-vixen- Olivia Nova - Confessions Of A - Side Gir...

My name is Olivia Nova, but the men I date call me “Vixen.” It’s not a pet name. It’s a job description.

They never put me on the lease. That was the first rule. No key to the front door, no drawer in the bathroom, no space on the shelf for my chamomile tea. I am a guest. A well-dressed, well-fucked, temporary guest.

— Olivia Nova

I met Marcus on a Tuesday. He was wearing a wedding ring he thought he hid by switching it to his right pocket. I noticed. I always notice. We had cocktails with silly little umbrellas, and he told me his wife “didn’t understand his ambition.” I smiled, sipped my drink, and thought: She probably understands that you leave your socks in the living room and snore like a lawnmower.

Being a side girl means never asking for your shoes back. -Vixen- Olivia Nova - Confessions Of A Side Gir...

Last night, Marcus fell asleep. First time. His head on my chest, snoring softly. I stared at the ceiling and felt the strangest thing: not love, not hate, but a quiet, hollow sadness. He was dreaming of her. I could tell by the way he smiled in his sleep. I am not the dream. I am the detour.

The real confession: I don’t do this because I’m broken. I do it because I’m good at it. I am a master of the half-hour. The art of leaving before the coffee gets cold. I can turn a hotel room into a memory in twenty minutes flat. I know which angles make me look like a fantasy and which ones make me look like a liability. My name is Olivia Nova, but the men I date call me “Vixen

Until then, call me Vixen.

Tonight, I’ll delete his number. By next week, he’ll find a new Vixen. Younger, maybe. Blonder. It doesn’t matter. The role is the same. The confession is the same. That was the first rule