Page 93 of Going Deep
“What?”
“Those aren’t the only things you know.”
Ginger knuckled away the tear that had slipped free. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been sleeping with him, playing with him, for what, six weeks now?” Lola waited for Ginger’s nod. “You know more.”
“Think about it, Ginger,” Anna urged. “What do you know about him?”
Ginger didn’t want to think about it, but the thoughts and images came without her permission. “I know his eyes crinkle when he’s trying to look stern, but he’s really happy. Sometimes when we’re playing, and he’s trying to be stern, but those eye crinkles are a dead giveaway.”
“What else?” Lola asked quietly.
“He talks to his sister in L.A. at least once a week, and they trade book recs. And he reads the one she recommends, even if he doesn’t think he’ll like it, because he likes sharing things with her.”
She drew a shaky breath. “He opens his mail from the end, not the flap. There’s a compost bin under his sink. He over tips at restaurants, no matter what the service is like. He makes really good pancakes, and doesn’t care when I spill syrup on the sheets.”
“Sounds like you know plenty,” Anna observed.
Ginger nodded, her heart in her throat. “I guess.”
Beside her, Lola leaned over. “Are we moving on to the sad portion of the program?”
The first tear spilled over. “Yeah.”
Anna stood. “I’ll go to the store for ice cream.”
Lola wrapped an arm around Ginger. “Go across the hall. I stocked up yesterday.”
“Can we have Chinese food, too?” Ginger wanted to know.
“It’s being delivered in an hour,” Lola told her.
Anna paused on her way to the door. “An hour?”
“I thought it would take her longer to break,” Lola said.
Ginger sighed and laid her head on Lola’s shoulder and let the tears come. “I love you weirdos.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Michael sat at the bar, nursing a scotch and wishing he were anywhere else.
Saturday night at Odyssey was in full swing, but the crowd didn’t bring him the usual pleasure. He didn’t want to watch any of the scenes taking place, didn’t want to avail himself of any of the submissives who vied for his attention. Word had gotten around that he was no longer with Ginger, so he’d had plenty of offers, but none of them interested him.
Nothing interested him.
It had been a week since she’d walked away, and he was fucking miserable.
He raised the glass to his lips and drained it in one swallow.
The clap on his back nearly made him choke.
“Michael. Good to see you.”
His eyes watering, Michael glanced up into Simon’s face. “Simon,” he rasped.
Simon sat on the neighboring barstool, golden eyes assessing. He signaled to Skip for a drink, then turned back to Michael. “You look like shit.”
