Page 70 of Brutal
If Mimosa hadn’t been with me, I would have spent the entire day at the casino.
“Do you think they have surfing lessons?” Mimosa asks suddenly. “I’ve never done it, but it looks kind of fun. I think. Maybe I’d get scared and hate it.”
I blink at her. It’s not what I’d have expected of her, and I don’t like the idea. “Um.” I try to recover. “Do you think it’s okay to get your hair wet? Maybe we should come back for that.”
She reaches up for her hair, nodding. “Probably not. I should give it another few days. The sun and salt wouldn’t do it any favors either.” She gives me a strange look. “I thought you’d be fully into the idea.”
I shift uncomfortably, and this time, I do wave the waiter over with a lift of my glass. “I am,” I say. “I just… thought you might care about the hair and all. I mean, we could get it redone, if we needed to, though.”
But the thought of being stuck in another salon for half the day while she gets it redone any time soon is hellish, to put it lightly.
“You’re right. I do.” Mimosa keeps staring at me. “But you were very quick to find an excuse.”
The waiter comes back with a refill, and I thank him, grateful for the excuse to stall yet again.
“I don’t like surfing,” I finally admit, taking another big swallow of my rum and soda.
What I really mean is that I don’t like making an ass out of myself where people can see it. There’s nothing particularly exhilarating about other people watching me fail to do something so spectacularly.
For some reason, she giggles.
Just for a few seconds, and she’s back to her deadpan, neutral expression afterward, but I heard it. I bristle, not understanding what’s funny about my admission that I just don’t like it.
“Okay,” she says, like she hadn’t just laughed at me. “Some other time. Maybe when we come back, we can hire a very attractive surf instructor for me.”
Jealousy blazes through me, erasing the irritation. “A woman,” I say firmly.
Her eyebrows lift. “Might not be a bad idea. I’ve never seduced a woman before, though.”
I stare at her, unsure of whether or not she’s fucking with me. Usually, I’d be all into the idea of being with two women at once, but I don’t particularly want to share Mimosa with anyone. “Well, you’re not going to start now,” I tell her.
The waiter brings the next course, a nice medium-rare steak, and my stomach rumbles from the aromas wafting off the plates. This is much, much better than the salad.
“But you like threesomes. Orgies. Gang bangs,” Mimosa says once the waiter is out of earshot again. “I remember the day you… The day we met.”
The day I bought her.
My mood threatens to darken, but I focus on cutting my meat instead of looking up at her. “Yeah. I used to like to watch,” I say, hoping the finality in my voice will keep her from asking more questions.
“Interesting,” she replies.
I wait for her to elaborate, but she starts eating, making a few appreciative sounds about how good it tastes.
Interesting.
What’s so fucking interesting?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I finally ask, stabbing my piece of steak but only staring at it instead of eating it. “Don’t psychoanalyze me and give me bullshit like ‘interesting.’”
“I didn’t say anything,” Mimosa points out. “You’re reading a lot into a single word.”
The corners of her mouth twitch.
“And I shouldn’t put extra stock into you saying something like, ‘fine’?” I retort. “Women don’t say things are fine unless something is wrong. So no. Tell me what’s so interesting about that, Mimi.” I take a savage bite as I stare at her.
“Nothing at all, clearly.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “What were your plans for the rest of the evening?”
“Mimosa!” I say, agitation building in my voice as I set my fork down onto the table before grabbing my drink. I don’t understand her at all. I don’t understand how she can be so contrary one minute, then almost nice, then come back to trying to drive me utterly crazy.