With a hitched breath caught in my throat, unable to divert my eyes, they transfix onhimas he moves with her, seeming unaware I’m watching.
But then again, he knows I’m watching. I can see it in the arrogant way he smiles. I hate how arrogance looks so fucking sexy on him. It’s a trait he pulls off well. An image he wants to portray.
Though I can’t see his eyes, something tells me he’s assessing my reaction to her in his arms, the ones that pinned me down and wrapped so tightly I couldn’t breathe during our time together. The ones that wrapped me up like a pretzel and fucked me senseless.
Only now, they’re bound around this chick.
Fuck her. Well, I hope he doesn’t, but I’m thinking fuck her in a sense where I want to drown her skinny ass in the pool.
Frustrated, I head to the bar where I spot much-needed alcohol. Hundreds of bottles of liquor line a lit wooden display case.
Tiller bumps into me at the bar reaching for the tequila. I tell myself unlike Shade, I’m only going to have one drink since we have to be up early in the morning.
So Tiller, he’s staring at me. And I’m almost afraid to ask what he wants.
Wouldn’t you?
I stare, he quirks an eyebrow bringing his drink to his lips to mask the sly grin forming. “Take a number,” he says, then takes a drink.
“What?”
“Take. A. Number.”
I set down the glass of tequila I poured. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
His eyes shift from mine, to across the pool where shit for brains is dry humping Shade as he lays back on a lounge chair. “With him. If you’re into him, take a fucking number. That chick has been here every night this week trying to score with him.Everyho here comes to this place for one reason only. To fuck a Sawyer brother. And if we’re not available, they settle for guys like Auden or Brad. But Shade. . . ” Tiller lets out a low whistle, winking. “. . . there’s a goddamn line clean to LA to suck his dick.”
Fuck. My. Life.
“Does someone like you go on a permanent antibiotic or just treatment as needed?”
See. I have comebacks.
Tiller laughs. Just once. “Ah, honey. . . you’ll give into me at some point. Or, maybe him.Shouldyour number come up.”
What a fucking asshole. I want to shout in his face, that I have fucked Shade—only he doesn’t remember—and maybe splash my drink is his ridiculously handsome face. But I don’t. Instead, I smile and say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sureyou do.” And then he walks away, and I’m left feeling incredibly embarrassed. What the fuck did I get myself into?
My stare moves to Shade who is now guess what, sitting up with her in his lap and he’s kissing her and staring at me.
I want to look away, Christ, I want to so badly, but can’t. I’m trapped in his gaze, completely restrained from movement from the eyes down.
Not wanting to give myself away completely, I raise an eyebrow, showing him, or rather trying to convince him—and maybe myself—I don’t care if he goes around kissing girls. I’m simply here to do a job, and that’s all.
Bull-fucking-shit. I do care.A lot. I care so much I’m practically burning a hole through her. I see glimpses of his tongue dipping into her mouth, his burning, taunting eyes over the brim of his shades never leaving mine, and I know this is a test. He’s waiting for a reaction from me. I’m weakened, falling under his spell. A sweet yet bitter fog only he can create around me. It’s sexual and completely inescapable.
Needing a breath, probably about as much as the girl he’s kissing, I attempt to break free, blinking rapidly a few times, but for the life of me, Ican’t. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to?
Just then, Shade lifts his sunglasses and winks, pulling away from the girl and then leading her inside the house, out of my line of sight.
Utterly embarrassed and well, exhausted, I return to the guest house feeling like I should pack my shit and mark this adventure in the “I tried it, but fuck that shit” category.
Why didn't you warn me?
Who thought it’d be a good idea to take me, a girl who stalked him on social media, slept with him only to have him forget and then wham, I’m supposed to be his personal assistant while he fucks other girls?
Not exactly how I pictured my life. But then again, I never thought Asher would kill himself. I never thought I’d actually have a night with Shade, and I certainly never thought I’d get this job.
What I do know is two can play this game, and I’m determined to do my job, a job that doesn’t include A, sleeping with Shade Sawyer, and B, caring who he fucks.
Katy Perry definitely had it right when she sang “Roar.” I’m living in that song now. He’s pushed me past the breaking point with that kiss. I’ve got my eye on the tiger.
Wait, shit. . . that’s not the right line, is it?
Maybe I’ve got the eye of the tiger?
Whatever. I’m tired.
