New York Billionaires Series

The steps stop. “You want company?”

I should say no. Shouldn’t even have asked. I shift on the couch, knowing that answering yes is showing weakness. It’s definitely not a part of the business box, not even a part of the pleasure box where I’d placed her three nights ago.

“Yes,” I say.

“All right. Let me just get something to drink.”

A few minutes later she sinks down next to me on the giant couch and props her feet up on the coffee table. She has a large ice coffee in hand the color of caramel.

“That,” I say, “looks disgusting.”

“It’s eighty-seven percent sugar, twelve percent milk, and one percent coffee. It’s also one hundred percent delicious.”

“Ugh.”Nôvel/Dr(a)ma.Org - Content owner.

“It’s not your preferred single-shot Americano, that’s for sure.” She reaches for the remote control. It’s in a basket on the living room table, together with the remote for my surround system. I haven’t had music on in ages.

It has been a long time since I’d lived in my home, and not just used it to work, sleep and exercise in.

“Your TV is huge,” she say. “Do you like watching things when you’re sick? Or do you want me to be quiet?”

“You wouldn’t be much company if you were quiet.”

“You’re even grumpier when you’re sick. Can’t say I’m surprised.” Cool fingers rearrange the towel on my brow and briefly brush through my hair.

Oh. The faint touch of her fingers along my tight scalp felt like heaven. But her hand is gone, and I’ve already exposed myself too much tonight.

“I’m grumpy,” I say, “because I have you relaxed and on my couch, but I don’t have the energy to make full use of that.”

The channel-scrolling stops. “You’re talking about…”

“Yes. I’m talking about sex.”

The channel-scrolling resumes. “You won’t be sick forever.”

“Thank the small mercies.” I turn my head slightly. She’s stopped at a home renovation show. A couple from Texas redoing farmhouses.

“I love watching these shows,” Cecilia says. “It combines all of my interests.”

“You have an interest in old barns.”

She laughs, and the sound doesn’t grate against my headache. It’s soothing. “No. But I like organization, renovation, fixing things up. I like seeing happy couples and their kids. I like… okay, I don’t mind barns.”

“Have you ever actually been inside of a barn?”

“Oh, yes. Many times.”

I turn my head, ignoring the blinding headache. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. My mother went through a vegan phase. One of her best friends at the time had this place where you could pet rescued barnyard animals for spiritual healing.”

My silence has to be enough, because she laughs. “Yeah. I know it’s not something for you.”

“Spiritual healing,” I say.

She shrugs. “Or relaxation, I suppose. I have to give it to her, it’s hard to feel stressed or angry when you’re holding a lamb or petting a cow.”

“There is so much about you that I could never have predicted.”

“Happy I can still surprise you,” she says. She stretches out an arm along the back of the couch, and I see her hand, dangling only inches away from my face. It would be so easy to have her run it through my hair.

And so complicated.

I close my eyes. “Tell me more about your mother.”

“You’re sure?”

No. “Yes.”

She pulls her legs up beneath her on the couch, settling in. “She had me when she was twenty-one. She’d dropped out of college and was road tripping with a few friends at the time.”

“Wow.”

“Yes, not the ideal time to get pregnant.” Cecilia’s voice doesn’t hold bitterness, though. Only fondness. “She’s not normal. Not in the sense that you and I are normal. If we even are, because in truth, what is normal? She’s special. Fearless, and obsessive. She’ll go deep and far in one direction and inspire everyone she meets about it.”

“Like veganism.”

“Like veganism,” she says, “or geology, or ocean conservation, or space exploration. It was tantric yoga once. She made me practice with her every morning and evening.”

I make a choked sound and look up at her. She meets my gaze, and then she laughs, reaching out to slap me on the shoulder. “Tantric yoga is not the same as tantric sex!”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure. God, Victor, no, she was not into that.” Cecilia frowns. “Well, not that I know of. But maybe she was when I was at school. Ugh. I don’t want to think about that.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Tantric yoga involves no sex at all. Just a lot of breathing, mindfulness, and praying to deities. This was at the same time she experimented with polytheism.”

I rub a hand over my eyes. “Christ. I can’t think of an upbringing less like my own.”

Cecilia chuckles. “It was different than most of the kids at school, too. But thanks to her I am excellent at trivia. I know a lot about most things.”

“Where’d you live?”

“We moved around a lot. The longest place we stayed in was Santa Fe.”

“New Mexico,” I mutter. “Figures.”