Page 110 of Torn

“Um, yes, why?”

“Alone? Or do you have a roommate?”

“Alone. You know I hate people.”

“Hmm. It’s just so… neat. And expensive. Is this couch real leather?” I run my hand across the soft black cushion. Yes. It’s leather.

She curls her lip at me and turns to walk into the small kitchen with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. “You want some coffee? I literally just crawled out of bed.”

I follow her and sit at her kitchen table, grabbing a thick white envelope lying in the middle of the table next to a vase of red silk flowers. It’s stuffed with cash. Alotof cash.

“You rob a bank?” I query, thumbing through all the bills.

“No,” she replies from the noisy latte maker, not turning around.

I frown at the envelope. “Dealing drugs? Stripping, maybe?”

She turns and snatches the envelope from me and shoves it in a drawer before she goes back to making our coffees. “No, Tor. It’s just tips from work.”

“Nice. Maybe I need to switch jobs.”

“Ha ha,” she jokes, handing me a cup and sitting gracefully in the chair across from me. “So what brings you here?”

“I wanted to check in on my little sister, but it looks like you’re doing just fine.” My gut tells me something is very off here. I doubt I could afford to live in this place, so how is she swinging this?

She nods over the rim of her mug. “I am.”

“I kinda need someone to talk to,” I say, shifting my attention to why I’m here and forgetting about her rent and furniture, which is really none of my business. “A woman’s point of view would be appreciated, I guess.”

She smiles and leans forward on the table, pushing her long dark hair behind her diamond-studded ear. “Ooh, now this sounds good. Ask away.”

“How would you feel about being with a guy older than you?”

“How much older? Like eighty?”

I shake my head at her in frustration. Eighty! “No, like early thirties.”

“Do you mean to just fuck, or to actually date?”

“Jesus, Tess. To date.” The thought that my little sister would even consider just fucking and not dating makes my stomach turn.

“Is he hot?” she asks next.

I shrug and sip my coffee. “Yeah.”

“Rich?”

Shit. “Does that matter?”

“Well, yeah. To some. Nobody wants to date some loser with no ambition and no money.”

Kenzi wouldn’t care. She has her own money anyway.

I lean back in the chair and meet her blue eyes. “Let’s say he’s not rich but he’s comfortable.”

She rests her chin on her palm and muddles this all around in her mind. “Yeah, I would. Older guys are better.”

“Why is that?”