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“That’s the thing about gossip, isn’t it? The more untrue it is, the juicier, the more people believe it."
She nods. “Yes. I shouldn’t have scooped so low, I’m sorry about that."
“Oh, leave her alone, Mad,” Chloe interjects, reminding me that she’s still here. It’s strange that I completely forgot about my sister’s presence, but I make it up to her by giving her a half hug when she walks over to me. “What are you doing here so early anyway?”
I drag my eyes from the little redhead to my sister. “I told you I would stop by.”
“Yes, but you usually say that and then you don’t come.”
“I’m usually busy,” I respond easily. “Today, I’m not as busy.’
And thank God for that because then I would have missed this whole exchange with the redhead who currently looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.
"That’s good,” Chloe says, patting me on the shirt. "Ooh, I have something for you. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” And then she scurries off, leaving me and the girl, Ava, alone.
Ava doesn’t move. Now she’s looking to the side, fascinated by the bushes in Chloe’s garden. I, on the other hand, am fascinated by her. I step closer to her, and then even closer. Slowly, like a predator approaches prey. The closer I get, the straighter she stands, and the more the pulse in her throat races.
The harder it is for her to pretend that this isn’t happening.
That I’m not here.
And then I’m standing right in front of her.
She’s still not looking at me, not until I put one finger under her chin and draw her eyes to mine.
I smirk at her inflamed expression but she doesn’t remove my hold.
“You look different,” I comment, scanning over her fuller cheeks. The extra weight looks good on her.
Her eyes widen. “I thought you didn’t remember me.”
“I didn't remember your name. Doesn’t mean I don't remember more…” I run my eyes down to her breasts, another feature that seems to have filled out. "…important things.’
I do it to tease her, just to see her reaction. Her face heats even more when my gaze flickers back, and something flashes through her expression. I can tell she wants to say something, probably something vulgar, but she doesn’t. I wait anyway, wondering if she’s going to swear at me or smack me.
And maybe I’m a masochist but I’m looking forward to seeing more of that fire in her.
But instead, she says, “Good for you," in a light tone. “For remembering that is," she concludes.
Oh, you cheeky brat.That insolent answer almost makes me laugh and I’m not a man who laughs easily. In fact, some would tell you that I’m the grumpiest motherfucker in this world.
But this girl…so many things about her make me want to chortle.
And then she does something else. She looks away while licking her lips nervously, and my eyes are drawn to them. Particularly, the pouty pink lower one. I reach down without thinking too much about it and swipe my finger over it. Her breath catches. Eyes flash.
Reflexively, she licks it again, right over where my finger touched.
Fuck, that’s hot.
I lean down and follow the movement with my tongue.
She tastes like strawberries and cream. And pancakes. Delicious and homemade. A fucking aphrodisiac to a man like me.
In a city full of perfectly constructed women, most people assume that my type are the models that hang on my arms at events. But that’s just a front. My true weakness are homegrown women like her.
Which is why I avoid them like the plague.
She gasps at the touch, her eyes widening. I think I also hear a breathy moan but I’m not sure.
