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“Sorry,” the driver clears his throat, and I chuckle.
“This time, I'll pick the dress,” I tease, too tired to argue anymore.
“Okay, but get rid of that washed-out color from your hair. It doesn't suit you. I want you to go back to your natural color. You don't need to hide from anyone anymore.
“Alright,” I run my fingers through my hair and consider it as an added reason because it has become a chore to dye my roots every month.
“I like it when you're a good and obedient girl, Becca.”
I grimace and sink into the leather seat.
“Then how about you add me to that list?” I have a sudden inspiration. “Tomorrow, I want to see my mom.”
“Fine, I'll call. I have things to do until after noon tomorrow,” he checks his phone, and I'm momentarily captivated by his professional demeanor.
When he's working, Manasseh seems like a completely different person. For a few seconds, I'm drawn to the way his shirt clings to his broad shoulders or how his hair, styled in a modern cut, complements this office look. I can't resist the thoughts when I notice a small scratch on his neck, and it reminds me of the treatment he put me through in the junkyard. My eyes slide down to his thick fingers, tapping something with the square-shaped phone's pen. Judging by the model, it seems to be a Note. My thighs clench, and I wrap my arms around myself as the sensation of his fingers inside me sends shivers down my spine. I look out the window, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from the well-fitted expensive pants that do a good job accentuating his thick legs, before my eyes travel higher, toward his pelvis. I swallow hard and can't help but stare. This time, my eyes trace his symmetrical lips. I feel the pulse in my lower abdomen as I recall the image of him disheveled from that night, and I could swear that the moment when Manasseh inserted his fingers inside me, then concealed them in his mouth and eagerly sucked them, is replaying on my retina. That sensation was...
“Hello?” I struggle to focus when I am being distracted by his moving lips.
“Did you say something?” I blink rapidly and swallow hard.
“I said...” He furrows his brow and glances back, not realizing that I was staring at him. “I asked what you want to eat.”
“Anything,” I shrug and shift my gaze to the window, embarrassed by my own thoughts.
I'm such an idiot!
“An-y-thing,” Manasseh syllabicates as he types. “I hope Lucia knows how to cook “anything.”
I can't help but smile, so I hide it in his jacket that smells like him.
Damn it!
I never thought Manasseh could actually make me genuinely smile, yet here we are, having a mundane conversation, and I'm smiling at the most trivial things he says.
“It wasn't even funny,” I mutter like a brat.
“Then why were you smiling under your mustache until now?
“I wasn't smiling,” I roll my eyes and shake my head.
“Funny is my middle name,” Manasseh gets his shirt out from his pants, and I try not to stare at his tense abdomen.
“I can't remember the last time we laughed together at one of your jokes,” Peter parallel parks with a palm slap on the steering wheel, like a pro but a cool one, and Manasseh scowls.
“Then, I can imagine how many good jokes you've told,” this time I laugh and no longer hold back.
“I am funny!” Manasseh stands his ground and playfully turns to Peter, slapping the back of his head.
“You are!” Peter pulls the handbrake, and the atmosphere inside the car changes.
Things seem to be heading in the right direction.
As I step out, I stare at my dad's car parked in the same spot for two days now, and I can't help but worry.
“How about we take a shower together? I want to save water, you know, for the ecosystem,” Manasseh suddenly proposes, and I bristle all over.
“I'd rather stay dirty,” I retort, and Manasseh starts laughing, making his way up the stairs.
