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Lily
Stefan’s expression is so smug. I want to slap him. I should slap him! How dare he? How dare he say something so inappropriate to me. I can sue him for sexual harrassment. I’m sure Neal has cameras on this patio somewhere. I’m sure there’s a recording of what he just did. But what did he do? He– he whispered in my ear. It’s so hot out here!
“What do you want?” I repeat, forcing my voice to steady and calm.
“I want to take you out,” he says, releasing me and sitting on the arm of one of the chairs that are a part of the patio furniture set Belle was excited to show me a couple months ago.
“Go out with me.”
“Am I having deja-vu? I already answered that question.”
I take a step back in case he decides to come close to me again. I can still feel the heat of his body against mine, and he hardly even touched me. I try my hardest not to stare at how well his white Polo clings to his shoulders, chest, and sides. It only loosens around his abs, but I can picture what they must be like. I shake my head. No, I’m not picturing anything of the sort. I refuse to indulge his egotistical attitude.
“I see in your face that you want to say yes,” he says with a chuckle, dimples dazzling. My eyes linger a moment too long. “I can stand up if you want a better view.”
Heat floods my face before I can blink, and I sputter trying to think of a response. I take a deep breath.
“I’m going back inside,” I say when I feel confident I can speak properly again. His hand is warm and rough on my wrist when I go to turn. I thought I was well out of his reach, but somehow, he managed to grab me without getting up.
“You seem set on your view of men,” he says in a thoughtful voice, his distracting blue eyes piercing me on the spot. I force my gaze down, and regret it instantly when they land on his mouth. So full and inviting. I could just– I pinch my lips together and stare at the cemented patio instead. That’s so much safer.
“The least you could do is allow me the chance to change your mind,” he says. My eyes snap up to his, narrowing at the challenge in his voice.
“Change my mind? Please,” I scoff. He suddenly stands, his grip on my wrist loosening.
“You seem to be a smart girl. You know how dangerous it is to take a stance without all the facts. I know about your website. Bitch Press, is it? You’re so vocal in your disappointment with my sex. As a member of the male race, I’d like a chance to defend us.”
His statements are reasonable, but his tone is so sensual. Every word caresses my body with an invitation. It takes me a minute too long to fully digest what he’s saying.
“So you stalked me on the internet?” I ask dryly. He shamelessly shrugs with a smirk.
“And found you very quickly, I must say. You’re a busy girl.”
“I honestly don’t see your point. Men have long forgone any opportunity to defend themselves. You all have made it very clear how you think and feel about women. I’ve seen all I need to see,” I say, snatching my wrist from his loose hold and folding my arms across my chest. He grins and matches my stance, his arms bulging against his sleeves.
“I challenge you to explore a different perspective. Screaming to the world that men are evil without gathering as much evidence to support your stance is bullheaded and ignorant. We wouldn’t want you to appear ignorant to the masses, would we?”
“I don’t give a damn how I appear to the masses. My work is for a niche group of people. If someone doesn’t like what I say or write, or what my company publishes on our platform, he’s more than welcome to leave my website or scroll past my post.” I shrug.
He raises his brows, his eyes dancing with amusement. He seems as entertained as someone watching a comedy special. I fail to see what the fuck is so funny.
“Okay, how about this? I’ll grant you an interview,” he says. I laugh mirthlessly.
“Why would I want to interview you?”
“Every business, finance, and real estate website has been begging me to do an interview. They want to know why I’ve moved to Birmingham, and what my plans are for this little city. I haven’t agreed to any of the requests, but I’ll let you interview me.”
My hands drop from where they’d been crossed. I stare at him for a few seconds or minutes, I don’t know. His smirk is so confident. Is he someone I need to know? Against my wishes, the journalist in me stirs, always looking for the next big story. I do need a topic for our July feature.
“Are you supposed to be somebody special?” I ask, my voice holding much less bite than a few seconds ago. Again, he shrugs.
“I don’t think I’m anyone special, but here’s some homework for you. Look me up like I did you. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at 11. Here’s my card. If you agree to the interview, text me your address.”
I take the card from him before he steps past me. His hand on the doorknob leading back into the house, he turns to face me one more time.
“I fully intend to change your mind.” His grin is wicked. “I’d love to hear the sound of your voice screaming my name test the echo in my new condo.”
I gasp as my face explodes with heat. His chuckle follows him into the house. Huffing, I turn to stare out into the blackness of the backyard. After a couple of seconds of debating, I open the internet browser on
