And then of course being nice and throwing her off the game completely, taking her by surprise. Turning on the romance and making her second-guess every single interaction we’d ever had. Taking care of her. Flirting. It’s all a part of the plan.
She’s trying to throw me off my game, too,I think.
And though I’d anticipated that she’d push back a little bit, I had no idea she’d commit to our little game this perfectly.
Closing my laptop and standing, I reach inside my pocket and touch the birth control ring.
Mine.
As if that thought summons her, Francesca’s door opens. She emerges wearing black heels and a little black jacket to complement her dress.
I’m momentarily speechless.
Last night she was dressed like a teenager—the white dress making her seem sweet and innocent. Tonight, though? The all-black villain-esque ensemble does something to me, and I subtly adjust myself as she walks out.
“Time to go?” she asks, looking down at her phone.
Look at me,I want to yell.
“Yeah.”
She finally looks up from her phone, andChrist…
She’s wearing red lipstick, and her hair falls in loose waves around her face.
How the fuck am I supposed to take her to a work event when she looks like this? If anyone were to look at her for a second too long, I’m pretty sure I’d rip their head off.
There’s no way in hell I can compose myself.
“You look nice,” I tell her, my voice even despite the inner turmoil.
“Too casual for where we’re going?” she asks, twirling and giving me a perfect view of her narrow waist and an ass I want to knead and slap.
“No. It’s perfect.” My eyes dart down to her feet. “We’re walking a few blocks. Are those shoes okay?”
She gives me a sardonic smile that makes my cock twitch. “I’ll be fine, but if not, maybe you can give me a piggyback ride.”
Fuck. Me.
She’s good.
I don’t smile—instead walking over to the dining room table and grabbing my suit jacket. I can feel her eyes on me as I slip it on.
“What’s the tattoo for?” she asks, and when I turn around, she’s a bit closer to me now, leaning against the wall of the dining area. Her handbag is slung over her shoulder, andfuck,she’s gorgeous.
“It’s a bit of a personal story,” I tell her, brow wrinkling.
“Oh, I didn’t?—”
“My parents divorced when I was five. After Rocco…” She nods, and I take a steadying breath before continuing. “My mother remarried, and her husband had this large garden snake that he kept as a pet. As a kid, I was terrified of snakes. I didn’t like my stepfather as a person, and he knew it. I didn’t trust him. For four years, he’d let the snake roam free in our house. My mom never said anything—after all, he was better than my birth father. One night she had to work late, and he thought it would be funny to lock me in the bathroom with the snake.”
Francesca’s mouth drops open. “That’s terrible. What happened?”
I shrug. “I decided that day to not be scared of snakes anymore. I refused to let him win. For three hours, I let that snake slide all over my legs, up my neck, around my back… I’d sweat through my shirt, but when he unlocked the door, I was shaking and sitting there holding the snake. After I stood up and put the snake back in his terrarium, I walked over to him and punched him square in the nose.”
She laughs. “He got what he deserved!”
I smile, delighting in the way her eyes track over my face when I do. She likes it when I smile—I’ll need to remember that.
