“No, Charlie.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about people from the paleolithic time period. I can’t stand those fuckers. With their stupid pet dinosaurs.”
Charlie and I shared a look, because sometimes Ruthie was odd, and we couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. This was a woman who hated the most random things—like the word chartreuse and all-natural history museums—so there existed a very real possibility she actually hated people from the paleolithic time period.
Rubbing my sternum, I took a sip of the tea, set it down, and picked up a marker. “Pass me a photo.”
“No talking, Abram,” Ruthie chided, giving me a whole stack of photographs. “When you finish these, Charlie and I will take turns giving you more.”
I nodded, grimacing, because the ache in my chest hadn’t eased. Was this our first argument?
No. Our first argument had been in Aspen. This definitely wasn’t that. I wasn’t upset with her. I was upset with a system that rewarded hypocrisy.
My phone buzzed. Immediately, I snatched it up, almost knocking over the tea. A text.
* * *
Mona: I was saving this for New York, but I thought you’d like a sneak peek.
* * *
I frowned, reading the message again, searching for a hidden meaning. Then a picture came through and I almost dropped my phone.
It was Mona.
Standing in front of a full-length mirror.
Wearing a white string bikini.
It didn’t matter that I had no voice, because I was now speechless, with profound lust.
“What’s wrong with you? You watching porn or something?” Ruthie leaned toward me. “Who is that?”
I yanked the phone back, pressing it to my chest, glaring at her.
She immediately reared back, her eyes wide with surprise. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here hating paleos and signing photos, as one does.”
Standing, I paced away from the table and toward the window, peering at the picture of Mona again, hungry for it. God, she was so fucking beautiful. So gorgeous. Her expression, smiling, confident, but with a hint of challenge, like she dared someone, anyone to make this picture of her something shameful. And her expression erased any worry I might’ve had that she’d felt pressured into sending it.