Rich people, he means. Most people have two arms and one watch. Sometimes they might have two—one for every day and one for special—but few people have a drawer full.
“Just take it from me. It’s a bit unusual. But you also have a drawer full of other unusual things,” I answer very, very carefully. Or tellingly. Or with a great big hint.
“Oh.” And that right there is the light dawning in his eyes. “That drawer.”
“Yes, that drawer.” I take a quick breath. “Maybe something fell out of it because, quite frankly, I hate to think of Lulu managing to somehow climb up high enough to see in to it.”
“Like you have, you mean.” A tiny smirk plays against his lips.
“That’s beside the point. Because the point is, on Friday afternoon, Lulu was sent home from school early for wearing a . . . a . . . sex toy around her wrist.”
“I’m having all kinds of trouble picturing it,” he says quite seriously, leaning his cheek against his fist. “You’re gonna have to spell this one out for me.”
“For God’s sake, Carson. My child wore a cock ring on her wrist to school!” He bursts into peals of raucous laughter, the kind that would shake the walls of a lesser address. In fact, I almost expect the neighbours to begin banging on the wall. But then I remember where we are and that Carson owns the whole top floor. “And it’s not something she got from me,” I mutter mulishly, not willing to join in. I didn’t mention it for shits and giggles. I’m annoyed. Or at least, I want to be.
“I didn’t give it to her.”
“No, but it’s your drawer. And, yes, it’s your business, and I probably shouldn’t have been looking in there, but what the hell? The things in there are . . . well, they’re . . .”
“Gross?”
“Yes!”
“Cheap?”
“Very.”
“And all kinds of disgusting?”
“The worst!” I agree.
“They’re also my friend’s idea of a joke.”
“It must be a very long-standing joke, judging by the number of monstrosities in—in there.” Oops. No need to mention I’ve also had a peek in the chest in his bedroom. The stylishly chic chest that is also big enough to stuff your sexual submissive in, should that be your (and his or her) thing.
“It’s been going on a while. The joke started around the same time as Ardeo was founded.”
I feel myself stiffen. The urge to stand, to move away from this change in our discussion is overwhelming. But there’s something about his expression that keeps my bum glued to the seat.
“I know you tell yourself there are other reasons you can’t be with me, but Ardeo is the number one. What you saw there frightened you.”
“I don’t know. Not exactly. I just know I can’t be with a man who views sex so casually. And before you try to make me feel guilty by association, I truly was there by accident.”
“Maybe there are no accidents. Maybe there’s only synchronicity and the universe conspiring to bring us together.”
“That makes no sense,” I almost whisper, my gaze unable to hold his.
“Doesn’t it?” He brings his glass to his mouth, and I suddenly long to be that receptacle. I might not have harboured any desire or expectations for going out with Leo tonight, but I didn’t expect one date to push me so strongly in the opposite direction.
“Who knows the way these things work,” he says, resting the base of the glass against his strong thigh. “Two people meet five years ago in France. They have the most amazing night, but despite being tied together by a friend, they never once meet. Until now. Does that not strike you as strange?”
“Yes. It’s odd.”
“What would’ve brought you into my arms again? Nothing. Not here and not in France. It took a night where you could give yourself over without fear of being judged, even when the only person judging you is yourself.”
“And that night has passed. It’s gone.” I almost add I can’t be with you again. But I’m suddenly tired of that broken record. Who am I seeking to punish here?
“Maybe not as part of Ardeo.” He angles his gaze my way, his eyes running over me possessively. “But that’s not what I’m asking.”
“You shouldn’t say those things.” Not unless you’re sure. Not unless you mean them.
“Do you want to know about Ardeo?” he asks as he runs his forefinger around the rim of his drink.
I shake my head and watch as, hoping to dislodge the urge to yell yes. Tell me ALL the things!
“I know what Rose told you, that I don’t date. But we both know I’m neither celibate nor gay.”
“You don’t need to spell it out,” I snap. “I know you don’t have relationships. You just have sex.” You just have sex there. Indiscriminately. Often. With multiple partners at one time, I expect.