Page 66 of David's Love

Not to mention me hoarding money.

We didn’t talk about how delicate my relationship with my best friend is. And how I had to feed my mother a story, and she believed it because she is that kind of good, trustful woman.

I lived those moments with gusto as if I knew they’d abruptly end at some point, and I could do nothing about it. As much as I knew there was a price to pay. And beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

I didn’t mention anything about my new realization that my book might never come to life while my life had started to look like a crazy book.

We became two people who shed our regular lives and got engrossed in satisfying anonymity.

We didn’t return to New York, so I could take the plane the next day.

I sent my mother a message to tell her I was okay. Asked her not to give Chloe any details in case she called and asked about me. I also told my mother I’d spend the weekend in New York since the hotel room I stayed in had been booked for three nights.

Like mother, like daughter.

We both like a good deal and she told me to enjoy it.

And I did.

I powered off my phone and turned my focus to my man.

He was quiet, contemplative, and seemed happy and non-judgmental in regards to my pulling some strings and employing white little lies.

My mother would have nothing against him. So it wasn’t like I went against her advice.

Once I took care of that business, we drove east. East to his house. It was a long drive we fully enjoyed.

The weather was nice, although the air was crisp, and we only made a stop when we reached his town.

We bought some food and ordered takeout for the evening, the idea being that we didn’t want to go out the next twenty-four hours.

And we didn’t.

We had dinner at his house. And then we had sex, swam naked––although we froze our butts off––and soaked in the bathtub upstairs for a full hour, his arms around me, my back pressed into his chest.

Even then, I saw no point in telling him that James and Rain had most likely figured us out.

Frankly, it bore no significance.

It didn’t matter.

We belonged to each other, and it was enough.

Saturday night was very much like the previous night, although with expensive sheets, instrumental music in the background, dim lights, and smooth sex.

The man was no longer fucking me for money. Our old, beloved game.

In fact, he gave me nothing other than his time, his attention, and his body. And I loved it a lot.

The initial plan after the original plan fell sideways was for me to return on Sunday, but we couldn’t do that either. So he made a couple of phone calls, had the helicopter pilot pick us up and fly us to New York, and then he drove me to the airport in a different car.

He left the first one at his house.

Our goodbye kiss felt like death as I knew we wouldn’t see each other for a while.

And he wasn’t happy either.

But here I am.

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