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I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
I was usually locked down, or actually, I didn’t even need to lock down. I’d just learned not to expect a whole lot of good from people. So I was completely unprepared for the whiplash of need and want and yearning that now raged inside me.
The guy looked me over, and when he caught my eyes, his narrowed. A different look came over his face. A wall came down, but his eyes held a gentle concern. He’d been talking to another man, both in some serious business suits. Each of them filled out those suits to where I was realizing how the right suit could be a weapon. Funny how I hadn’t known before.
The first guy stepped toward me. He ran his hand over his face, flicking through his dark beard, and he angled his head down.
Jesus. He was probably a foot taller than me.
I was five foot six, average height. Average weight, though I dropped to a size four during stressful times. And there wasn’t anything remarkable about me, a fact I’d loved growing up. I could always blend in. Pale skin. Shoulder-length strawberry blond hair and dark eyes.
My face was normal, and a few people had said I was attractive growing up.
I hadn’t cared. I’d never been a makeup girl, and Vicky, my foster mom, had once told me I had natural beauty so I could get away with it. I could do lipstick, but mostly kept to lip gloss. I did indulge in pedicures. Keeping my toes painted light pink with sparkles made me happy. Sometimes I did a manicure too, but working on a computer every day chipped my nails, and since I never saw anyone outside of my foster family, what was the point?
Yet somehow, as this massive giant studied me, I wished I’d done my face up.
Then I remembered, I had. The show. But wait, I was a mess. I was on my way back to the makeup chair because I was such a mess.
“Are you okay?” The giant spoke, a deep baritone rumbling out of his chest. Smooth.
The sound of it washed over me, calming me. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling. His voice settled me, cementing something inside me, just as it had woken at the sight of him.
What is going on with me?
“Miss Harm?” The makeup guy was back. “We need to fix you up. Can you follow me?”
I needed to go. I needed to fix my face.
The giant was still staring at me. The guy with him was now also staring at me.
Man, oh man. Those business suits…
Oh God.
Now the makeup guy was staring.
My face and neck got hot, probably breeding more of those red splotches. I ducked my head. “Yes. Sorry.”
There was another beat of silence. “Follow me, please.”
We continued down the hallway. I kept my head down, becoming mute—another habit I’d learned growing up. It helped with the attention. When you didn’t respond, people just talked about you instead of to you. Eventually they forgot you were in the room.
I got back into the chair, and he started fussing.
A new shirt was brought in.
All the while, I sat there, my eyes anywhere except making eye contact, and I waited for the usual numbness to settle over me. It was like a blanket. My system would return to being empty but peaceful.
I liked the emptiness. I could function if I felt empty.
It wasn’t happening.
Whoever that guy was, he’d stirred something in me that wasn’t settling.
Slight panic laced through me. What do I do with this?
“You met our newest Kings football player,” the makeup guy said. “Defensive end, I believe. He’s delicious, ain’t he?”
