The rules
975 Words
Darren could be a bit less enigmatic; I feel like I always have to analyze his sentences to understand them, which isn't very successful. Except for this time, I think I can confidently say that he admitted to me that when he's had good nights of sleep recently, it's been in my company.
The water is still running in the bathroom, and I decide to call room service to bring breakfast. I order a hot chocolate with French croissants and freshly squeezed orange juice for myself, and the same for Darren, except I replace the chocolate with a simple black coffee, as he doesn't seem to be the type for lattes or decaf, so I think I made the right choice. The tray arrives in the room in just a few minutes; I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
Despite having a luxurious apartment in Manhattan with Louis, beautiful cars, lovely jewelry, and money to fulfill our dreams, we never left New York, or rather, I never left the city, except once, a few days after our wedding, we spent a weekend in Mexico. I had made the reservations, choosing a simple hotel to enjoy activities rather than the luxury of a hotel. I prefer to live experiences rather than focus on material possessions. Louis didn't appreciate my choice at all and pouted for a good part of the trip.
I sit cross-legged on the couch and take a bite of one of my two croissants. Darren joins me a few minutes later, only covered by a towel around his waist, his hair still dripping a little onto his chest. He has slightly trimmed his beard; it was a bit longer and darker last night. I bring the second croissant to my mouth while following a droplet that slides down his chest.
The croissant doesn't have time to reach my mouth for a second bite before Darren takes a bite out of it. He leans in, his arms on either side of my body, his face less than ten centimeters away, and he looks into my eyes as he enjoys it.
"It's good," he says in a platonic manner.
How can he say it's just good? It's simply exquisite.
"Good?" I repeat incredulously. It's delicious!
"Oh, it's not the croissant that's delicious, my pretty," his voice is deeper, more sensual.
"A third word to add to my list of French words," I tease. "And what's better than a croissant?"
"What's hidden between your legs, Ava."
He studies my reaction carefully as I feel my face heat up. His lips curl up at the corner, the incandescent spark still burning in his eyes. Eventually, he leans away from me and grabs his cup of still-hot coffee, taking a sip before turning towards me.
"Did you ask the reception what kind of coffee I prefer?"
"No, why?"
"You made the right choice, Ava," he replies, incredulous.
I respond with a smile, pleased to have made the right beverage choice.
"Hot chocolate?" he asks, looking at me as I take my cup.
I nod in agreement, not expecting him to remember such an insignificant detail.
"So," he begins, "you were going to accept my proposition."
"That's why I came, I warned you by text."
"I didn't see it."
"Obviously," I say, noticing the almost imperceptible grimace on his face.
"Do you still plan to accept?"
"Yes," my lips respond of their own accord. I can't blame him for bringing another woman last night, as he pointed out, we haven't made any promises, and there's no exclusivity. But that can change.
"I have some conditions to set."
"I'm listening, Ava," he says, still in a towel, sitting on the couch next to me, and me, still in his T-shirt.
"I don't share. If I enter into this... this relationship, I don't want to share you with other women."
"I don't share either, Ava. If it works for you, I agree."
I nod, as if I were going to look elsewhere when I know he'll satisfy me perfectly, sexually speaking.
"Anything else?"
"In public, you're just Louis's lawyer's colleague, nothing more. I don't want anyone to know about us, especially not Louis or your colleague."
"Okay, anything else?"
There's something I'd like to tell him, but I don't know how to address it so that he understands. In the end, I shake my head, choosing not to mention it.
"Not for me, no. And you?"
"This relationship," he hesitates on the word but continues, "is purely s****l, no feelings, no romantic outings. I don't want a girlfriend."
That's fine because I'm not looking for a boyfriend or a romantic relationship, but I don't want to be treated like a one-night stand either, someone to have s*x with and then dismiss immediately. But I don't express that; I wouldn't even know how to.
"We'll meet here?"
He nods and adds, "You'll have full access here, and to the hotel's services as well."
A burning question lingers on my lips, and I struggle with all my might not to ask it, but curiosity gets the best of me.
"Why don't you bring women to your place?"
He tenses up completely, and I silently scold myself for letting curiosity win.
"Sorry, I don't know why I said that."
"That's where I lived with my wife. I don't want anyone else to enter there. It was her home, and it will always be."
"Sorry," I repeat.
He gets up and informs me that he's going to dress in the bedroom, and I can use the bathroom as soon as he's finished. I think he mainly needs some peace and solitude to recover; it's never easy to talk about a deceased loved one, and even though he hides it very well, I felt the emotion in his voice when he talked about her.
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