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“Apart from defiling your bikini?”
Hmm…definitely unexpected, but I’m not accepting it. “I wasn’t wearing it at the time, doesn’t count. Tell me how one time, when the waitress got your drink order wrong, you complained to management and got her fired.”
He’s quiet for a long time, digging little crescent shapes into the ice cream. “I got in a lot of fights when I was a kid. I put a boy in the hospital once.”
My eyes narrow. “Were you defending the wimpy nerdy kid?”
“No.” He calmly continues making his spoon crescents. “The kid made a crack about my mom.”
That’s right. He told me he was adopted by his uncle and aunt. I’m curious about his parents, but I doubt he’d tell me, so I don’t ask. “Not sure that counts. You were a kid. Your brain wasn’t fully formed.” I tap the ice cream with my spoon. “Something you’ve done as an adult.”
Seconds tick by and he says nothing. Maybe he does have a skeleton or two in that closet. “There’s nothing.”
“So you are perfect,” I say with a deep sigh.
He grumbles something but doesn’t push the point, handing me the ice cream so he can pull his phone out of his pocket again. “Let’s get a few more.”
He takes a video of us as he feeds me ice cream and follows it up with a kiss. His cold lips and sweet tongue send a shiver up my spine. “You can’t post this. I’m a mess,” I say, eyes locked on his lips. That was so sweet I want to kiss him again. Once I do my hair and makeup.
“You look normal,” he says, holding the phone out to show me. “Like any other woman.”
“Wow. Thanks,” I say dryly. “Can you be more insulting?”
“You should show the world what you’re like without all the armor on.” He shows me another one. “Be relatable.”
Huh. I look like a girlfriend. He’s still recognizably Gabriel Sinclair, but I could be anyone, messy bun, T-shirt, and yoga pants, eating ice cream with no makeup. Maybe this makes me more relatable, or maybe this makes me a paper doll other women can imagine themselves as. The only thing I know is that showing my softer side is going to get me hurt.
“Can I post it?” he asks.
I almost sayno, but maybe he’s right. Maybe it would be good for me. The usual trolls will come after me, but they do that when I’m wearing designer clothes and my full face too. And he’s right there with me, in the video. “Fine.”
“Put the ice cream down, let’s get a few more.”
We turn the couch into a photo shoot. Our tangled feet as we lie down together. Gabe with his arm around me. It feels a bit like a flimsy excuse to touch each other, if I’m honest. After a day of hurting, having his big, strong body close is comforting, and maybe that’s the point.
I don’t like how that thought settles over me, warm and comforting. Time to put an end to this and send him running.
“We have enough sweet photos. Let’s take a few spicy ones.” I say as I climb onto his lap, straddling him.
Gabe laughs, but there’s a bit of red in his cheeks. “Okay. Strip.”
I gasp, dropping the phone onto his fly, and he winces. It’s not a direct hit and I know it because he’s hardening underneath me.
“Sorry,” I say breezily as I pick the phone up. “I thought I heard you tell me to strip.”
His hands settle low on my hips. “I did.”
My insides melt into gooey mush as I stare into his dark brown eyes. He’s playing with me again. Pushing me when I should be pushing him. Trying to see if I’ll break first and make a move. Then he’ll reject me because he might be willing to fake date a woman who tried to break up a marriage, but sleep with her for real? He’d run. Even if that dick underneath me is telling me otherwise.
I hold out the phone and touch my nose to his, trying to ignore how close our lips are as I eye the screen until I’m happy. I close my eyes and kiss him just before I take the picture. When his lips move against mine, I break away. Why hasn’t this scared him off?
“That’ll do.” I bolt off his lap and hand him the phone, grabbing the ice cream and taking it back to the freezer. The butterflies in my stomach need to calm the fuck down.
When I come back, Gabe shows me the photo he picked to share, and of course, it’s one of the sweet ones. The post is ready to go.Getting to know this wonderful, sexy woman better. Ash is funny, kind, and honest, and I’m lucky to be with her in a pretty penthouse on top of the Ozarks.
My face goes hot. It’s fake. I know it is, but I can’t stop the defensive feeling from taking over. “No one is going to buy that. Write something like ‘post-sex ice cream is the best.’”
“I’m trying to help you.”
