Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“You’re leaving?” I ask stupidly. No sex. No sleepover. Nothing?
“Yeah, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” He walks out the door without a backward glance.
I stand in the center of the kitchen, my mind whirling. What just happened?
Joey
She doesn’t love you. It’s about who you are.
My mom’s unsolicited opinion keeps clamoring to the forefront of my thoughts. Sophie’s conversation with her mother disturbed me more than I care to admit. I’ve never had trouble winning a woman before. Usually, my money and confidence do all the work. But then, the girls I dated were superficial—only interested in wealth and status.
Sophie is different. Not only is she unimpressed by the money, but I find I need to be careful about finding ways to give it to her that won’t offend. I’ve resorted to dropping small wads of bills into her purse and telling her it’s for the groceries she bought to cook for me when she calls demanding to know where it came from.
I tried to leave a C-note on her dresser the morning she gave me the massage in bed. When she asked why it was there, I said it was for the massage she gave me. She hurled a pair of bundled socks at me and said she didn’t do it for the money.
“It’s better than paying you for sex, isn’t it?” I grinned, and she threw another pair of socks.
Sophie is a little package of enigmas. She needs money but doesn’t seem to like it. She resents my aggression yet craves being spanked. She’s of the Family yet against it.
It’s about who you are.
In the end, my biggest hurdle with her is the Family. She holds a grudge over her father’s death. And really, there’s nothing I can do to fix it for her. I can’t bring her dad back. So maybe my mother is right.
It’s not about me.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie
I call my mom back the next day when I get home from the massage studio.
After Joey leaving with hurt feelings last night, I’m resolved to tell her about him. I want to be able to call Joey today and apologize. Tell him that I talked to my mom about him.
Because that was crappy of me. He is worth mentioning, even though it will open up an uncomfortable conversation.
I guess we’re past the three dates. We’re seeing each other. I can pretend it’s still just about sex, but it’s honestly been more than that from the beginning.
He spent the night after our first date. I made him dinner for the third. We’re exclusive. He deserves more of a mention to my mom.
“Hi, honey!” My mom answers.
“Hi! How’s it going?” I refill my aromatherapy diffuser with the cellphone tucked against my ear.
“Good. So who was the guy you were with last night?” Leave it to my mom to pick up right where we left off.
“Yeah, um, that was Joey LaTorre.”
There’s a beat of silence. “What?”
“Uh huh. He came for a massage and then asked me out on a date. So, ah, we’ve been seeing each other.”
“Oh my God,” my mom says, like I just told her I have cancer. “Are you crazy? Do you know how hard I worked to get away from that family? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking Joey’s a great guy. He’s good to me. We have great…we’re really attracted to each other.”
“Oh my gawd. I do not want to hear about that. Especially not when it relates to Joey LaTorre. I can’t believe this.”
I picture my mom pacing around her kitchen, throwing her hands into the air with despair. She always had a flare for the dramatic.
“What’s the big deal?”
“You know what the big deal is. Once you’re in the Family, you never get out.”
“Well, that’s obviously not true because you and I are out.”
“Yes, but it was hard. It was hard when your dad was alive because they knew I didn’t like it. And then after he died, they were always watching over us. Pauly used to stop by all the time to check on us. I was half-afraid they’d tell me I couldn’t leave town when I moved to Florida with Bill.”
“Why were they watching over us? Like they thought you would rat them out? Do you know things?”
“Of course, I don’t! I don’t know anything. That’s the way they keep it. If you know things, you’re dead. End of story.”
I hear what my mom’s saying. It’s the same story she’s always sung. I heard it hundreds of times after my dad died. I never questioned it then. But now, I’m starting to wonder if it’s just her bias.
“I think Pauly was coming by to make sure we were okay, Mom. He used to bring us money and take care of things at the house. That’s what I remember.”
“He was your dad’s capo. He was responsible for your father’s death.”