Page 44 of The Bet
I watch him plate the eggs, toast some bread in a pan, slice fruit with a knife so sharp it whispers through the air. The domesticity of it makes my chest ache. I want to freeze time, or maybe rewind it and do last night again, but slower.
When he’s finished, he brings the plates over and sets one in front of me. He sits down beside me, close enough that our knees brush under the counter.
We eat in silence at first, me demolishing the eggs, him attacking the sausage. The food is perfect, salty and hot, and I realize I’m starving. I eat too fast and have to stop, catching myself before I look like a total animal.
He watches me, a half-smile on his face. “You don’t have to be polite,” he says. “You can inhale your food. I like it.”
I grin, mouth full, and keep eating. After a minute, I ask, “Do you always cook for your one-night stands?”
He shakes his head, slow. “Never. You’re the first.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Liar.”
He holds up both hands, mock-serious. “Scout’s honor. I usually call them an Uber, so they vacate. Or, if I’m really lucky, they call an Uber themselves, and I don’t even have to do anything. I don’t make a habit of…” He trails off, eyes flicking to mine. “Of getting attached.”
I stare at my plate, the words sparking in my head.
“I see,” I say, and I’m not sure if it’s true.
He nudges my thigh with his knee. “You know, you’ve given me a few gifts since I met you. Last night was the latest gift.”
I look up, confused. “What is it?”
He reaches under the island and pulls out a scrap of fabric: my panties, the lace bunched in his fist. He holds them up, grinning. “A souvenir. For my collection.”
I snatch them from his hand, cheeks blazing. “You’re such an asshole.”
He laughs, deep and genuine, and for a second, I want to crawl into his lap and never leave. Thomas’s eyes dance.
“Sweetheart, I’d have to launder these with bleach before I gave them back to you because you know what I’ve been doing with them, right?”
I stare at him.
“No.”
He smiles devilishly.
“I’ve been using them to jack off, so by now, they’re crusted with my semen. I love it, sweetheart. I hold one pair to my nose to breathe in your cunt fragrance, and wrap the other around my cock as I pull my pole. It’s sheer heaven as I come like a hurricane on the panties themselves.”
“You’re so dirty!” I squeal, cheeks flushing as my nips peak. “Oh my god!”
Thomas smirks.
“That I am.” But then his tone changes, and he says, “You know, you can stay here. If you want. For the day, or longer. I have work to do, but you can entertain yourself.” He gestures around, vague.
I look at the city beyond the glass, the endless river of cars, the clouds gathering on the horizon. I picture myself here, all day, reading or working out, eating Mrs. Olsen’s food and entertaining myself. It sounds a bit solitary, but not in a bad way.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I have a question for you. Do you promise not to get mad?”
He shrugs. “Ask.”
“Why did you always…” I trail off, unsure how to say it, then just blurt: “Why did you always take me in the ass before? Was there a reason for that?”
He blinks, genuinely caught off guard. He picks up his mug, cradles it, then sets it down again. For the first time since I met him, Thomas looks a little nervous.
“I wondered when you’d ask that,” he says finally.
I fold my arms, not sure if I’m supposed to be flattered or hurt. “Is it just a control thing? Or is it because I was a virgin?”
