Page 11 of Mr. Charming


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She must have asked me a bunch of questions in the last twenty minutes. I didn’t mind though, it kept me from falling asleep.

“All done.” She stepped away.

I sat up, draping the towel over my lap. Her back was to me as she washed her hands and toweled off. My eyes followed her body; she in shape. Her thighs were toned, her back small. She had put her hair up since I last looked at her, giving me a view of her neck. She had a small tattoo on her nape, a key maybe? Couldn’t tell from here.

“You didn’t tell me your name.” I said. She turned and faced me, a smile creeping up on her face as she looked me over.

“I’m Vivian Sanders.”

“What time do you get off, Vivian?” There was something about her. Maybe I just wanted in her pants, but I wanted to know her too. Usually don’t care much about knowing the girls I go after.

“A few hours. It depends.”

“Give me your phone.”

She bit her lip softly but reached in her back pocket and handed me a bright blue phone.

“This your favorite color?” I arched a brow, looking at her and she nodded.

I put my number in her phone and then texted myself.

“Text me when you’re off. Don’t stand me up.”

She giggled softly.

“I won’t.” She was halfway out the door.

“See you.” And then the door shut.

I shook my head with a smile. Man, there is something about her.

“Tristan, are you sleeping?” Natalie pulled me out of my trance.

“Hmm? No. You want some ice cream?”

“Hell yeah.”

I got up and scoured my freezer, I found half a sherbet container and some butter pecan. I grabbed spoons and met her back at the chairs.

“I was just thinking about Vivian. About how we met.” I explained.

“Have you been doing that a lot?” her voice changed. Great, I pulled myself into a therapy session.

“Yeah.” I sucked on the strawberry sherbet.

“Why do you think? Is it helping?”

I sighed.

“I don’t know. I think I’m trying to see where I missed things. Or how I couldn’t tell who she really was.”

She slurped her ice cream loudly. She must have different table manners.

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“You never can. And it isn’t your fault she played you.”

“I don’t think she played me. Ten years is a long time. She had to love me for real at some point. Maybe it was me.” I opened even more. No wonder she was the best in the state, I’ve barely said anything. Or maybe it was just because she was my sister.

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