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giovanni

Pretty Pink Poison

The house is empty when I make it downstairs. Amelia, Matt, and Casey went to Lihue to barhop. If the ladies follow Matt’s lead, they’ll end up sleeping on the beach overnight until the alcohol burns off.

I plop down on the sofa, open my phone, and watch the video Sophia shot of the contest. At one point, she mumbles something inaudible, fumbles, and almost drops the phone.

I press pause and rewind the clip. Turning up the sound, I replay, trying to untangle her shaky words. The third time is the charm. That’s when her unexpected declaration rings out loud and clear.

“Why can’t I be a pineapple?” she says on the recording.

This time, I almost drop my phone.

Holding the case tighter, I replay the video to make sure I’m not inserting the words I want to hear. But those words, those beautiful fucking words, are the same the tenth time I listen.

Sophia Sinclair wants to be a pineapple. But does she want to be my pineapple? Because honestly, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

To calm the jittery energy of this new possibility, I readjust on the couch and rub my hands down my thighs. All of a sudden, I’m hot and bothered, and my hands itch to touch her again.

I rub my thumb across my bottom lip and imagine what it would be like to kiss her perfect lips in a new way, to savor the tension and enjoy the aperitif of her sassy tongue slowly wrapping with mine. I’d move on to her body and feast on her smooth skin, those delicious breasts, and the soft flesh inside her thighs. No part of her body would remain untasted.

I tip my head back on the pillow, trying to escape the images, but find myself staring at her bedroom door. Our door. My foot bounces. My hand taps my knee. My heart hammers. And my dick? Fuck.

I’d take the stairs three at a time to dive into her heavenly body if she invited me. But with the way things are going, that’s a big fat if. In her eyes, I’m still the enemy because she’s in denial.

What did she do earlier when I suggested she might fall for me? She released a loud grunt of disapproval. No matter the reaction, it all means the same in our five-dimensional game of Monopoly.

Go to jail. Do not pass go.

I spread my legs wide to anchor myself to the floor. I stare at the ceiling fan circling, but it only makes me think about her limbs wrapping around my hips, her thighs squeezing my neck, and our bodies twisted together on the floor in a battle of will-they or won’t-they.

I scrub my face to rub the thought away, but the daydream is too enticing. It coils so tightly, I jump to my feet.

Hands on my hips, I stare at my reflection in the darkened TV screen. I inhale several shaky breaths. Because of her, I have to remind myself how to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Pull it together!

My gaze lands on my phone. That’s when a terrible idea strikes. I race to scoop it up. Agile fingers find a special app, and I quickly edit the contest video and add a popular song for social media within moments.

Then I pause to consider the caption. I know what I want to type, but I’m debating whether I should because it’s a direct proposal to Sophia.

I want, no need, to feel her out. I need to know if underneath all those hot and cold layers, she feels the same about me. Like she might explode if we can’t touch again.

“What am I doing?” I shake my head. I’ve lost my mind. Sophia doesn’t want this. I want this.

She just went through hell. She almost married a raging narcissist, someone she presumably loved. And here I am, right after her wedding-gone-wrong, making a move. I’m the worst kind of human.

“This is ridiculous.” I toss the phone on the sofa and walk away, trying to extricate her from my thoughts.

Why is she so irresistible?

And the reason finally hits me.

Sophia is the first woman I’ve been interested in since Amber. She’s the first woman I haven’t wanted to run the other direction from. It’s a milestone I thought I’d never reach.

When I think it through, it makes sense. Sophia doesn’t give a shit who I am or that I have a little bit of clout. In fact, she challenges me and calls me on my bullshit. And though she may not be trying, she somehow cracks open my soul. I’ve shared things with her that I haven’t with anyone. She has me under her spell.