Page 85 of The Man Handler

“But would you keep it, if you were?”

“I’m not in love with you, so why would I?”

“Because I’m in love with you, and it would be a life we created.”

“Not by choice. And definitely not out of mutual love.” He looks as if he’s hurt by what I’ve said. He glances back over at my bags.

“You spending the holidays in San Diego with your family?”

I shake my head. “No, not this year. I’m going to Egypt.”

He slowly nods. “I see,” he says, pausing. He stares at me. “Always the adventurous one.”

“Something like that,” I state, glancing at my watch again. Where is this damn driver? I think, hoping he’d hurry the hell up and get here.

He keeps his gaze on me, tilting his head. “What will it take?”

“For what? I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“For you to let someone love you?”

“I’m not looking for love.”

“At some point, we all need and want to be loved.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you even know what you want? I mean, what are you looking for in a man?”

“You really wanna know, Garrett?” I ask, sighing.

He nods. “Yes, talk to me.”

I get up, glancing at my watch, again, pacing the floor. “If I were looking for a man, I would want to meet someone who was as freaky as me. A man who wasn’t afraid of pleasing me whenever, however, wherever, without any hang-ups; a man who was comfortable enough in his skin, and in his sexuality, to simply go with the flow and not get caught up in what he thinks I might think after we’re done. He wouldn’t have to keep going and going, and going, like me. I mean, if the dick was good, I’d be willing to work with him. I would want a man who understood the power of foreplay, and was skilled at delivering the best damn orgasms possible, causing waves of electrifying heat to course through me every time he dipped his tongue in my pussy, or someone who stroked me into an unconscious state every time he slid his dick up in me. That’s the kind of man I would want.”

He raises his brow. “So, you mean to tell me, getting fucked good is the only thing you’d want out of a man? Well, if that’s all that you require, I can give you that. Hell, for the last three years, that’s all the hell I’ve been giving you. Aren’t you ever gonna get tired of just being fucked?”

Oh, alright, good dick isn’t really the only thing I’d want from a man. In all honesty, I’d want him to not be afraid to love me, or let me love him. I’d want a man who understood the concept of fidelity and trust and commitment, a man with integrity and ambition and patience and compassion. I’d want a man who’d respect me as woman and appreciate my individuality, my sensuality, my sexuality. One who would not deprive me, or deny me. And, yes, damn it…have good dick.

I look Garrett in the eyes and tell him all of this. He stares back at me.

“How can a man with flaws, an imperfect man, love a woman who sees the world through rose-colored lenses?”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I shrug. “I’m not sure. However, if I were looking for a man, I wouldn’t be looking for perfect. But, is there anything wrong with wanting something or someone close to it?”

Okay, okay. I know nothing in life is perfect, that it’s an illusion of what and how we want things to be in the perfect world we create in our minds.

Garrett gets up from his seat and walks over to me. “Bianca, you’re a beautiful woman. Have you ever thought that maybe you might really have a problem?”

I frown. “A problem? What kind of problem are you talking about?”

“With sex.”

I scoff at his absurdity. “I don’t have a problem with sex. I love it.”

“Yeah, maybe a little too much.”

I place my hand on my hip. “And what exactly is a little too much, Garrett?”

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