Where did the vodka come from? An old girlfriend? Or was it kept around as part of a set? Chocolates, wine, a roaring fireplace and something harder for bitches who wanted to party. Sylwia decided she didn’t care. All she could hope was that she didn’t drink Carter under the table too early in the night.
“Nothing physical. Perhaps a chance at morality then? If they broke free from their hollow, ridiculous lives, they wouldn’t be afraid.” There was so much more to morality, and she wasn’t really one to talk since morality had been a constant failing point in her life, but she wasn’t afraid . . . “Nothing’s ever been solved by rich people.” Sylwia snorted, scrolling through an inactive chat room, rereading old messages and looking away whenever a video came up.
Wow. Carter wasn’t kidding when he said he hated pineapple. “Smooth.” Sylwia said, stepping past Carter to get their plates. Didn’t he have any paper plates? Was- was she going insane? Was she looking in the wrong spot? “That’s debatable.” She said, placing the china in front of them because she was tired of looking. “Maybe I’m just waiting for a chance to swipe the wallet from your pocket.”
When most people came over, they spent the entire time sucking up to Carter. They probably planned on him offering to pay for everything, or they hoped to get him in bed. It wasn’t exactly a difficult task. Gender truly meant nothing to Carter when it came to attraction. Except she wasn’t sucking up to him, she was nearly telling him how much he sucked. And, not in the good way.
“You think rich people are afraid?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Maybe that’s why they hide in their fancy offices, hotels and pent houses. They don’t want to deal with real world shit.” Then again, he’d never really dealt with real world shit. He scoffed. “No? They just create problems that the rest of society has to deal with?” He’d heard the argument before. Or, rather read it on social media.
Carter smirked. “I can be smooth when I want to be.” At least, he normally was. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he grabbed a plate and tossed some wings on it. His brow rose. “Well, that’s one way to get into my pants,” he said. “Swipe my wallet while my tipsy and charge the credit cards before I notice, huh? It’s not a great plan after you’ve announced it.”
Yeah, no kidding. She didn’t want to deal with real world shit either, but that didn’t mean hiding in your room would change or fix things. “If they aren’t, they’re psychotic.” She said, wondering when the anger and acrid taste in her mouth would fade as she poured ranch over her slice and rolled it like a burrito. “No . . . They just propagate convenient problems. There’s a lot more choice and a lot less consequence.” No wonder so many people chased it as a dream.
“I’ll believe that if I see it!” That being a big if. Sylwia hummed. Carter was right, it wasn’t a great plan now that she’d announced it. “I think it’d be more fun to steal your identity. I’m sure you wouldn’t think twice over a missing license after a night of partying. Meanwhile I’m locking you out of your banks and taking your house.” It was ridiculously easy to take someone’s identity, making their life a living hell.
“Not that I’d do that to you of course. You’re far too charming.“ She said coldly. Sylwia wondered if Carter was joking, or if he was actually perceptive enough to think that she might have been telling the truth. She didn’t know. A lot of people didn’t want to see the truth when it was slapping them in the face . . . Speaking of slapping- No. No. She’d rather just grab more pizza, and smack Carter’s hand away from the wings. “Don’t be greedy.”
