Case in point.
She’s wearing formal pants, rolled up as if she were going to dip her feet in water. Said feet are clad in Pepto-Bismol-colored sneakers.
She matched it all with a hockey jersey. Her own name across her back and her chest.
Why are you dressed like that?
My question isn’t outlandish. But the tone? I draped the words with judgment and disdain. Even though I’m more intrigued than anything. I admire her bold—although slightly deranged—choices.
The joke is on me. My plan to fight the attraction is backfiring big-time. She is standing here, shooting daggers at me with her eyes, and my cock stirs.
Welcome to my fucking world.
I’m not even consistent in my behavior. I let her present the parts I know she is more comfortable with.
She caught me sneaking sugarinto her coffee to give her an energy boost. I’ve been doing that for weeks because the woman seems sleep-deprived, and her diet is appalling. She either doesn’t eat or stuffs her face with donuts.
How someone can abuse their body so much is beyond me. I’m well aware it’s not my business, and yet I’ve made it mine.
We stand across from each other, with the large table between us, in a silent duel. Just mere moments passed since we almost kissed. And fuck, she wanted my mouth as much as I wanted hers.
But thank God for the interruption. Not because I no longer want to kiss her… and more than that.
This is not the time, and more importantly, not the place. I don’t care about the no-fraternization policy, because I don’t care about Merged much.
But she cares. She cares too much, practically wasting away from the stress of this competition.
I don’t want to jeopardize that for her.
It wouldn’t suit me in the long run, anyway. Or at least that’s the rationale I keep giving myself.
She is breathtakingly beautiful. Fragile and strong. Vulnerable and badass. A study in contradictions.
I sigh. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“Ready to start,” Corm walks in.
Enough with the fucking interruptions. I groan inwardly.
Roxy breaks the staring duel and smiles at him. “Let’s start.”
For the duration of the presentation, she doesn’t look at me. I, on the other hand, keep hanging on every word as if I didn’t know what was being discussed. I fucking wrote the slides.
Still, I’m just feasting on her presence. The words roll from her with confidence, the weight behind them rooted in knowledge and understanding.
She might lack experience, but she makes up for it with her tenacity and sheer power of mind.
Unstoppable. Unflappable. Unshakable.
And yet, the few times her eyes watered when she thought I didn’t see. The few yawns she stifles here and there. An occasional sigh of unloading the weight of the universe when she thinks nobody watches… all of it makes her more real. Too real.
None of those vulnerabilities is present right now. And I’m so fucking proud of her. When we reach my portion of the presentation, I feel like an intruder.
This is her show.
This is her playground.
This is her future.
