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Sighing, I work my forehead with my fingers, knowing it’ll be a hard sell to Perry because Katie is all attitude and I’m supposed to hate her. I mean, I do hate her. “She told him about our chat the other day. You know, when I snapped at you guys in the bathroom.”
“Yeah. You were interesting that day too.” She laughs. “I liked it.”
I almost smile. “Just, if I do this, you know you have to follow directions. Be quick. Take criticism. Don’t backchat.”
“Fine. I will,” she moans.
“Well, fine, I will ask Perry then.”
“Cool.”
I hear something come from within the suite - music and something else. “So, I’m with you right now?” I confirm. “And you needed to talk to me about. . .what?”
She doesn’t skip a beat. “My closest friend was in an accident and is in a wheelchair. I’m struggling emotionally. I thought you could help me squash all my personality and happiness so that I can cope with this new drama and responsibility.”
My stomach rolls, and I want to claw off the smirk I can hear in her voice. “You’re a bitch.”
“I know.”
I nod, knowing Perry would never think I’d stoop that low if it wasn’t true. “That works though.”
“I know.” She laughs triumphantly. “Now go be a slut.”
“Ugh. Bye, Katie.” I hang up and slide the handset into the back pocket of my denim short shorts. I adjust the white singlet I have on, smoothing it down my stomach and checking it is nicely tucked into my shorts. I peer down at my black ankle boots, adorned with little studs up the inside.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
But we never got to say goodbye.
Tonight is our closure. One night to acknowledge something that was cut short before we were ready to let it go. This is a hello. I hope you are well. I wish you well. I’m sorry. I’mso sosorry for my part in it. . . And finally, our long-awaitedgoodbye.
I tap the door with my knuckles while my heart double taps in my chest. The music from within lowers. Footsteps approach. I shuffle my stance, listening as he walks - steady and confident, almost in a swagger.
The door opens, and I’m momentarily deafened by the droning pulse in my ears.
In casual attire, standing in the full light of the room, he gives me my first true glimpse at twenty-seven-year-old Bronson Butcher. I take him all in.
Jesus Christ.
He stands with that signature Bronson charm, which both welcomes the universe to be his friend and reminds them how everything is on his terms. He stares down at me with a devouring gaze, his indecent thoughts apparent within his searing turquoise-coloured eyes.
Annoyingly cute and yet still clearly dangerous, with mussed dark-brown hair and colourful tattoos licking up every inch of exposed skin. A short, neat dark-brown beard shapes his strong masculine jaw, creating a stark contrast against the whites of his teeth.
The notorious Butcher dimple all but taunts me like a shiny light leading its prey into a false sense of security. And those muscles. . . Defined, they fill out his blue shirt. Over his shoulder, he has a tea towel with a smear of red on it.
Is he cooking?
He licks his thumb and forefinger slowly before running his tongue along his lower lip, tasting something that was on them. I raise a brow at him, knowing the little games he plays, knowing the effect he has on women.
On me.
His sweet grin spreads further across his cheeks. “Are you lost, Doc?”
I hold my hand up. “Shush. Don’t be cute. Don’t say anything. Just listen, as hard as I know that is for you.”
As he folds his arms over his chest, the true mass of each bicep is revealed. I can imagine how easily he could manhandle a woman to his heart’s content. Shifting my eyes to his, I lock on to those mood ring irises surrounded by thick black lashes that shouldn’t be allowed on a man.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
