The Old Man in the Club Read Online Free Page A

she responded. “But it’s bigger than that for me. Danielle and I are friends. And I know Danny. And I’m running around with her dad?”
    â€œWhen you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so inviting for me, either,” Elliott said.
    â€œLet’s get to the real point then,” Tamara said. “I like you. I do. You’re very intriguing. The fact that you’re older—much older—has not bothered me that much, until now. I need to know: what do you want from me? I mean, what do you really want from me? No bullshit. Why are you pursuing someone close to your daughter’s age?”
    Elliott ordered champagne, and then he got right down to it.
    â€œWhat do I want with you?” he started. “Sex. Fun—”
    â€œDid you say sex?” Tamara jumped in, sounding insulted.
    â€œIf you’re going to be in a grown-up situation, you can’t be surprised that a man wants to engage in sex with you,” Elliott said. “I’m not trying to be your mentor on relationships or anything. We both have something to offer each other. But if you think I’m not interested in sex with you, then you’re being naïve. You’re pretty, sexy, smart, fun…why wouldn’t I want to have sex with you?”
    At twenty-five, Tamara’s relationship experiences were far less than Elliott’s, but she had never heard a man (or boy) admit his sexual intentions. The funny part was that it turned her on. Hiscandor justified why she believed guys her age were not ready for her. She wanted something different from her girlfriends, something that would open her up and enlighten her. Grow her.
    She wanted the truth.
    Tamara shook her head while staring into his eyes. “I can’t figure you out.”
    â€œNo need to try,” Elliott responded. “We’re all more complicated than we realize. Figuring me out would only confuse you.”
    Tamara smiled.
    â€œWhat I was going to say,” Elliott continued, “was that besides sex, I want fun times, interesting conversation. I want to be taken out of my comfort zone, to have new experiences. I don’t want to feel my age or do things people my age do. That, for me, is living my life.”
    â€œSo what have you been doing up to this point?” Tamara asked. “Sleeping?”
    â€œSleepwalking,” Elliott said. “In some cases sleepwalking, in some cases, struggling…Where do you want me to begin?”
    â€œYou know what? Can we save this conversation for your house? I get the feeling you’re about to go in, and we should be chillin’ at your spot instead of around all these people.”
    â€œI’m about to ‘go in.’ Is that what you said?”
    â€œYes. It means, in this case, to get really deep,” she explained.
    â€œSee, this is what I’m talking about,” Elliott said. “You can keep me up-to-date and I can show you old-fashioned things. Balance. I’m not young and hip, but I like to be around young and hip people.”
    â€œBut why?” Tamara asked.
    â€œBecause it keeps my spirit young,” he said.
    Tamara had no response, and after several minutes of chatterabout passersby and her birthday, they made their way to Elliott’s car and took the five-minute drive to his high-rise condo in the W Hotel in downtown Atlanta.
    â€œYou live here , at the hotel?” she said, trying but failing to conceal her amazement.
    â€œThere is a resident portion to this place, too,” he said, trying and succeeding at sounding unimpressed with his digs.
    They took the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor, where Elliott opened the door to his condo that had a breathtaking view of the Atlanta skyline, and beyond, via floor-to-ceiling windows. Tamara was mesmerized.
    Elliott threw the keys on a table and offered her a drink.
    â€œWhatever you have will be fine,” she said.
    He lit some scented candles