Page 5 of Until You're Breathless

“Several times. He’s a fucking god. I never came like that before in my life.”

“No shit.” I mutter. My sex life with Boston is fine. It’s nothing like what it was in high school, but then, neither are our hormones. And we’re both so busy with work, this morning was the first time in weeks, and even at that it was interrupted. “Are you seeing him again?”

She waves. “Na. It was just a fling. Plus, he’s from Spain. Doesn’t speak a word of English. But his body language said enough.”

I wince. “Gross. What did your mother do while you were having multiple orgasms?”

“She was having them, too. She met someone in our cabana and that was the end of it. We barely saw each other. Best vacation ever.”

I chuckle. “Only you two could pull that off. I’m glad you took her. It seems that if you took me, we might have been off in the corner, playing Euchre.”

A flash crosses her eyes.

“What?”

She sits up higher in her chair. Her expression changes. The teasing, playful look in her eyes is gone. Jinny is a master at being serious. And she’s also a whiz at justly reprimanding errant staff and weeding out the ones that aren’t worth the time. The woman is a marvel at reading people, too. She knows the second that she’s in a room with a person, just what kind of a person that they are. It’s an art. It’s a gift. And she’s got it. “I met someone else there, too.”

“Yeah? A guy?”

“No. A girl.”

“Don’t tell me you had mind blowing sex with her, too. Or was it a threesome?” I wouldn’t put it past her.

She ignores my comment. Her face is set. “I thought about it all the way home.”

“Thought about what? How to smuggle your Spaniard friend into the states?”

Her expression remains. “I went over this in my mind, when would be the best time to tell you, and I decided that it’s now or never, with this deal hanging over us.”

Jinny likes to joke around, but I know the difference. She’s not kidding. I can feel my stomach start to clench. “What’s going on?”

“I was sitting at the bar, waiting for my friend, when this chick comes over and asks the bartender for a drink for her friend. When I looked back, there was a table with a bunch of ladies, all wasted. I thought nothing of it, until they started to get really loud, and one of them made a toast.”

Normally, Jinny doesn’t have long-winded stories, so I know that every detail is meaningful and leads to something. I listen intently, waiting for the punchline. When it comes, I nearly vomit. “What was the toast?”

She swallows and looks at me, like she’s about to tell me the true meaning of life. “They were thanking some guy named Boston for paying for the trip.”

I tilt my head, wondering if I heard right. “What do you mean?”

Lifting a hand, indicating that there’s more, she proceeds. “I went over there and played dumb, you know. Since they were all wasted, it was pretty easy to pump them for information. I made like they got the name wrong and were naming a state. But one of the silicone queens said, and I quote, ‘Boston Kruger’. She proceeded to brag that the guy is a millionaire, and he paid for her boob job and the trip, and other things that she couldn’t pronounce.”

My nostrils flare. “Did you get the bitches’ name?”

“Well, luckily, she was so fucked up that she dropped her clutch and her driver’s license fell out. I looked her up and she’s some fucking whore from a car dealership. A used car saleswoman named Rita Lindsay.”

It takes me a moment to process. I stare at a spot on my desk, shaking my head. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Before you do that, you better figure out what you want out of this, Bowie. Because you’ve got just as much of a stake in this company as he does.”

“Yeah, but the bastard put up the seed money for it, and you can bet your bottom dollar that he’ll lord that over me. I knew I should have put that in the N.D.A., but no, all I did was give myself immunity if I ever wanted to walk. I can leave him in a heartbeat, no questions asked, if I can prove that he cheated on me.”

“Well, that should be easy.”

I look at her. “How?”

She reaches into her pocket and takes out her phone. As she taps into her recorded messages, I’m mentally kissing her. The message title is, ‘Confessions of Rita Lindsay’ and the date. “Should I send this to you.” She asks rhetorically, as she taps her way to her text messages. “That ought to do it.”

My lips squish together like I’ve just eaten a lemon. “No wonder the asshole has been so fucking distracted lately.”

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