Page 54 of Not That Into You

Which is why I still haven’t recovered from this afternoon’s revelations. I always wondered why Monica disliked me, but I assumed she was just an unhappy person, even if that wasn’t my first impression. I never guessed it was because of something I said. And although we cleared the air, I still feel like a first-rate jackass.

Groaning, I shake my head. It’s clear I misjudged her. Monica puts up a good front, but she’s far more sensitive than I realized. Which makes me feel even worse for subjecting her to my family this weekend.

A wave of protectiveness sweeps through me as I take a deep breath. There’s no way I’m going to leave her alone tonight.

I snort. It was hard enough leaving her alone last night.

After dinner, I was frustrated and angry and went for a walk on the beach while Monica got ready for bed. I stayed out longer than anticipated, and by the time I returned, she was already asleep.

Thank the fates she’s such a sound sleeper because I woke up early this morning with my body wrapped around hers. Warm and content, I’d already started caressing her stomach before fully coming awake and realizing what I was doing. I carefully extracted myself and left before she woke, but the memory of her soft body pressed against mine has haunted me all day. I caught myself fantasizing more than once about where this morning could have gone if I’d stayed in bed longer.

As far as I can tell, she has no idea we were entangled last night, and it’s best to keep it that way. I’ll just have to work harder to stay on my side of the bed tonight.

Walking into the closet, I assess my appearance. Luckily, there’s a full-length mirror, so while Monica’s been in the bathroom, I’ve been able to style my hair and get dressed without having to guess at the final result.

Pulling on my cuffs to straighten my sleeves, I check for any wrinkles on my light gray suit. I opted for simple tonight—white dress shirt open at the collar, no tie, silk floral pocket square, and, in a nod to summer and because it’ll irritate my mother, no socks with my brown Ferragamo loafers.

I smooth back a strand of hair. “Monica! Let’s go! Chop chop.”

“I’m ready,” she says from behind me. “Relax.”

Smiling, I turn around and freeze. Although I saw her try on the dress at the store, tonight is different. She looks different.

“You’re not wearing your glasses.”

“Well spotted, Stanhope. I’m wearing contacts.”

“And your hair is down.”

She taps the side of her nose. “Nothing gets by you.”

“You look... stunning.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen before she looks away, smoothing a hand down her hair. “Thanks.”

Normally, I’d tease her about being embarrassed, but I’m having trouble pulling my thoughts together. The dress fits her perfectly, and she’s done her hair in a Veronica Lake style with loose waves, one side tucked behind her ear and the other draped over her shoulder. I’ve never noticed her wearing makeup before, but tonight she’s done something with her eyes to make them look bigger and more dramatic.

She lifts a brow. “Are we going?”

“Of course.”

I hold out my arm to indicate she should precede me as we leave the bedroom. I note the curve of her backside and the sway of her hips and am suddenly very glad she’s pretending to be my girlfriend.

It’ll give me an excuse to touch her.

As she walks down the stairs, my eyes trace the line of her neck and the slope of her shoulder.

I swallow.

On second thought, this night may prove to be a special kind of torture.

“There you are.”

My gaze snaps to the foyer, where my mother is standing, looking polished and imperious. We stop in front of her, and I wrap my arm around Monica’s waist, pulling her to my side.

“Monica, you look lovely.”

I bite back a snort when I detect a note of surprise in my mother’s voice. She really is a snob.

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