Princely Passions

“But I never in a million years thought we’d fuck each other. I just didn’t expect it to happen. I don’t want you guys to think any less of me, or of him. He’s not really my dad, I just called him that for years and he was a lot more like my dad than my real dad ever was, considering I never met him but I’m not some hick from the Ozarks who thinks it’s okay to—”

“We know,” Ashley says, gently breaking into my long-winded, worried spiel. “None of us think that.”

I stare, the rest of my explanation dying on the tip of my tongue. My eyes flit from face to face, understanding and encouragement on each of them. “You…you’re okay? You’re not here to tell me that I’m an awful human being?”

“Of course not,” Lisa says, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “All we want is for you to be happy, and if it’s Dominic who makes you happy, then we’re all for it.”

Carla leans over and nudges me with her elbow. “So, spill the beans; what’s it like to fuck an older guy? Does he know what he’s doing in bed? How many orgasms a night?” She wiggles her eyebrows naughtily, and I laugh. I feel the tension ease from my shoulders as I start to really believe them, as what they’re saying starts to really sink in.

“Well, I know you guys aren’t going to believe me, but I’m being serious when I say that I think Dom’s dick—”

“Drinks and chips and salsa for everyone,” the waiter says behind me, and begins placing the drinks on the table. I swear to God, I’m about seventeen shades of red right now. He sets a bowl of chips and black-bean salsa in the middle and walks away. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was about to break out into laughter.

Oh God…

“Anyway,” I whisper, leaning forward, “his dick is huge. I mean, massive. There are stallions out there who are jealous right now, wishing they had his dick. I’ve seen your guys’ dick pics,” I say with a wave of my hand when they start pulling out their phones to show me proof that I couldn’t be more wrong, “but seriously, nothing on Dominic.” Ashley looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind, but I ignore her and plunge on.

“He is fucking amazing in bed. Roger … oh my God. Not even the same species, I’d swear it under oath. In bed, and out of it, they just have nothing in common. And one time, Dominic started sending me sexts while I was at work, and I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through the day.” I grin naughtily to myself, remembering that evening after I’d finally gotten off work. It had been worth the wait … and then some.

“I'm really happy for you, Daph,” Carla says, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “You’ve had such shitty luck in the past with your boyfriends—Roger, and even before him. I’m so glad that you’re finally finding someone who will make you happy.” She gave my hand another squeeze and then released it to take a sip of her strawberry margarita.

The conversation drifts on, back to Prada and Jimmy Choo, and I sit back, just basking in the glow of being accepted for who I am. For having picked out such aweso

me friends that they support me through it all.

Between Dominic and my friends and my awesome career, I really do have it all.

50

Dominic

I click on a different cell in Excel and type in the formula to calculate the ROI on the currency trade that I’m looking to do this afternoon. If I—

My office door bangs open and Heather barges in, looking like a wild woman. Her hair is sticking every which way, and her clothes are grungy and disheveled. I stand up from my desk, staring at her in surprise. What the fuck…?

“I’m so sorry,” my secretary says, sticking her head around the door and looking at me. “I tried to stop her and she just bust right past me.”

“It’s okay,” I say to my worried secretary. “She’s just going to stay for a minute and then leave, right, Heather?”

Heather crosses over to my desk and plants herself in front of me as my secretary closes the door behind her.

“Dominic, you don’t call me anymore. It’s been two whole weeks and you haven’t called me yet!” Her voice is a whiny, high-pitched noise that grates on my nerves. What the fuck did I ever see in this woman? I can’t begin to guess now, looking at her.

“Heather, we’re done. Remember? You threw your drink in my face in the middle of a bar.”

She may not remember, but I do. That drink is what led me to Daphne. I’ll never tell Heather this, but for that simple fact, I’m grateful to her for being a complete bitch. Not grateful enough to actually want to date her, but grateful enough not to call the police on her.

There are levels of gratefulness, you know.

“That was just a … misunderstanding,” she says, waving her hand around in the air as if to brush it all away. “I was upset. You can’t be mad at me for caring about you so much that I’d get upset when you didn’t see things the way you should.”

She crosses around the side of my desk and over to me, placing her hand on my arm to look up at me adoringly. Or at least what I’d assume is supposed to be adoringly. Up close, she looks even more scary than she did on the other side of the desk—from here, I can see things like her makeup is smudged under her eyes, instead of carefully applied like it normally is, and her lipstick is just a little off, making her lips seem crooked on her face.

Fucking nuts.

“Heather, there is nothing to see about ‘the way things are.’ You and I are done. Finished. We’ve both moved on to other things.”

“I haven’t! I love you, Dominic, can’t you see that?” Her hands, which had been so lovingly placed on my arm, are now starting to dig into my arm, cutting off circulation. I pull her fingers off me, one at a time, and put her hands back down by her side.