Rich People Problems

ix | the downside of shopping

KIMBERLY

"HE MAKES ME want to take my panties off."

Vivian started choking on her earl grey latte. "What? Who?"

I was about to call her overdramatic, but I realized randomly bringing up that you wanted to take your panties off—when you weren't even talking about a guy to begin with—while eating Eggs Benedict in public is not theoretically appropriate.

"Jace," I sighed, completely distressed.

"Kim," she started incredulously. "First of all, the next time you make that statement—as I'm sure you will—preface with a who because I thought you were looking at that grandpa."

"Hey, he's cute," I defended the poor guy. "I'm pretty sure he's got all the ladies at some senior care facility wrapped around his finger."

As expected, she completely ignored my comment and moved on. "Second of all, it's normal to feel that way. He's attractive and your soon-to-be husband."

She brought up a valid point. It's not like I haven't been with guys after him. But, the difference was that I wasn't married—or committed in any way, shape, or form—to any of them. For most of them, it was a one-and-done situation.

Jace was disgustingly different. He made my body heat up in ways I haven't felt in ages. The worst part is that he didn't even need to touch me. One look from him and I was wet. But, don't get me started on that awful personality that never failed to rile me up.

He was constantly on my mind. It's been almost a week since the engagement party, meaning almost a week since we last saw each other, but here I was, talking about how badly he made me want to take my fucking underwear off.

You've officially lost it, Kimberly.

I downed my mimosa, grateful that the waiter was coming with a refill. They knew me well over here and knew to keep the juice in my mimosa to a minimum, which I will forever be thankful for. There's nothing worse than a mimosa with more juice than champagne.

Stop talking about fucking mimosas!

I knew it. I was officially insane. Because, in a way to stop thinking about Jace, I opted for talking about the fucking juice-to-champagne proportion in mimosas.

"The issue comes after my panties are off," I continued. "I don't know if I want to strangle him with them or fuck him."

"Do both."

"Vivi," I warned.

"What? You're into that shit."

"Touché," I nodded in agreement. She had a valid point.

Stop! No, she did not.

"I don't see the problem." Vivian shrugged her shoulders, going back to her laptop to do work.

I let out a dramatic groan, downing another glass. "The problem is that we agreed to keep this shit exclusive for two years. And, I don't think fucking him is going to solve the issue of my attraction towards him. Especially, if it's only him I'm fucking. You know me, I'll grow attached."

"Say that louder, I don't think Jesus heard you," Vivi retorted, looking up from her screen. "And, what's so bad about being attracted to him?"

"Vivian..."

"You're allowed to move o-"

"Stop," I cut her off sharply, my mood souring. I didn't mean to snap at her, but I didn't need her to bring him up. Especially not now.