But she’s got issues, as she says, and she might need some time to figure it all out.
Slow your roll, Pascal.
It’s just that I’m not used to that at all.
So while Gabrielle naps, I jerk off outside in the stark daylight, replaying what happened earlier in my head. Why not?
I think I actually pass out right after because when I come to, the sun is lower in the sky and Gabrielle is standing over me, shaking her head with a tiny smile on her lips.
“Huh?” I say, my voice thick with sleep. I look down and notice my cock is out, just as asleep as I was, my hand beside it.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No, no,” I say, sitting up and putting my cock back in my pants. “The something is already over.”
“It’s getting late.” She gestures to the house, and it’s only now that I notice that she’s changed. She’s wearing a pale-peach strapless sundress with ruffles along the bust. A little bit Spanish-looking, it makes her look extremely beautiful, especially when paired with glossy peach lips. I’m not going to ask her where it’s from.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “I suppose I better dress to impress.”
“I don’t care what you do,” she says, turning to walk back to the house. “As long as you’re quick. I don’t know what it is about this place, but I am absolutely starving.”
“Sea, sun, and sex, baby,” I tell her with a wink, following her inside.
I quickly shower and get dressed into tan linen pants and a dark-blue collared shirt, putting just a little bit of product in my hair and slipping a couple of condoms into my pocket. I observe myself in the mirror and again I’m struck by how distant I seem from myself. But this time it isn’t a bad thing. I may not know who I am, really, when it comes down to it, but the guy in the mirror is a handsome fucker, and he has lightness in his eyes that was never there before. It’s not quite peace, but in time it could be.
We’re back in the car, and I’m taking her on the road to the city of Palma, where one of my favorite sushi restaurants is.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I tell her. “If you don’t eat sushi, there are plenty of options.”
“I like sushi,” she says. “There was a great place near me in New York. A total hole-in-the-wall, but the fish was fresh and it was cheap. I would fill up on cucumber rolls and miso soup when I was broke.”
“Did you work in New York?”
“Of course,” she says, frowning in a way that says, Come on. “I had to. Who would have paid for me? I had saved up some money working for you guys, and then I just worked my way around Europe. Renting houses and apartments with tons of sketchy people, sleeping on couches, living out of a suitcase. Once I was in New York, it was the same deal. I had multiple jobs all the time and barely had enough to get by. I’m a connoisseur of ramen noodles.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because this restaurant has the best ramen noodles in the world.”
“We’ll see.”
“By the way, about the letters,” I say, and I can’t help but notice her stiffen out of the corner of my eye. “I texted my mother earlier. There’s been nothing.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Is it? It’s been over a week since that last letter was sent, and it was the most threatening out of the bunch. They could be waiting.”
“Does it make a difference, though?” she says. Then she twists in her seat to face me better. “Does it even make a difference at all? The letters are for your father, not for you. You’re keeping the letters from him . . . why? Because you want him to get what’s coming to him.”
This isn’t exactly the conversation I want to have with her, especially if we’re on a so-called date. It’s funny how we’ve only been here twenty-four hours, and yet any mention of the reality back home feels like a harsh intrusion.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather we talk about something else.”
“But we’re going to have to come back to this subject sooner or later.”
“Then let it be later. Please.”
She seems to hear the strain in my voice because she sits back. “Sorry.”