Catherine broke away, irritated by his answer. How could he still be thinking about a party when he had her all alone in a five-star hotel bedroom, with a dynamite view, wearing a dynamite dress, and horny to boot with alcohol in her system? What the hell was wrong with him?

“You really wanna go to that party that much, Ivan?” she snapped at him.

Ivan was surprised by her outburst. He hadn’t been paying her physical attractions much attention. He’d had a lot on his mind, with the thoughts of his mother passing away, before they had even met up that night. Now he had even more on his mind concerning how he planned to live out the rest of his life.

“I mean, I don’t have to go to this party, but…”

He stopped and thought about his dilemma. How exactly could he tell Catherine that she was old news, and that the party seemed more interesting to him at the moment? He wanted to get up close and personal with the people who could really afford to live. And he had been invited to do so.

Catherine looked into Ivan’s eyes, flickering in the moonlight from the window, and she decided to do something desperate to pique his interest. She wanted him to sleep over that night and give her his full attention without any distractions. So she massaged his crotch, kicked off her heels, and sank to her knees in front of him at the window.

She looked up and asked him, “Would this be your fantasy?”

Ivan could not deny that her spontaneous exuberance excited him. His manhood would surely respond to a blow job. But then he thought about their past. Catherine was a credit card woman. Whatever you spent with her, you would be forced to pay back later, and with interest. So Ivan shook his head and backed away from the purchase.

He told her, “Nah, I’m not really…”

He stopped and looked into Catherine’s determined face. Ivan knew who she was, and there were no surprises to her.

“I just know how you are,” he concluded. “And I’m not trying to go there.”

She ignored him and reached to unzip his pants zipper anyway.

Ivan stepped farther away and continued to deny her. He even put his hands in front of his pants to protect himself. “Yo—”

Catherine was incensed. “Just let me do what I want to do, Ivan. It may be my fantasy. And I promise not to hold you to anything.”

She was saying this from her knees, and the irony did not pass Ivan by. So he continued to shake his head.

“Look at this, Cat,” he commented, referring to her college nickname. “This ain’t a good picture,” he told her. “I mean, just look at you.”

Catherine heard him out, took a deep breath, and climbed back to her feet. Then she couldn’t even face him.