31. STORM

“Seriously, you don’t have to do this,” I say.

Technically, that’s the truth, but to be honest, I’m almost giddy at the thought of Nick sitting there while I model my new clothes for him. And that he asked me to. After giving me his credit card and PIN and telling me to go buy whatever I wanted.

I mean, come on. I spent my entire life counting every single penny. And this afternoon I bought a pair of boots that cost more than a month’s rent on that shitty Newark apartment. One pair of boots.

“I want to,” Nick says from his chair in the sitting area of the bedroom. “This way I can see what you bought and watch you change at the same time. I can’t lose.”

For a moment, I actually wonder if a human can have an orgasm from pure joy alone.

“Oh, you’re going to be winning after this,” I say as I slip out of my dress. “Guaranteed.”

I show him the dresses and blouses, the shoes, the jeans, all of which draw smiles and nods. Then I get into the lingerie, which perks him up a bit more and turns me on the point where I can barely keep from just ripping his clothes off.

But something with him still seems… off. Just like yesterday after we’d made love in the gardens – as if he’s distracted by something. He seemed to like the shirts I bought for him, even promised to wear one tomorrow. Still…

I change back into the street clothes I wore today and shimmy over to him, dropping my ass into his lap and grinding against him.

“That’s my fashion show,” I breathe in his ear. “What do you think?”

“I think it was money well spent,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist.

It occurs to me with more than a little shame that I’m taking advantage of him. Nick has a life, too, and I haven’t asked him about his day at all. Everything has been about me. I’m new to this whole relationship thing, but it should have occurred to me before now.

“So what did you do while I was burning through all your money this afternoon?” I ask.

“Well,” he says. “Now that you mention it, I did a little shopping of my own.”

I look at him. “You? Shopping? For what?”

“Why don’t you come with me and take a look?”

He leads me by the hand out of our room – our room, I still love the sound of that – and downstairs, then out the front door. The dogs sidle up to us as soon as they realize we’re going outside.

“You shopped for something that’s outside?” I ask.

Nick smiles and taps in the code to open the garage door. As it rolls up into its housing, I see a new addition to the stable – and one that’s missing.

“You kind of commandeered my old Corvette,” he says. “I figured I’d get myself a new one.”

It’s a beautiful machine – low and sleek and futuristic, like something out of an action movie. And it’s the same shade of red as the older one that I love so much. Some couples have matching bowling jackets; we have matching Corvettes.

Even so, it seems a little out of place with the rest of the collection.

“It’s beautiful,” I say. “I like it. But where’s your Mustang?”

He shrugs. “I traded it in.”

“You what? But it was your baby!”

“It’s just a car,” he says. “And in a way, it reminded me too much of my past.”

“I don’t understand.”

He takes my hand. “I’ve realized something lately. I spend too much time thinking about what happened a long time ago, and nowhere near enough on what’s going to happen tomorrow, and the week after that, and the year after that. I want to focus on the future.”

The lump in my throat catches me off guard, and that sense of distorted reality comes over me again. Can this really be happening? Am I going to wake up sometime and find myself back in Jersey, sleeping on the ratty old sofa bed?

“I want that too,” I croak.

We kiss for a bit before Nick taps the button to open the new ‘Vette. The interior is just as sleek and sexy as the exterior. I fawn over it, even though I still prefer the old one, just to make Nick feel good.

“Why didn’t you sell the Mustang to Frank?” I ask as I step out. “He’ll be ticked. You told him that one day in town that you’d never sell.”

Nick’s eyes widen for just a moment before he says: “I didn’t want to tell him this, but there’s no way he could afford it. All the parts were replaced with factory originals, and the engine only had 20,000 miles on it. The owner of the Chevy dealership gave me $35,000 trade-in because he knows he can turn around and sell it for $50,000.”

I nod. That sounds completely reasonable.

“Want to go for a spin?” he asks.

“I will later,” I say, sliding my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “But I think we discussed something about you winning a little while ago. Or am I remembering that wrong?”

A smile lights up his face. “Yes, you did,” he says. “In fact, I think you said it was guaranteed.”

“Well then,” I say, pulling him back towards the house. “I guess we better get at it.”

I lead him through the front door, the dogs padding after us, and up the stairs. When we reach the bedroom door, the dogs stop and reluctantly head off into another part of the house.

A few minutes later, Nick is inside me, driving me wild with desire, pushing every single button until I come, over and over. We finally collapse in a heap in each other’s arms on the bed, panting, until my stomach growls.

“Sorry,” I say. “Skipped lunch. How about you?”

“Yeah, me too,” he says. “Let’s go see what we’ve got in the kitchen.”

As he rolls over and starts to dress, I’m struck with a little tickle of doubt in my belly. I distinctly remember smelling cooked cabbage on Nick’s clothes when I came home. And the look on his face when he was talking about the Mustang.

Why can’t I shake the feeling that Nick is lying to me?