Page 2 of Filthy Rich

“We like arrogant.”

“No… you think you like arrogant because of all those books you read, but this guy was real-life arrogant. It’s not sexy, it’s annoying. I don’t want to be loading the laundry thirty years from now with someone micromanaging how the clothes go in.”

She giggles. “That tracks.” This conversation reminds me of how young Sasha is. I sort of envy it. I wish I could go back to the days when I thought arrogance and superiority were sexy. Two failed relationships and a decade later, I know better thanto fall for the take-charge, bossy guy. It’s really hot in bed, but day to day living with a man like that is a nightmare.

“I’m too old. I need a man who’s got his shit together, ya know? A guy who’s been around. A guy who’s in touch with his feelings. A guy who can talk through an argument without getting defensive. A guy who can do home repairs and be patient while I work late Thursday night because I have a load of essays to read.”

“And you don’t think a man that good would be arrogant?”

I laugh. “If he is, he ain’t for me.”

“So that’s it? He was arrogant, and you bailed? Did you do the meetup?”

“Nope. We never made it past the two blind dates.”

She sighs. “I like that there’s a wall between folks to start. You get to know each other deeper before looks get entered into the picture. What about work? What did he do?”

“He buys and sells real estate. None of it matters, though. I can’t go back, and I have no idea who he is in real-life. The ranch only gives first names.” I take another sip of coffee. I should really stop if I want to sleep tonight. “So, the mail order experience didn’t work for me, but you shouldn’t give up.”

“What about your sister’s birthday party? You have what… a couple days left to find a date?”

“Yeah, and a couple days isn’t long enough to go through that whole process again, anyway. Besides, my family will tear whoever I bring to shreds.” I wish I were being dramatic, but I’m not. I should’ve never mentioned having a date. I’m too old for that, but at the time my mother asked me, it made more sense to lie than put myself through another round of her drama. Also, why does my groan-ass sister need a birthday party every single year? “What about you? You up to anything good this weekend?”

“Reading and maybe writing a little.”

“You still writing that one shifter novel?”

“No, I switched to something else. I couldn’t find the characters in that one. I don’t know,” she sighs, “maybe writing isn’t for me.”

“It is. You’ve loved it since I met you. Why don’t you send over what you have, and I’ll give you advice.”

She laughs. “Yeah right, and let you rip me apart like you did Ethan’s essay? No thanks!”

A smile stretches onto my face. “I love you.” I’m so lucky to have Sasha in my life. We met a while back down at the library off Main Street. She was picking up a stack of romance novels and I was looking for a change of scenery while I corrected papers. She dropped a book near my table, and we got into a debate on which was superior… Edward or Jacob. For the record, I’ve always been team Edward. He was completely devoted to Bella’s happiness and protection. Jacob was sweet and warm, but he lacked intensity. I think Sasha and I are still having that debate to this day.

A heavy knock hits my cabin door and startles me out of the conversation. “Shit.Sorry, someone’s at the door. Can I call you back?”

“I’ll text you in the morning. I’m kind of exhausted. You expecting someone? It’s kind of late for visitors, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it’s the neighbor. His dog has been getting loose lately. He gets under the porch and tries digging into the root cellar.”

“Alright,” Sasha yawns. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

The line disconnects and I stretch up from the couch, feeling the ache in my back as I step forward. I really need to start doing yoga or something. I spend way too much time on my ass correcting papers or pacing back and forth in the classroom. Come to think of it, maybe I need more comfortable shoes. Apparently, I’m both lonely and in need of better orthopedic support.Hooray!

Another knock hits the front door, and I pull back the sheer curtain on the glass panel to peek out into the darkness. I’m expecting to see my seventy-five-year-old neighbor with the wild, gray eyebrows and the stained overalls. Instead, there’s a tall, square jawed man standing wide on the front porch staring straight ahead. His shoulders are thick, and his stance is like that of a man who’s here on business.Really, really, late business.

“Can I help you?” I say through the glass as any woman alone in a cabin at night would.

“Yes,” the man leans forward, “you can.” He glances down at a piece of paper, then up at the window again. “Are you Trisha Marshall?”

“Why? Who are you?”

The man steps closer to the glass and I flick on the front porch light, studying his salted beard and the tattoos that streak up his neck. Despite the ink, he wears a pair of leather gloves and a tweed jacket with a scarf. Men around here like flannel and jeans, and their beards never look quite so well groomed.

“I’m Christopher Becker. You might remember me from the ranch.”

The ranch? Christopher?Oh my God!

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