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blame you.”
“There has to be something I can do.”
“Just let it go. In six months it’ll be over.”
Like hell.
My wife was mine to care for. Mine to satisfy. Mine to spoil with trips
and money and whatever else she didn’t know she wanted.
When Ella returned, she was fifteen percent less sour, but I was one
hundred percent more committed to nudging her.
“Have you ever been to Paris?” I asked.
“My father took me. If you want to go, we can go.”
“But what do you want?”
“Whatever,” she chirped before sipping wine.
“You know what?” Mandy said, standing. “My turn to go to the ladies’.”
She left as if her ass were on fire, leaving Ella and me alone.
“I just want a straight answer,” I said.
“I don’t care is a straight answer.” Her chirpiness was gone.
I actually preferred the hint of a growl. It was real, and I wanted more of
it. I wanted her so mad she told me how she felt, or hit me, or walked out in
a huff.
“Pick yes or no,” I demanded.
“Fine.” She dug around her bag. “You have a quarter?”
“What?”
“Straight answer.”
“You know I don’t carry change or small bills. Why?”
“Never mind.” She pulled a penny out of her purse. “Heads we go to
Paris. Tails we don’t.”
“We can’t decide things on the flip of a coin.”
“If neither one of us cares, then we can.”
I cared. I cared a fucking lot and I was sick of being told I didn’t.
“Flip it.” I pointed at her. “Heads, you suck my dick, tails, I fuck you
blind.”
What was she thinking for the eternal length of that pause, with her
mouth twisted to one side and the penny balanced on the pad of her index
finger? Was she hoping to suck my dick or get fucked blind?
The penny fell on the tablecloth.
“Tails,” she said. “Paris can wait.”
“Ella.”