“Oh.” She thought for a moment.“Oh.”
His uncharacteristic reticence disappeared, possibly never to be seen again.
“Because all the most popular Cupid fics seem to involve Psyche pegging him. Often with dildos described as having the same width as her forearm, which is somewhat alarming.” He stared at her arm, clearly doing some mental calculations, then winced. “And within the fandom, popular consensus says my character is clearly a bottom, and I’m not certain I fully understand why.”
She understood. Now that she’d grasped the context, shetotallyunderstood.
“You—” Alex flicked a hand at her. “You know things. Explain it to me.”
You know things?
It was perhaps the most dismissive, careless compliment she’d ever received. It was also, however, a correct statement. Shedidknow things.
And given her knowing-things pedigree, she was shocked she hadn’t considered Cupid’s possible bottom status before now. Dammit, she’d read E. Wade’s books multiple times. How had she overlooked the way Cupid’s special arrow angled higher whenever Psyche climbed on top? And if the books hadn’t given her enough clues, the show should have.
In retrospect, Cupid’s expression after Psyche pushed him against the wall and pinned his wrists as she kissed him should have told Lauren everything.Everything.
Had Alex not realized what his face was doing in that scene? And how had they all missed the Cupid Is Definitely the Little Spoon implications of it all?
“Are you even paying attention to me?” Alex’s perfect nose had lifted high in the air, and he sniffed down at her. “You do realize your inattentiveness is exceedingly rude, correct?”
Ah, but it was too late for insults now. He’d told her sheknewthings.
Why did that make her straighten and puff out her chest a little? And even as she preened, why did she want so very badly to laugh? At him, and at herself too?
She didn’t laugh. But she did bask in the moment.
Right now, if only for a fleeting snatch of time, she had the upper hand with Alex. She intended to enjoy it.
“Very well, then.” With a sweep of her arm, she gestured to the couch. “Sit down, Alex. Nanny Clegg will explain the birds and the bees and the bottoms to you.”
“Fucking hell,” he groaned.
But damned if he didn’t sit down.
4
“HEY, LAUREN,” ALEX SAID, AVIDLY EYEING HER EXPRESSION. “If I called you a claggy sponge, what would you say?”
To his disappointment, she didn’t visibly react. Instead, she continued frowning at the wall of windows overlooking one of the Spanish airport’s many runways.
“In response to such a transparent attempt at provocation?” Her voice was preoccupied. “I’d say nothing.”
She gave a decisive little nod, then rose from the very wide, very heavy armchair she’d chosen in the near-empty business lounge. Before he could react or do it for her, she hoisted that chair, moved it closer to the windows, and plopped back into its cushioned embrace.
Then she got out her e-reader and bent her stupid, boring head over it again, matching words to deeds.
Goddamn. His appointed jailer was fucking frustrating sometimes.
Not that she’d notice, but he wasn’t letting her escape his orbit that easily. Standing, he shifted his own chair nearer to the windows and even closer to hers than it was before.
Setting it down with a little grunt, he studied it consideringly before turning back to her.
“That chair is heavy as shit.” He gave it a shove for emphasis, and it didn’t move an inch. “Are you bench-pressing cars in your spare time, or what?”
Her brow was still furrowed, and she was once again readjusting her sad little ponytail. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t turned to a new page in her book yet.
“I’m strong.” She flicked him a brief, abstracted glare. “And don’t swear in public. There are children here.”
