He just stares at me. Green eyes glistening like a hurt puppy dog. “You and me,” he breathes.

I walk out of the kitchen, rolling my shoulders, needing some space from him. From that look in his eyes. Why the fuck am I feeling guilty about the look in his eyes when I’ve done nothing wrong? Ugh! This is bullshit. I walk out into the family room, not wanting him to see the tears of hurt that flood my eyes. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand as I focus on the painting, a wash of colors, over his fireplace. “That’s not what this is? Then tell me what I’m supposed to think. You tell me you don’t do girlfriends, you only make arrangements. Is this where your arrangements meet you for a good time?”

“Rylee.” My name is a one-word plea on his lips. And he is right behind me. I hadn’t heard him follow me, my thoughts too loud in my own head. “I keep screwing this up with you,” he mumbles to himself.

“You’re damn right you do.” I turn around to face him. “What? You like me enough to fuck me but not enough to stick around or bring me to your real house? Unbelievable!” I huff at him, my ego at all time low. Does he really think that I’d be okay with this? Just when I think that I can possibly take that step over the line in the sand, move on from Max, he makes me jump back as if a rattlesnake has just bitten me. Bastard! “Maybe you should explain to me a little bit more about your set-up here. Make me understand the shit that’s in your head.” Why am I even asking? It’s not like I really want to know the details about his sordid affairs. To know about what else goes on here on the kitchen counter. “I mean if that’s all I am to you, then I at least deserve to know what’s expected of me. My protocol.” My words drip with anger laced sarcasm. I cross my arms over my chest, a useless form of protection from him.

“Ry? I—uh …” I can see the regret in his eyes, in the slouch of his posture. He regards me silently for several moments, an internal struggle warring behind his façade. “Rylee, this is not what I’d planned for me. For us.” He pauses, his eyes floating with emotion. “You. What you are? What we are? It scares the shit out of me.”

Whoa! What? Haddie’s words come back to me in a rush. I want to melt at his words, at the knowledge that I affect him that much, but a part of me feels like I’m being played here. An easy out for him as an excuse for his actions. Tell me what I want to hear to get me back in his bed, crisis averted, and then drop me at the first chance he gets. He hates drama and I’ve just caused some. I’m not going to let myself be played by the master player.

“I scare you? Shit, Colton, I just let you tie me up, blindfold me, and have your way with me on the kitchen counter. A man I’ve only known for two weeks when I’ve only been with one other person before! And. I. Scare. You?” His eyes widen, startled at my admission. I raise my hands up exasperated, wanting to move on before I have to address the little fact about myself that I’d let slip. “You told me at the beach that night that you set guidelines, mitigate promises for the future or some bullshit like that … tell me, Colton, do you do that before or after you bring them to this—to here?” I’m on a roll here, anger and humiliation fueling my fire. He just stares at me, eyes wide, arms hanging limply at his sides. “C’mon. Since you didn’t have the courtesy beforehand to let me know what I was getting in to, I think you should at least tell me now.”

“Rylee, that’s not what this—”

“I’m waiting, Colton.” I lower myself to the edge of the camel-colored leather couch, crossing my arms across my chest. I think I’m going to need to be seated for this one. “How do you set up your arrangements?”

He sighs loudly, running his hand over his jaw, scrubbing it back and forth before looking back at me. He finally speaks, his usually resonating voice, soft and hesitant as if he’s scared to tell me. “Usually, I hit it off with someone. We figure out we like each other.” He shrugs apologetically, “And then I tell her that I enjoy her company but I can only give her a good time. That I would love to spend more time with her but all I can give her is a few nights a week … to meet me here,” he gestures at the room we’re in, “and have some fun.”

I’m not sure if I want to hear his answer now that I’ve asked. “Go on …”

He cocks his head to the side and regards me intently, the timid person I’d seen moments before slowly morphing back into the confident man I expect him to be. “The first time we meet here,” he eyes me cautiously, knowing that I’m thinking this is my first time here. Was this the imminent plan he had laid out for me after screwing me on the counter? I purse my lips, trying hard to keep my face enigmatic. I nod at him to continue, anger unfurling in my belly. “Well, I sit her down and explain that I want to spend time with her, but that there is no happy ever after. Never will be. And if she can accept my terms, my requirements, then I would love to spend time with her here, have her accompany me to functions if need be, and allow her the notoriety and perks of being with me, until our arrangement has run its course.”

Wow. It takes me a minute to process his words. Talk about taking emotion out of the picture. It sounds more like a business transaction. He stares at me, unashamed now that he has more stable footing talking about something he’s in control of.

I look at him wide eyed. “This really works for you?” I sputter, taken aback. “Why not just hire an escort? I mean that’s what you’re really doing.” My head is reeling with this information and yet the masochistic part of me wants to know all the gory details. Wants to hear the words so that I heed the warning and walk away unscathed. “Someone to look pretty on your arm and for you to use when it suits you.”

“I beg to differ,” Colton says vehemently, steel in his eyes. “It’s not like that. I never exchange money for sex, Rylee. Never. I’ve already told you that once. I won’t tell you that again.”

Like he has any room to be pissy. He just told me he expects me to be his compliant little woman, happy with any scraps he throws me way. Too many thoughts are running through my head to form a coherent, intelligent response. “What—” I finally ask, stumbling for the right words. “You say your arrangement has rules. Do you mind if I ask what exactly those are?”

I’m curious. I’m horrified. I’m floored that this is the path he has chosen when he could obviously have anyone he wants.

I can sense that he’s uncomfortable, embarrassed even to respond and this fact gives me a tiny bit of hope. Hope for what though, I’m not exactly sure.

“I know it sounds cold, but I’ve found that if I lay it all out on the table beforehand, it minimizes complications and lessens expectations further down the line. That way they walk into this willingly after they know the stipulations.”

“Not me!” I shout at him. “You didn’t have the courtesy to tell me!” He starts to speak, and I raise my hand to shut him up. I need a moment to think. I need a minute to wrap my head around his screwy ideals. I lower my head, swallowing loudly. Is this what I am to him? A complication to be mitigated? God, too much information is sometimes a bad thing. I chew the inside of my lip in thought. “Why not just say friends with benefits or fuck buddies?”

Irritation flashes through his eyes, and he shifts restlessly, running his fingers through his hair, blatantly ignoring my comment. “You really want to know this, Rylee? The stipulations?” he asks me of my original question.

I nod, biting down on my bottom lip, worrying it back and forth. “I’m curious,” I state, in the back of my head thinking that a psychiatrist would have a field day with this conversation. “I guess I’m just trying to understand this. Trying to understand you. Trying to understand what exactly you would have expected from me.” His eyebrows shoot up at my comment and I know that he’s heard me. My statement in past tense. That now he knows in no way will I be accepting his self-serving arrangement.

He sits down across from me, his eyes on mine. “Rules?” he sighs tentatively, and I nod my head for him to get on with it. “I require monogamy. I require confidentiality as my reputation as well as my family’s is very important to me.” He pauses looking deeply at me, gauging to see if he should continue. “What else?” he breathes in deeply. “I require good hygiene, that she is healthy, drug free, and STD free. Birth control is a deal breaker since as I’ve told you, children are not now, nor will they ever be an option for me or my future.”

He stops and I’m not sure if he’s really done, or just thinking of more of his requirements. Ironically enough, I don’t think his demands are all that odd. I mean it seems a little much to hammer out on a first date with someone, but if I were to be in a committed relationship with someone, these are things I’d want to know. But then again, a committed relationship to me has the promise of a future, the element of give and take, and the progression of feelings into love.

“So … Wow!” I say taking a moment, “that’s quite a laundry list of requirements. Are there any more?”

“A few,” he admits, “but I think we’ve exhausted this topic, don’t you?”

I agree to myself, but I’ve already delved this far, I might as well get the answers I want from him. I ignore his statement and continue anyway. “Oh, you must want to bypass the part where you have your Pretty Woman moment and leave the money on the nightstand after you’ve had your way with her.” His eyes whip back up to mine, and I know that I’ve figuratively hit the nail on the head. “I mean, this is all on your terms. Let me guess, you don’t actually sleep with her because it’s too intimate? Or you buy her clothes and show her off in between bedding her and little do you know, she’s using you to further her fledgling modeling career? What exactly is she getting out of this, Ace, besides a quick fuck with a guaranteed prick, and I’m not talking about the one in your pants.” My stomach is a bit queasy all of the sudden, and I realize that I don’t want to know these details. I don’t want to hear what rules and regulations some floozy agrees to, what factors they have to abide by, or what sexual favors they must agree to so that they can sleep with him and be seen on his arm.

I’m flustered. I’m in way over my head and way out of my element here. I understand that with his usual arrangements, they both use each other. I get that. He gets a companion and she gets the media buzz that might further her career. What I think hurts the most is that I have no intention of using him. I’m not a model or struggling actress. I worry that he dangled the rhetorical carrot in my face with the money for Corporate Cares. That way he can justify in his mind using me if he thinks I am using him.

I can feel the tears burn in the back of my throat. I’m so mad right now and oddly it’s not at Colton. I’m mad at myself for believing—despite my false bravado that I didn’t want anything to progress with Colton—deep down, I still had a touch of hope. Now with his revelations, I know way more than I want to and enough to know that what he’s offering is not enough for me.

“But why, Colton? Why is this all that you’ll allow yourself when you deserve so much more?” The look in his eyes tells me that the honesty behind my words affects him.

He puts his head in his hands, his shoulders moving as he sighs. He looks back up at me a myriad of emotions in his face. “I hate the drama of it, Rylee. The points system of who is contributing how much, the jealousy over my lifestyle and the media surrounding it, the expectation of the next step to take. So many things,” he pauses, eyeing me, his tone indifferent. “Relationships are just way too much shit to handle in my crazy life.”

I stare into the depths of his eyes and can see right through the bullshit lies he’s just tried to feed me. There is something more here. Why is he afraid to get too close to somebody? What happened to him to get him to this point? “That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.” He flinches at my response. “I expected more from you.”

“Rylee, I’m not one of your troubled kids that needs fixing. I’ve been fucked up for way too long to be fixed now, so don’t get that look in your eye that you know different. Some of the best shrinks in L.A. couldn’t do it, so I doubt you’d be able to.”

His words sting. The hurt from them sits heavy on my chest as he just sits there staring at me. I can see him emotionally pulling away. The cold, detached look on his face tells me he is shutting down. Shutting me out. It pisses me off further seeing as all this crazy information was just thrown at me. He can shut down and I’m fighting for him. But for what? To be his sometimes girl when he’s horny? This is so fucked up!