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“It’s no bullshit.” I dropped the grin. “Your songs moved me. I was transfixed.”
I’d flummoxed her because her face tilted slightly like she was trying to find another angle to who I was. “A G&T, then. Why not? I can abuse you later.”
I laughed for the first time in two days. “Okay. I’ll be sure to make it a double. I’m in the mood for a whipping.”
Her luscious lips lifted slightly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
My dick thickened. What was it about this girl? The more she hated me, the harder I got.
I passed her a drink, and our fingers touched, and tingles raced up my arm. Maybe it was the hard-to-get factor.
“Thanks. I’m just stepping out for a cigarette,” she said.
“Mind if I join you? I could use some nicotine. I’ve had a hell of day.”
Her eyes searched mine, like she was trying to read me. After a longish pause, she shrugged. “As long as you don’t act like a tosser, I guess so.”
“I’ll try not to.” I smirked.
My eyes headed straight for that sexy arse, which was bigger than my usual girl. But then, most of the women I associated with seemed addicted to gyms and dieting. Something told me Mirabel did nothing of the sort, which also turned me on.
MIRABEL
Yes, he was a shallow, rich boy who thought he could have anything at the click of his fingers, but right now he was confusing me. Either he was a brilliant actor, or he really meant it. As he described my music, I could swear his eyes teared up.
He watched me rolling a cigarette which made me jittery for some reason.
“Do you mind making one for me? I don’t know how to do that.” With those big dark doleful eyes, he reminded me of a lost soul. A seriously gorgeous one.
Why the hell did he have to be so fucking good-looking?
In many ways, those Hollywood looks made it easier to hate him. Perfection annoyed the crap out of me. And hot men, with ‘heartbreaker’ chiselled into those genetically perfect faces made me run in the opposite direction.
Ethan and I, however, went back to childhood. We used to play with horses. And being a tomboy, I’d often climb trees and play the kind of games that boys liked. He even gave me a football he’d received for Christmas once, after I’d complained about only getting useless girly presents.
But then hormones kicked in, and he grew and grew and grew into a stunner, and suddenly every girl in the village jostled for his attention, tossing their trainer bras at him.
I just acted like I didn’t notice him. Only I did.
One night, he caught me off guard. We were at Jasmine’s party, where I’d drunk two Coronas and turned all giggly and silly, just like all the girls that I typically rolled my eyes at. I let him kiss me, and my body burned in a way I’d never experienced. Due to confused emotions, given that I was meant to hate him, I refused to let him remove my bra. Next minute, he was off with Mariah. No surprise there. She was the village floozy. I’d dodged a bullet because Ethan Lovechilde had turned into a heartbreaker.
However, as I grew older, the bullets kept coming, and instead of dodging them, I wore them. By this stage, masochism had set in, resulting in lots of scars to show for all the bad choices I’d made in men. Only Ethan Lovechilde was not one of them.
I rolled a cigarette and handed it to Ethan.
Under the dim lamp, he looked older. Or was that pain?
Although he normally swaggered through life, tonight he ambled with stooped shoulders.
I lit his cigarette and then mine.
Taking a puff, he coughed. “I haven’t smoked for a while. I kicked the habit a while back.”
“Oh, really? I feel bad for giving it to you.”
“Don’t be.” He puffed out smoke.
“I only smoke when I drink,” I said. “I’m planning to give up when I turn thirty.”
