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8 - SIMON
My hand raced across the tablet, filling in trees and shapes with rapid-fire precision. Before my business went under, website design and logos were my forte, but when we stepped out of the car and Addison mentioned finding the right buyer, I began visualizing what this house could be. A hidden paradise. A secluded hideaway. An escape. The possibilities were endless. She was like my gateway drug, opening my eyes to everything.
Shitty analogy, but the same result.
Spending time with her had broken through my creative block and got me drawing. I wasn’t even pissed she interrupted when I tried to ask her about the dance contest.
Nope. Not true. It drove me nuts when she interrupted and rolled her eyes, but the way her face brightened when I mentioned charity had me stepping closer, hoping to absorb some of her magnetic energy. My body felt supercharged, like I’d rubbed myself against a hundred balloons and was trying to discharge all the static electricity.
If she could keep the eye-rolling to half a dozen times a day and stop smelling so damn good, there was a chance we could pull this off. If today was any indication of the impractically of her outfits, I should keep a spare jacket in my car since she seemed allergic to staying warm, but that was assuming she’d help me.
With my luck, her dancing skills would be worse than mine, and I had less rhythm than the guy in the suit who did that stupid music video online, and even Nana could do that dance. Beth tried to teach me how to do a basic waltz when we were kids, and she said I looked like a spastic toddler.
“So about this charity event,” I said, keeping my eyes on the screen, not how good she looked in my jacket. “It’s a dance contest—”
“Oh, I’ve seen that advertised on Good Morning, Charleston.”
I gripped the tablet, surprised it didn’t crack with how white my knuckles were as I squeezed to keep from snapping at her about her freaking manners. I closed my eyes and took a breath, determined to keep quiet. When I opened them my jaw was clenched so tight my teeth ached, but she read the room and left her mouth agape, staring at me so I could finish the damn sentence.
“Right. This dance event will have lots of positive press and good coverage, but I have two issues with entering.” I paused for a second, expecting an interruption, and she opened her mouth but then closed it. Huh, quick learner. I passed the tablet back and crossed my arms, waiting. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth. A barb had to be on the tip of her tongue.
“What? Is one requirement no black?”
I bit the inside of my cheek as her eyes widened and her brain caught up to her snark.
“Sorry, Simon. I, um, go on the defense pretty easily.”
“I’d say so. It’s almost as bad as your eye-rolling.”
She had the nerve to look guilty, and I felt bad for about two seconds, but I knew when I tried to finish, she’d throw down some sass that would make my blood pressure rise.
“Lips are zipped, and you have my undivided attention.” Her eyes danced in the low light and she put her tablet under her arm, stepping closer until our shoes touched. I couldn’t smell the woodsy oak trees or the nearby ocean because she was too close, her sticky-sweet scent enveloping my senses, and damnit, I wanted another hit.
A breeze rustled around us, swirling her hair, and I reached forward without thinking and tucked the red strands behind her left ear. She leaned closer, and unlike Friday when it was hot as fuck seeing her eye to eye in heels, something about seeing her tilt her head up to meet my eyes was sexier. I couldn’t look away. “Enter with me. Dance with me.”
My hand lingered on the side of her face, and I had the overwhelming urge to taste her lips. Not a teasing peck on the lips or a gentle caress of her mouth. I wanted to taste her from the inside, licking down her neck to confirm she tasted sweet everywhere.
There wasn’t a sarcastic quip on her lips or even an eye-roll as I waited for her to speak, only the slightest turn of one side of her mouth. Then she tugged that bottom lip in her mouth until I could see the indents of her teeth, making me want to see what my teeth could do to that tempting bottom lip.
“Yes. I’ll dance with you, but only if you’ll date me.”
“If I’ll—what?”
Date her?Surely, she couldn’t be serious, but the thought was intriguing. Casual hookups had lost their charm ages ago. Maybe this only seemed sane because I needed to get laid. Still, like I told Nana, showing up with her on my arm would make anything worthwhile. Especially if she forgot her coat—and she would—forcing her to cozy up nice and tight with me. I’d pull her close, my hand on her waist and finding a sliver of exposed skin between her blouse and skirt.
“Nothing real, of course. It would help our images after that stupid article made me look like nothing but a party girl and you some sort of bad boy. We could be seen together, then quietly break up after the competition.” She shrugged her shoulders like it was easy coming up with a fake relationship while smelling like cake batter and fruit loops.
Nothing real.
I pulled my hand away from her face and clenched my fist by my side. Yeah, I was starved for affection or some stupid shit like that. These last forty-eight hours had been nothing real. Nothing but a fantasy of beautiful red hair paired with a hundred annoying habits and a thousand alluring charms, all leading to a distraction I didn’t need.
Damnit, I was struggling, with no reason why she’d gotten so far in my head, but I leaned down anyway, taking another breath of her sweet skin and watching her eyes widen. Most people couldn’t handle continuous eye contact. There’d been studies and papers and other boring tests done, but the bottom line was people looked anywhere but directly at each other.
One intimidation tactic I picked up from my father early on was the importance of never breaking eye contact first. It showed weakness, made the other person uncomfortable, gave you the upper hand, and was something I thrived on. But the longer I stared into her eyes, memorizing the colors, the more naked I felt. All the things I tried to keep in check were flayed and raw, left bare for her to see.
No.
She made it clear she was using me, but wasn’t I doing the same? Using her to get out of partnering with the she-devil. Using her as an excuse to get my parents off my case about not having some country club whatever on my arm. Using her to devour the inside of strawberry cream pastries, feed her the crust, then lick the flakes of icing from her lips.
