Page 180 of The Billionaires

“Hi,” I say timidly.

“You slut,” Aphrodite exclaims. “You already slept with him?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

Her response is a squeal so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear lest I lose my hearing.

Colossus looks up from his chewing, confused.

That sounded like the squeaks of a Chihuahuan mouse. Are you getting a call from the homeland of my breed?

When she settles down, my cousin demands, “So? How was it?”

I sigh once again. “I’m officially ruined for anyone else.”

There are notes of a stuck pig in Aphrodite’s next squeal, and Colossus gives me another WTF look.

“Tell me everything,” she says once she catches her breath. “Everything.”

Hesitating for only a moment, I proceed to tell her, taking pauses for squeals from time to time. I mention the kisses (yes, that’s meant to be plural), the trip to the zoo, and as much as I’m comfortable sharing about the big event itself (yes, I did use protection). I finish with the encounter with his parents and then ask, “So… what do you think it means?”

“It means I was right,” she says triumphantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say with an eyeroll. “What do you think I mean to Bruce?”

She sucks in a breath. “What did he say this morning?”

“He didn’t. His parents came early.”

“Well, then, what do you think?” she says. “Considering that he took you on a date and then stormed your pink fortress.”

I dart a questioning glance at my phone. “What date?”

“The zoo?”

“That was for the dog.” Speaking of, I check on Colossus and find him napping.

“Sure. The dog.” Her air quotes are audible. “Everyone takes Fido to the zoo… with the hot dog trainer. Was the romantic picnic for the dog too?”

Was it? Also, “hot dog trainer” makes it sound like I specialize in dachshunds.

“What about his dick?” she continues. “Was that for the dog?”

“That might’ve just been a guy taking advantage of an opportunity.”

“Oh, come on. A good-looking billionaire? He can crook a finger and have opportunities lined up.”

“So… you think it was a date?” I hate how hopeful I sound.

“For sure. And now that his parents approve of you, I bet he?—”

“Wait, what?”

“His parents,” she says. “Remember how you worried they would never let him date someone like you? Some bullshit about old money not mixing with white trash, which I still claim that we aren’t?”

“I remember that,” I say. “Just not the bit where anything’s changed.”

“Are you crazy?” she says. “Why else would his mother worry about you birthing his babies? And then his dad said, ‘Just throw money at the problem,’ as if you being preggers by their son were a given.”

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