I shrug like I don’t know.
She catches on immediately. “Or did you want to imagine me in the tiny space, undressing for you?”
My balls tighten. “Of course.”
“I thought about it too.” She brushes a hair behind her ear. “I took a picture. I almost sent it to you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“It’s too risky. You could do anything with it.”
“I wouldn’t.”
She stares into my eyes, deciding whether or not she believes me. “How do I know if I can trust that?”
“You don’t. It’s smart to be careful.”
“You’re not asking?” Her voice drips with disappointment. She wants me to ask. Wants me to demand it even.
I want any and every picture of her. But I want her to be careful too. “Yes. I’m asking. Send me a picture. Once you trust me with it. I’ll fuck myself to it.”
Her cheeks flush. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Sticking with oh.” She notices a passing couple. Sits up straight in her seat. Mimes zipping her lips.
She’s nervous discussing sex in public.
Which is a good thing. I’m ready to take her right now.
I need to control myself.
Eve clears her throat. Switches to a more innocent topic. “I was thinking earlier… your suit. It’s like my hair. This thing that defines you. Visually.”
“It does?”
She nods. “Imagine you were a character in a movie.”
“Is it a sexy movie?”
“Very sexy.” She smiles. “There’s a spy running around who makes everyone randy.”
“It sounds groovy.”
“Very.” Her gaze goes fuzzy as she drifts into a mental image. “The costume designer would find a way to describe each character visually. I have my hair. My tattoos. My black clothes. They say this girl is a free-thinker. A rebel. A young person who rejects the establishment.”
“Is it accurate?”
“Mostly. And you, with this perfect suit, not a thread out of place.” She looks me up and down slowly. “It says this guy is rich. Powerful. Someone who knows how to demand all the attention in a room. Someone who gets what he wants. He’s cool and collected. Put-together.”
“Does it describe me?”
“What I know.” She picks up her fork. Presses the tong into the white tablecloth. Plays with the handle. “But no one is really like that.”
“No? This groovy spy isn’t cool and collected?”
“Sometimes, maybe. But… well, that’s why I’ve never watched a Bond movie. He seems so cool and aloof, like nothing could ever bother him. There’s no conflict.”
“What about the villain capturing him? Forcing him to listen to a boring monologue?”
She laughs. “Sure, there are obstacles. But none of them ruffle him. It’s not human. So you… either you’re a robot. Or you’re really good at hiding the things that ruffle you.”
“Damn, you’ve found me out. I’m Sexbot Eight Thousand. Programmed to fill every one of your needs.”
Her laugh gets louder. Heavier. Enough her tits shake.
Fuck, why did I take her bra?
There’s barely any fabric covering her.
It would be easy to pull her to the corner, slip my hands under her top, toy with her until she’s begging to come.
“Very lifelike.” She runs her index finger over the edge of the spoon. “I’m convinced.”
“Wait until you see my add-on.”
This time, she laughs loud enough people turn toward our table.
A few look at us curiously. What is that unusual young girl doing with that older man?
It’s not like I can pass for her father.
But it’s not like I’m the only man here with a younger woman.
Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe I’m taking advantage of her inexperience. Maybe it’s completely fucked up.
I don’t care.
I’m careful with her heart. I can’t say the same for anyone else.
“The latest technology?” She plays along, despite her blush.
“Of course.”
“When, um… am I going to experience that.” Her blush deepens. She tries to say something. Stays tongue-tied.
“When I decide you’re ready.” The playfulness drops from my voice. It’s all need. Demand.
“Oh.”
“It’s only been two days.”
“It’s only a question.”
“You’re eager?”
She swallows hard. “I’ve never… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll show you.”
“Oh. Okay. I, uh… but what if I don’t catch on?”
“You will.”
“How do you know?”
“How long have you been bartending?”
“Six months. Give or take.”
“Did you know how to mix drinks when you started?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not even the ratio for a rum and coke.”
“And now?”
“Oh, am I finally going to hear about that bartending job?”
Yes, how about you pour bourbon over your tits and I lick off every drop. “I suppose I should make a joke about a sex on the beach.”
“It would make sense. With the plans for the party.” That curiosity fills her expression. “Do you really have a beach house?”
“It’s a rental.”
“Could you buy one?”
“Of course.”
Her eyes flare with surprise. She tries to blink it off, but she doesn’t. “How rich are you?”
“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a man how rich he is?”
“What about a woman?”
“Still rude.”
“I’m a New Yorker. I can’t help it.”
My laugh is easy. “Rich enough. Why? Do you want a house in The Hamptons?”