Persephone [18+] ✔️ Complete

Chapter 8

I'm about to slip my key into my door and I turn back to look at him. Standing in the hallway, half silhouetted in the dim lighting, carrying two guitar cases and nothing else.

He's fucking beautiful.

I smile. "You should feel special," I tell him as I unlock my door and step inside. "You're the only person other than me to ever enter this castle."

Dexter chuckles as he follows me. "I bet you say that to all the boys." He smirks as he enters, but when I flip on the light his face turns to blank shock.

I can't help but be a little smug. I try to be modest—about my wealth, asshole—but hell, my penthouse doesn't really advocate modesty.

"I don't fraternize with boys." I tell him solidly as I stride into the open concept kitchen/dining area, and toss my purse on the island counter. He's still gawking at the cathedral ceilings.

"Now I know how you managed to pull the best lawyer in the country out of your ass," he says distantly, and I laugh to cover up the bitterness inside.

"Actually I pulled him out of my mother's ass," I say. "This place wedged itself right out of her rich sphincter as well."

"And what does mom do?" He looks unsure of himself. I walk to him, take the guitar cases gently from his hands, and set them on the floor.

"You can relax." I tell him, and stride back to the kitchen area. "My mom is an actress slash model slash sellout bitch." I roll my eyes. "The only reason I took this place was because I needed somewhere to stay. It was a present."

"Birthday?" he asks, and slowly moves to one of the barstools so he can face me as I rummage through the fridge.

"No, I broke up with my ex." I chuckle darkly. "She was ecstatic."

"He must have been quite the asshole." Dexter states, but I know it's more of a question. Ever the white knight.

"She, actually." I pull two beers out of the fridge and slide one across the counter to him. I can't help but love the look of shock on his face, now. It's surprisingly fun to spew that interesting little tidbit at people.

Apparently I don't fit the regular stereotypical guise of a lesbian.

"You're gay?" He sounds incredulous, but a little disappointed as well. Of course, there's that little bit of manly intrigue.

"Gay, straight, it's all the same now." I spew one of my favourite quotes and wave a hand at him.

He stiffens. "I beg to differ."

I love having this conversation with straight men. They have such tunnel vision. It's amusing.

"I don't like to put labels on myself." I lean forward. "I've been with men, and women, but it's never been a gender thing. It's a person thing. If I like you as a person, I don't really care what you've got in your pants. Either is incredibly entertaining." I wink at him and he laughs at me, sounding a little relieved.

"Okay then."

And he's got nothing. One point for me. I turn to the fridge and start piling things on the counter.

I get through the thinly sliced ham, smoked gouda, and green onions before he breaks the silence.

"So no pictures of your mom anywhere?" He's studying the walls he can see. I've got lots of crazy art kicking around. Things I've collected from all of the local artists and photographers that I've come across in the city.

"Hell no." I laugh and pull a bag of fresh French buns from the cupboard before me. "I decorated this place myself, you think I want to stare at her glamorous mug every day?"