Page 61 of Problematic Summer Romance

His eye roll fills the mirror-wrapped elevator. “As I said, forget that I mentioned—”

“Nuh-uh.” I started this. By angrily oversharing every single annoying thing Alfie did in the eighteen months of our relationship, ranging from the morning he smushed my lipstick while drawing a heart on my bathroom mirror, to the way he got me tickets for a bandheliked for my birthday.

(Hindsight’s 20/20, but I must wonder: Was the heart for Georgia all along?)

“I told you,” he says. “Nothing to add.” We’re on his floor, and he’s clearly planning to walk out of the elevator.

So I lean over and press theshut doorsbutton.

“What are you doing, Trouble?”

“Tell me more about what happened after she hit on you.” I send the elevator back to the first floor. Via the fourth, third, and second. “How did you realize that your dad had sent her?”

An indulgent sigh. I hear it andfeelit, through the many places where my body touches his. Yes, we are inside. Yes, I’m unlikely to stumble again. Yes, he’s still carrying me. “She was the most attractive woman I’d ever seen, spoke three languages, and had a graduate degree. She was way out of my league.”

“Aww, Conor. I’m sure you were the handsomest pimply eighteen-year-old in the world. So, you asked her if she’d been hired, and she…?”

“Immediately admitted that she had been sent to, and this is the expression she used, take my virginity, as I was now of age.”

“And you told her…?”

“That my virginity was long gone, and that her services werenot required, but that she should get as much money as possible out of my father. She sat in my room and showed me pictures of her cats and of her recent vacation in Majorca, we chatted for about twenty minutes, and then she left.”

“Were you mad at your dad?”

“Yes, but not because of this. Frankly, I was proud.”

“Of him?”

“Of myself, for managing to hide the sexual experiences I’d had from a guy who constantly set private investigators after his children.”

“Hedid? Couldn’t he just…ask?”

He smiles like I live in a world in which hammer sharks and clownfish frolic together in the ocean, and no blood is ever spilled. He shifts into me and presses the button for the fifth floor.

“Wait, wait, wait.” The rise begins. “Your brothers—did he do it just foryou…?”

“I highly doubt it.”

I cringe. “God. Rich people aremessed up.”

“And we’ve got money for therapy, which leaves us no excuses.”

The suite where he’s staying is larger than my apartment, and nothing like the sleek mid-century decor I usually find in American hotels. It’s a master class in European elegance, and probably wasted on me, but as soon as Conor sets me on the floor, I begin exploring like it’s my job.

“Can I steal the toiletries?” I ask, glancing around the spotless bathroom.

“Do you need me to buy you shampoo?”

“Nah, I just want the thrill of the crime.”

“You may take them, but sorry to inform you, it’s not theft.”

“Forget about it, then. Oh my god, have youseenthis shower?”

“I did. What’s so special about it?”

“It’sgiant. It’s a sex shower!” I reallyamdrunker than I thought.

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