Page 17 of Our Sadie
With that, I bring my plate to the kitchen, pleased to discover Maxine filling the dishwasher. I set my plate precisely where I know she wants it. I’m probably the only current inhabitant she’ll allow to do that. She’s extremely rigorous about her cleaning protocols.
“Well,” she raises an eyebrow as she peeks at me over her shoulder. “Sounds like you’re taking the bulls by their horns.”
Her innuendo isn’t lost on me. I know she means cocks.
“I am,” I decide, then straightening my spine, I say it again with greater force. “I am.”
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AFTER A NIGHT SPENT glaring at my clock as my brain races down one rabbit hole after another, it’s dawn before I finally doze off. A handful of hours later, feeling like last week’s rancid sushi, I force myself off my mattress on nothing but the promise of a strong cup of coffee.
As often occurs when I’m sleep-deprived, getting myself dressed and ready for the day takes longer and requires more effort than usual. So once I manage the stairs, it’s nearly two in the afternoon.
So much for taking the bull by the horns. Much less by the cocks.
Distantly, I hear the clacks of metal on metal that can only mean someone’s working out in the fitness room, something my dad used to do religiously. Mom was a gym rat, too, but she’d never go in there when he was doing his thing on the weight machines.
Outside the public eye, they did precious little together.
Gritting my teeth, I do my best to shake such knowledge from my head and seek out the much-needed caffeine. OJ just isn’t going to do it this time.
“Thank any and all deities either living or dead,” I mutter when I find the cappuccino maker all set to go. I’m about to run the chrome monstrosity when a voice halts me mid-action.
“Had a client with one of those once.” It’s Dom, and while one hand is in his jeans pocket, the other is gesturing at the machine.
“Yeah?”
He nods. “Took me a week to get the hang of the damn thing, but she finally taught me.”
Dom isn’t making any move to take over. In fact, he hasn’t so much as inched toward me from his spot on the opposite side of the marble-topped kitchen island. I appreciate that he hasn’t deemed me so broken that I can’t take care of things like this for myself. Nothing pisses me off more than someone assuming I’m fucking helpless.
Maybe that’s why I invite him over. “Care to show me your stuff?”
Something I’ve learned about Dom is that he has a more solemn nature than the other two. And right now, that suits me right down to the ground. Because rather than shooting me some sensual look or chattering my ear off, he traipses right on over and gets to work.
He expertly adjusts the cranks and levers, using the mug I’d retrieved to catch the dark elixir of heaven that comes hissing out of the contraption’s maw. After that, he pours in the chilled heavy cream and hands it over. He’s created... Well, I’m not sure what shape that’s supposed to be.
It kinda looks like butt cheeks, to be honest.
He sighs. “It’s a heart. Sort of.”
Ah.
“Of course.” I take a sip, and damn. There’s a reason why this motivated me to pull myself together. I take another sip—okay, at least three—before I peek up at him again. “Have any ideas for what you’re going to do for our date?”
“‘Course I do,” he says in his Boston accent, and I almost smirk at him for that. Almost. “When did you wanna start?”
I glance down at myself and register my choice of a frumpy two sizes two big sweatshirt over my yoga pants. But then again, considering how I demanded that the “date” take place inside of these four walls, telling him I need to go get gussied up is unnecessary. This experiment is all about them accepting me for who I am.
Oh, yeah. And getting paid to do so. Can’t forget that.
I drink the rest of my cappuccino, reveling in the warmth of the mug in my palms. Well, my right palm. Despite Dom lacking a little in his cappuccino decorating game, the smell and taste are anything but subpar. Opening the dishwasher, I place my cup rim down before latching my gaze onto his again.
“Now is fine.”
His dark eyes widen as three thin wrinkles appear above his brows. His broken nose almost seems straighter. “Right now?”
“Why not?”