of me like this? I honestly can’t fucking remember.

“So what is it about your job that you don’t enjoy?” She repositions the ice so it’s more comfortable for me. Not sure how she knows what would be more comfortable, but somehow, she does. “Does it have something to do with that brand-new shiner you have?”

“There are elements of my job that are necessary but unpleasant. Today included those elements.” I pause and decide to be honest. “I didn’t actually plan to come here tonight. I went home. Showered. Figured I’d settle in for the night. Next thing I know, my keys are in the ignition and I’m driving. Didn’t even know where I was heading until I pulled into the underground. And if you ask me to explain why I came, I don’t think I’ll be able to give you an answer.”

She smirks. “You wanted to fuck me.”

“Yeah.”

I did. I do. But it’s more than that. I just wanted to be with her and that makes no fucking sense.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. “Everyone has parts of their job that they dislike. Some people hate everything about their job, but they don’t have a lot of choices. Do you think I like slinging drinks to a bunch of drunk assholes while wearing a polyester micromini and a halter with no bra? Those are elements of my job that are shitty but necessary. If I want to earn good tips, I do what the job demands. The only times I like my job are when I count my tips or cash my paycheck.”

“Then why do that job? Why not just do something else?”

“Are you serious right now?” When I don’t reply, she takes my silence for an answer and says, “I’m twenty-three years old with no degree and little job experience. Sure, I could waitress at a restaurant or work as a cashier but I’d make shit money for just as many hours. I don’t have a resume that will get me an office job. And I don’t have the knowledge that will get me hired as a dealer at one of the casinos. So I work the job that earns me the best paycheck. The only thing I am qualified for that would make me better money is shimmying around a pole naked, and I’m just not comfortable doing that.”

It’s my turn to study her in silence, digesting her words. The thought of her returning to the Emerald as a waitress, or any place like it, makes me want to punch something. The idea of her dancing naked is even worse. “If you had a choice, what would you do?”

She pushes her hair out of her face, tucking the long strands behind her ear. “Finish my degree.”

“English lit, right?”

She nods, then shrugs. “Not that a degree in English lit is a springboard to a high paying job. But communication skills are important. And you said if I had a choice. In a perfect world, my choice would be to finish my degree with a concentration in creative writing.” She looks away, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. “I, um…I like to write.”

“What have you written?” I ask.

“Some short stories. And I’ve started a couple of novels, but never really made any headway.”

“Have you had anything published?”

“One of the short stories. In an online magazine.” She glances at me through her lashes. “They paid me. Five hundred dollars. I know that doesn’t sound like a lot to you, but it’s a lot for a short story.” She clears her throat and readjusts the ice again. “What about you? If you had a choice, what would you do?”

“Me?” I think for a second and then answer honestly. “In a perfect world, I’d be exactly who I am, doing exactly what I do.”

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