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After talking yesterday, I did gain a greater respect for him. I know now that he’s not just a pretty face. His educational path has been a bit irregular, and there are things about him that I don’t understand yet, but I can see a story behind his eyes, something he’s not saying. Hopefully, I’ll find out more tonight.
He’s also a bit older than me, so there’s that power dynamic. It’s not like he’s so old we’d turn heads walking down the street together, but the gap in life experience between us is definitely there.
But truth be told, I like it.
I like it a lot. He knows who he is and doesn’t stammer around, unsure how to tell me what he wants. He’s been bluntly flirtatious since our first real conversation at the club, telling me upfront that he wants me and wants to get to know me. I just don’t know why.
The biggest problem I have with Simon is that as much as I want to know more about him, it feels like I’m breaking some sort of rule by having private interactions with him. I feel like I’m doing something to violate, if not the rules of the competition, then at least the spirit of it.
Maybe he’s testing me so he can kick me out? I mean, I’ve spent my entire life watching fucked up reality television. And if there’s one thing these competitions like more than over the top elimination ceremonies and backstabbing crazy bitches, it’s folks getting smacked out of left field by some twist they weren’t expecting.
Am I the dupe of this whole shebang?
That possibility and Nora’s warning echo in my head. I need to go into tonight carefully. Yes, look at the photos from the shoot. Yes, get to know Simon. No, don’t jump him like a horny girl on the first gym bro in sight on Spring Break. No, don’t fuck up the competition.
Those rules in my mind, I go downstairs to wait for Simon. In the courtyard, it occurs to me... how does he know where my apartment is? But House Corbin is providing the space, so of course he could find out. Checking my details from their files is a little sketchy, though. Back home, that’d be worthy of an HR grievance for sure.
The gate opens, and my heart, gut, and ovaries all do simultaneous triple backflips worthy of an Olympic medal as he steps through, looking like a movie star knockout. The breeze carries to me a soft scent of cologne and manliness, a heady, almost feral waft that has my mouth watering even as my eyes feast on his simple attire of a white dress shirt and black slacks. His hair is brushed to the side and he looks freshly shaven.
Elegant is not usually a word associated with men, but I can’t think of a better way to describe Simon right now. He stalks toward me gracefully, like a panther who knows that the entirety of the urban jungle of Paris is his. He looks like a very naughty dream become flesh.
He takes my hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Bonsoir. Vous etes ravissante. You look lovely.”
For some crazy reason, I have the urge to curtsy. “Thank you. You too.”
His lips twitch at my compliment. Admittedly, his melodic French is much more charming than my American version of ‘ditto’.
“Merci.Shall we?”
He leads me outside, where on the curb is a beautiful car, a candy red Bugatti that would make most of the car guys I know in New York piss their pants in envy. “Wow.”
“Again,merci,”Simon says, holding the door for me.
He gets in and starts the car, the mechanical roar exciting. But not nearly as exciting as the man beside me.
“Where are we going?” I ask the question though I’m not sure I care. I would go anywhere right now.
Keep your wits about you, Autumn.
“It’s a surprise.” He shoots me a sly look, and I consider whether he’s taking me straight back to his place to have his way with me.
I wouldn’t object... too much.
