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I cock my head to one side, noticing for the first time that her outfit is not the only thing different about her today. She sounds sure of herself and assertive. Like a regular adult, instead of the cowering, low-voiced girl I’ve always known.
And she’s agreeing to my proposal.
Something must have happened, otherwise she wouldn’t be offering it so abruptly. Why does she need this now?
Maybe she’d seen me talking to another girl and got jealous.
The corners of my lips turn up in a grin. That theory pleases me.
“Yeah,” I say, deliberately waiting a beat too long to answer. I watch her face for any emotion, anything to make me understand why she’s pivoting.
But her face remains expressionless.
“Good,” she says. “Have a nice night.”
And then, she turns and walks away from me.
No way am I letting her leave. Not when she looks like that.
“I’ll meet you inside,” I say to the woman standing flummoxed behind me. I catch a hint of her disgruntled look, but I’m already striding after Britney.
“We need to discuss the terms,” I say the moment I catch up with her.
“Sure,” she says. She crosses her arms and stares up at me. “What are they?”
We’re now standing right in front of the Furman’s mansion. Anyone, including her brother and dad, could walk out of that hall and spot us.
Not the ideal kind of venue for this discussion.
I take her by the hand, relishing even this slight skin-to-skin contact, and lead her away from the porch lights and around the rose bushes. The other girl is strutting back into the hall, looking angry. If this woman decides to share her experience with the world tonight, my reputation will be in even worse shambles.
Not that there’s much to salvage, anyway. After almost four weeks of Janice battering me online, a lot of blogs have lost interest, but that hasn’t deterred her yet.
Right now, I don’t care about my ruined reputation. All I want is to be tucked in a dark place with Britney. Even if nothing happens.
And nothingisgoing to happen. Blake doesn’t deserve this, no matter how turned on I am by Brit. But I do enjoy the sweet torture of being around her.
“Okay,” I tell her, when I’m certain we’re too far away for anyone to see or hear us. “This will be easy. All we’re going to do is go on some publicized dates, get a few pictures taken, all of that. Furman’s going to pay some blogs to do a quick profile on you, I’m sure, and maybe I’ll give a few interviewsabout how you’ve redeemed me or some shit like that. In two months, we can call it off.”
It’s too dark to read her expression, but I see her give a quick nod. “Right,” she says, her voice still prim, self-assured. She folds her arms, and her jaw inclines up as she looks at me. “Is that all?”
That primal, childish urge that rears its head only when Brit is around me stirs up again. “Well, if you want some other ground rules, here’s one. You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”
She gives a snort. An actual one. A bit of a departure from her usually impeccable manners. “Got it. Won’t be a problem.”
Annoyance mixes with my desire. I push it away, caring more about getting under her skin than anything else. “You sure?” I say, taking a step closer. “It’s going to be about two months of seeing me way more often than you’ve ever—”
“I saw you almost every day when we were kids,” she cuts in. “Wasn’t impressed.”
I raise a brow. Hearing Britney utter cutting statements surprises me and makes me challenge my entire view of her. Even during our massage sessions, Britney conveyed her anger physically. She was never one to offer rude remarks.
Until now.
But I like this version of her. So much that I want to goad her even more.
“That was before you saw all of me though,” I say, letting my thumb trail her lower lip. “You were very impressed.”
Her breath catches in her throat.
