Page 137 of The Billionaires

“You don’t like it when I poopoo on the people you date,” Angela says.

“Which you do,” I say. “Every single time.”

She shrugs. “It’s not my fault you’re a magnet for gold-digging trash.”

I pointedly look at my watch. “We’re out of time.”

It’s not even an excuse. It’s dinnertime for me and Colossus, and I haven’t delegated that task to Lilly just yet.

Angela pouts. “You just don’t want to have a conversation about your love life. Or lack thereof.”

Tapping at the clockface, I wave her goodbye.

“How long has it been?” she asks stubbornly. “A year. Two?”

I reply by hanging up. The last thing I need is to be told that I need a good woman in my life—whatever that means.

Colossus looks down and whines.

I set him on the floor. “You hungry?”

We both know the question is rhetorical. The puppy bolts out of the room like he’s being attacked by bees, then torpedoes in the direction of the kitchen.

Even walking fast, I can barely keep up with him.

When I get to the kitchen, I slow down.

There’s always a risk I might catch someone chewing in there, like the time I walked in on the chef tasting his alfredo sauce, or the time I?—

And there it is.

Her back to me, Lilly is sitting on a barstool with a fork in her hand, a piece of gnocchi speared on it. She has headphones on, so she doesn’t notice me or the dog.

Before I can look away, she sticks the fork into her mouth and begins chewing.

I wince, expecting the usual flood of adrenaline and wave of disgust.

None of it comes.

What the fuck? Until now, the only creature whose eating I could tolerate was the dog—and I figured it was because a) he mostly swallows without chewing, and b) he finishes his food in a nanosecond.

In morbid fascination, I wait until she spears another gnocchi.

Was that a moan?

Yep.

She’s really enjoying her meal.

And once again, I feel nothing.

Well, if I’m honest, my heart rate does go up, but it’s not due to the usual reasons. It’s her moaning. I never realized that eating with zest could sound so seductive.

Hmm. Is that why I’m seemingly immune to her chewing? Is this the famous “suspension bridge effect” from psychology, where men find women more attractive after receiving an adrenaline surge from walking over a bridge? Yeah. It must be that. Some wires have gotten crossed, and my body thinks I’m turned on instead of feeling the usual fight-or-flight response.

Lilly greedily slurps her drink through a straw.

Normally, I’d be climbing the walls by now, yet I’m fine… or more accurately, turned on more.

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