Page 34 of Promiscuous Lies

A sliver of amusement runs through me. “Is that how you should answer your boss’s call?”

“I’m not at work at the moment,” she replies.

“No, I suppose you’re not. So what are you doing?”

“Is this work-related?” she grumbles.

“Yes, it’s regarding the link you just sent me. I’m impressed. You’ve done well.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I check the phone to make sure she’s still on the call. When I put it back to my ear, she says, “Thank you.”

“When does it launch?” I ask to keep her on the line. I don’t know when this unique obsession began, but from the moment I tasted her sweet pussy, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. And all I want is to do it again.

Money has always bought me anything I want. For the things it doesn’t, I’ve used intimidation. But this woman is different, and I refuse to pay for sex despite making my living from it.

No, Posie must come to me willingly.

A strong breeze whips by me, and I welcome its frigid touch.

“Where are you anyway? In a hurricane?” she asks. She must have heard the wind.

It’s the first time she’s asked about my whereabouts, and I can’t help but smile as I walk adjacent to the Colosseum that glows with light from within against the early morning darkness. There aren’t too many people out at this hour, but I spot a few restaurants across the road and notice a gelato store that’s still open with a small line. I have no doubt that the line only consists of tourists.

“Do you miss me, Posie?”

“You wish,” she bites back.

Ah, how I miss that sass.

“I’m in Rome. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Rome? What time is it there?” she asks, and I can hear rustling in the background but can’t decipher what she’s doing. At the very least, I know if she’s talking to me on a Friday evening, she’s not with anyone else. I’ve been so tempted to have her followed. For security purposes, of course, in case she is connected with the Boston Delinquents.

I try not to envision Eli rolling his eyes at me. Okay, even I acknowledge how far of a stretch it might now be that she’s associated with them. But it’s all I have to blame this obsession on.

“Three in the morning.”

“Wow, you really are a robot. Do you not sleep?”

“Not if there’s money to be made.”

“That’s so like you. I’ve never been to Rome. I’ve heard it’s pretty, and they have the best gelato,” she says. Then, there’s a clattering sound, as if she dropped the phone. “Shit.”

I look back to the gelato store, and my legs move across the road before I know it.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m painting my nails. I’m not sure if I like the red, though.”

“Change it,” I immediately say, not understanding why it irritates me. Knowing that it’s my cousin’s favorite color, I suddenly can’t stand the thought of her wearing it.

“Pfft. As if I care what you think. Is the gelato good there?”

My jaw tics at her disobedience, but I swallow my pride, which is painful. “So I’ve heard.”

“You don’t eat it, do you?” I can imagine her eye roll from here. I stand in line at the gelato store with only one customer in front of me.

“No, I don’t worry about things that don’t offer nutritional value.” Unlike my mother and sister’s fascination with the culinary arts, I’ve never much cared for food. However, I only dine at the finest restaurants. I believe in good quality but have never been one to enjoy food as much as others.

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