Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

She dips her head, focusing on her float. “I don’t want to end up trapped in a job I don’t enjoy, wasting all those hours every week wishing for something else. Obviously working where I do, I can say with one hundred percent certainty adult toy sales is not my dream job.” She bites the end of her straw. “What about you? I’m assuming the suit and golf attire mean you’ve got some kind of office job where you hold meetings on the green.”

“That obvious, huh?”

She holds her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “Tiny bit, but I’m trying not to hold it against you.”

“I work in the hotel industry.”

Cosy perks up. “Really? Like hotel management?”

“Sort of. It’s a family business. Sometimes we renovate and facelift existing hotels.” I don’t exactly want to lie about my job, but complete honesty means divulging more about myself than I like on a first date. And I have a feeling Cosy isn’t the kind of woman who would be impressed by my family or their money. In fact, it’d probably have the opposite effect.

“Do you travel a lot, then?”

“I do. I’m in Vegas for a few more months. After that, it’s back to New York, which is home base. We’ll take all my research from here and decide whether we want to invest or go in another direction.”

“So you’re here until what, end of May?”

“For now that’s what it looks like, but if we push a project here, I could be back again.”

Cosy bites her lip and nods. “And if not?”

“Then it’s off somewhere else. What about you? Where are you headed next?” I don’t want to put her off by telling her I’m not going to be here in a few months, but she doesn’t seem to be looking to stick around either, which means this could just be casual. Easy, no strings, a few months of hanging out and having fun, which isn’t something I’ve ever done before. I’m generally a serial relationship kind of guy.

She leans back, tipping her head to the side. “I’m not sure. I have an internship at the end of term, and there are so many options. I like the idea of a cruise ship, but I’m wary about being on a boat for a month. It’s all about new experiences, though, so we’ll see.”

“You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be,” I tell her.

“What do you mean?”

“Just how you were at the store compared to how you are here.” I motion to her relaxed posture and easy demeanor. “It’s not the same.”

“Oh, well, I kind of treat that job like I’m acting on a stage, you know?” She fiddles with her straw. “I mean, I have to sell a lot of strange things to people, so I put on my salesgirl mask, and it makes it a lot easier to answer some of the crazy questions I get asked. It’s better to pretend I’m someone else and not me when I’m discussing personal-pleasure devices, because really, that’s just awkward.”

I grin when she rolls her eyes, either at herself or an internal thought, I can’t be sure. “Yes, I suppose it would be quite awkward.”

Our burgers arrive, and the conversation slows and shifts as Cosy digs in. She doesn’t pick apart her food; instead she devours it like she hasn’t eaten in a week. She’s down to her last two onion rings when she pushes her plate toward me. “Oh! You need to try one of these before I finish them.”

“I’m good. I still have a pile of fries, but thank you.”

Cosy lifts a casual shoulder. “Suit yourself, but they’re the best item on the menu aside from the double cheeseburger and the creamsicle float.”

She polishes off what’s left on her plate and pats her tummy, groaning at how full she is. Her toes curl against the side of my leg, and I resist the urge to run my hand up her shin so I can feel how soft her skin is.

I pop a fry into my mouth and grin. “I’m actually highly impressed by your ability to pound that burger. I had my doubts, but you’re clearly a professional.”

Cosy lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I had class this morning and had to rush to work right after, so all I’ve had since noon is a couple of chocolate-covered granola bars. They don’t really stick with you.”

“I imagine they don’t. If you think you can handle it, I’d be willing to split one of those sundaes with you.” I point to the poster on the wall showcasing a massive banana split.

She takes a deep breath and pats her stomach. “I can make room.”

I’m pretty damn impressed with her lack of fucks given about plowing through an entire meal and finishing it off with a sundae. My ex would eat two bites and complain about it being too much sugar or whatever excuse she could come up with to avoid eating more. When you grow up in the kind of environment I did, it’s fairly common practice for women to eat like food is poison, so this is refreshing.