As I rub the hotel bath gel over me and rinse away the wetness between my legs, I decide I’m going to find out once and for all. If it’s the latter, he’s got to own up to it. If the former, he can take his patronization and shove it.
I slip into one of the hotel’s super-fluffy robes and walk out of the bathroom to see that Tony’s out on the balcony again, opening his cigarette case.
“I think San Francisco law prohibits smoking within a hundred and twenty feet of a public building,” I say.
“Are you some kind of smoking police?” he returns, putting away his cigarette case.
I glance down for a moment. “Mo—my father—died from lung cancer. He smoked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He quit when I was adopted, but it was too late.”
“You worried I’m going to die?”
“I wouldn’t want anyone’s life to be cut short if it didn’t have to be.”
He crosses his arms in front of him. “You don’t know me. What if I’m a complete connard—asshole? What if I deserve to die?”
I consider the question before replying, “I don’t know you, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Do you smoke a lot?”
“I grew up between Paris and Vietnam and spend a lot of time in China. Smoking is pretty popular in all those places. It’s been said over half the men in China smoke, though Beijing has started cracking down on smoking in the past few years.”
“I’d say there’s a good number of smokers in North Carolina, but not as high as half the male population. There are a lot fewer smokers here in California for sure. Or, at least, I don’t come across as many. Lila never let me touch a cigarette. Not even one of those e-things.”
“All for the best.” He uncrosses his arms. “You ready to go?”
I take a deep breath. It’s shaky, but I manage to spit out the words clearly.
“I’m not going.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
No reaction from him. Why does that make me more nervous?
“You want to stay at the hotel?” he asks calmly.
“I’m not leaving until...until we have sex.”
Land sakes. I really said that.
His eyes steel. “We had sex.”
“You know what I mean.”
A muscle ripples along his jaw. He’s not happy. This has got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. What was I thinking? But I can’t walk back now. That would be wimpy.
“I want to go all the way,” I add.
He closes his eyes in a rare show of vulnerability. When he opens them, I feel like I’m in a heap of trouble.
He strides over to me. “Your mother ever teach you to be careful what you ask for?”
“Sure. Look, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck—”
“The what?”
“Turnip truck. It’s a Southern metaphor. It means I’m not naive, so stop treating me like a child.”