“Why a hand over my mouth?” she asks, her head tilted to the side and her green eyes dancing.
“Because Elena is going to be in the guest bedroom as she’s had too much to drink tonight, and I don’t want her hearing you scream every time I make you come.”
Jorie bats her eyelashes at me and simpers, “Oh, Walsh… see… you are a romantic.”
“Make fun if you will, but you’ll be owing me an apology soon,” I warn.
She merely cocks a thin beautiful eyebrow at me in question.
“Reach into my pocket,” I tell her.
“I’m not giving you a hand job out here on the dance floor.”
“Smartass,” I tell her. “My jacket pocket, on the inside.”
She shoots me a huge, beautiful grin and her hand dives into the left pocket. She finds it empty, then it dives into the right. When it comes out, she’s holding a square Tiffany’s box.
“Oh, wow,” she says as she looks at it with wide eyes. “You are romantic.”
“Open it,” I tell her as I release my hold and we stand in the middle of the dance floor.
She doesn’t waste any time, and then she’s gasping at the white-gold chain bracelet with the Tiffany charm attached.
Jorie looks up at me, and it kills me to see a little bit of confusion in her eyes. I know I’m crossing a line, but I fucking couldn’t help myself when I walked by the store, which is in my hotel lobby, after work.
I try to make light of it. “Will I get laid tonight?”
She gives me a glare and then looks back to the bracelet. “It’s beautiful.”
“Here,” I say as I take the jewelry from the box. “Hold up your wrist.”
Jorie watches as I put it on her, and then she looks up to me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, but then I shoot a look over at Elena watching us from the edge of the dance floor. “But tell her I’m not buying her one.”
“Huh?” Jorie asks with confusion.
“Inside joke,” I tell her as I bring a hand around her neck. I pull her to me and lay a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll explain it to you later after we fuck.”
Jorie laughs and steps into me for an impromptu hug that surprises me as much as it warms me. My heart skips a beat when she says, “There’s my Walsh.”
“What are you and Walsh doing tonight?” Elena asks me through the phone that I have pressed to my ear. I’m walking around Walsh’s apartment, looking for something constructive to do. His housekeeper is too damn good. There’s not even a speck of dust for me to swipe up.
“Not sure,” I tell her as I saunter into the kitchen. “Maybe I could make dinner for us.”
“That would be sweet. Very homemaker-ish. Wear nothing but a frilly apron so when he walks in, he attacks you.”
I laugh as I open the refrigerator, taking in the fact there’s nothing there but coffee creamer and protein drinks. I shouldn’t have expected more… that’s what his fridge has looked like for the past few weeks since I’ve been staying here.
“Never mind,” I say glumly as I close the refrigerator door. “I’d have to go grocery shopping and that seems like overstepping my bounds a bit.”
“Please, girl,” Elena says dismissively. “He’s fucking your face. You can make a goddamn meatloaf.”
My laugh this time is deep and boob shaking. “God, you crack me up.”
“Anymore from Vince?” she asks. I haven’t seen Elena in three days—not since I went home to do laundry because Walsh doesn’t have a washer and dryer. He uses the hotel laundry service. He offered that to me, but I can’t have strangers pawing through my panties.
“He called me yesterday morning,” I tell her.
“And nothing. It was the same stuff. He’s sorry for the things he said, he misses me, he wants me to come home. He doesn’t want me to throw away eight years we filled with a lot of great memories.”
“How does that make you feel?” Elena asks.
“Like I should be laying on your psychiatry couch, Freud,” I tell her dryly as I walk through the kitchen into the living room. I stand before the massive glass wall and look out over Vegas, which isn’t so sparkly at four o’clock in the afternoon.
“Seriously, Jorie,” she presses. “You’re in limbo. You need to shit or get off the pot.”
“I don’t want to get off the metaphorical pot,” I tell her candidly. “I like where I am.”
“It will never be more,” she reminds me of the one thing that plagues my soul. “You’ll always be Walsh’s dirty little secret.”
“That’s harsh,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I just don’t want you to get complacent. Fine… burn off some sex calories, explore all the things he can offer. But do it looking forward to your future. You’re gorgeous, a great catch, and you want a family someday. You’re not going to get that with Walsh.”