Excerpt from Anything But a Wasted Heart (book two)

MALIBU - PART TWO

January 5, 2013

The date at Geoffrey’s: I wore the dress. I even got a professional spray tan—I didn’t lay out in the sun that much in Hawaii.

My photo shoot went well, but I was cranky as I made the trek to Malibu. I managed to get over myself and put on a brave face. We met at the restaurant as planned. I parked. He swung by. I got in his car. He loved the dress. I hated the dress. I didn’t realize when I bought it that all the little silver studs it was covered with would dig into my ass and thighs when sitting down. That said, I did love the peachy nude color.

We found a semi-secluded spot on a side road. I gave him the agreed upon blowjob. He came quickly. One more thing off his “bucket list”. Mission accomplished. We drove back to the restaurant. Everything was fine. He was cheers’ing me at every turn, but whatever. The scenery was gorgeous, and I kept running to the bathroom. Wink wink.

At some point in the middle of our nice, you-just-came-in-my-mouth dinner, he got all serious and started asking questions. Why, dude, why? I don’t want to talk about real shit. I just want to eat my damn salmon and go the fuck home. He brought up me faking orgasms. AGAIN!! Can you fucking believe that shit? He also asked if we’d be seeing each other if I had met him at a bar and not the club. A few other things I somehow managed to side skirt and drink my way through.

He walked me to my car, handed me a check for half the amount of our monthly agreement. “Here’s school supply money,” he said before adding “there’s a couple more checks coming your way this month.” I was confused. It must have been written on my face because he sputtered, “Daddy had to write a big check for Hawaii.”

“Oh-kay,” I said slowly.

“My finances are a little tight.”

My face must have been a billboard of anger.

“Eleven thousand. It was a large sum...plus the perfume.”

“Look. I went to Hawaii for you,” I said, “I’ve been to Hawaii, and had I known you were going to hold that shit over my head, I never would have gone.” You know I was pissed because I never speak to tricks that way.

“I know, I’m not, but it set me back.”

“You’re the one who wanted to do the monthly check! We can go back to singles if it doesn’t work for you. We agreed on the amount and that’s what I was expecting.” I can’t recall what he said to that because my mind glazed-over with irritation. “I’ll return the fucking perfume if you can’t afford it.”

“No, no. That’s not what I want, it’s just going to be a three-check month.”

“Ugh, fine. I just wish I knew ahead of time.”

“But would you have come tonight?”

“Yes, of course.”

Nope.

“Hmmmm.”

It was clear he didn’t believe me.

“Babe (deep breath), I don’t want you to hold Hawaii over my head. It’s not fair.

You’re a grown man, if you couldn’t afford it, you shouldn’t have booked it. If you bring it up again, I’ll be really mad.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant.”

“Look, I have to go, I’m late for my friend’s birthday drinks.” A total fabrication. I could tell he was feeling bad about upsetting me, but also battling his trust issues.

“I just don’t want to be made a fool,” he said.

“Honey, I’ve told you a hundred times, that’s your issue, there’s really not much else I can say about it.”

“I also don’t want to pay you to have fun with some other man.”

“Are you fucking serious?!” My voice got elevated, “the money you give me covers bills, food, and maybe gas…that’s it! There’s not remotely enough for me to gallivant around town. Plus, if you remember, you are the only one I’m fucking at the moment.” He looked at the ground. I continued, “Windmill gives me nearly the same amount as you and he’s never even gotten a blowjob! He just wants to support me as an artist and a friend. The money I get from you both barely covers my basic life needs—that’s why I had the fucking Texan.”

He was apologetic, “I don’t want this to be the end of us. This was such a wonderful night and I ruined it. I just don’t want our relationship to be about money,” he said in that hangdog shit I hate.

“You’re the only one making it about money. Not me. Trust me, I wish I didn’t need your money! This makes me want to go back to The Texan and full-time at the club.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I feel like shit.”

This was going nowhere fast. I took another deep breath.

“Honey, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I have to go. All couples fight.” I threw him that nugget. As annoying as it is, we are a couple of sorts, that’s why I’m always joking to my friends that I’m not single; I have several boyfriends—and I kind of hate them all.

I hugged and kissed him. I can’t afford to kick him to the curb, so I put a band-aid on it and drove away. Livid, sitting in a Hooker dress with studs-of-torture, trying desperately not to drive a hundred miles per hour because the PCH is a cesspool for DUI’s. Even though I wasn’t even close to being drunk, the blood alcohol limit is low as fuck because California’s a greedy bitch.