A faint blush rises to her cheeks, though she maintains a stoic front in comparison as she speaks. “Did you have that mirror hung above your bed before or after we met?”
The saliva caught in my throat burns, forming a harsh lump that I can’t swallow down, resulting in me trying to clear it. Repeatedly. I almost forgot she used my en-suite bathroom.
How do I answer this?
With the truth, I guess, that’d be a good start.
I walk her to the elevator she came in by. “Before,” I lie.
She pauses, turning around to allow her gaze to appraise me freely, taking every inch of me in.
“I like to watch,” I add, feeling my throat grow tight with my confession.
“Me too,” she says, coyly. “I guess the old art installation room was fate then. Before The Wilted Flower was a bar, it was an art gallery. I know the owners so I was able to convince them to keep the mirrored room open, since it was always my favorite.”
“Do you go there often?”
“I used to. I hadn’t gone in for a while. And never with anyone else. You were my first.” She winks and the aftermath of that simple flirtatious gesture stings.
I hate having to downplay it all in the interest of being professional, if that’s even in the cards for us. I want her to know how interested I am and how she makes me feel.
“I’m honored.” It comes out like a joke, but it’s the truth. I am. Very much so.
CHAPTER 16
SARINA
A few hours have passed since I had my impromptu meeting at Tomás’ penthouse and I’m now sitting in the same chair at The Wilted Flower that I was in with him. Except now, I’m in the middle of the row my sister Harper’s bridal party has created, taking over this side of the bar.
We haven’t been here long and I’m already yawning, ready to go home and call it a night. I’ve been in my work clothes all damn day since I went directly to the hotel Harper is staying at after leavingTomás’, and I feel my leggings and sweatshirt calling my name.
“If you yawn again, I’m going to smack you.” Harper laughs mid-sip of her wine.
“Stop lying.”
She sets her glass down. Leaning closer to me, she takes a dramatic inhale.
“Am I hallucinating or did you just sniff me?”
Harper’s friend, Michelle, who is sitting to my left, chimes in… also giving me a quick sniff.
Feeling self-conscious, I lift my arm to see if I smell. There’s rarely a day that goes by that I’m not in a rush to leave myapartment, and it wouldn’t be the first time I forgot deodorant, though all I smell as I incessantly sniff…ismy deodorant. All good on that front.
“Relax, Ri, you smell good,” Michelle says nonchalantly as a new martini is placed in front of her, thus stealing her attention.
“Who is he?” Harper asks.
“Who is who?”
Harper slaps my lap. “The guy who was close enough to you to leave his Tom Ford cologne mark on you.”
I lift my arm again, this time pressing my fingers to the end of the sleeve, squeezing it as I bring the fabric to my nose. Immediately the woodsy notes filter their way through my nostrils. The scent is so distinct, even in the remnants left on my clothes, that it tricks my senses into thinking Tomás is here. My stomach twists, as it has a habit of doing when I’m around him, and a smile stretches my lips so wide there’s no stopping it.
Harper’s loose hands graduate to my shoulders for another slap.
“Easy, Harper.” I eye her wineglass.
She shrugs. “Sorry, I get excited when I drink.”
