Page 27 of Catfish

If the next thing she tells me is that he cried about it, I’m going to have them both thrown out.

Lucky for her, my cell buzzes in my left hand. But before I can peer down, the Skipper doll speaks again.

“Thank you again so much for sending someone out to do this for him,” Emmy Lou quips. “I hope this isn’t the last event I get to see you at.” She gives me a wink—playfully or patronizing, I’m not sure—then swiftly dismisses me with her back.

Damn, Skipper, I always thought you were underrated, but apparently not.

Well played.

? Beautiful Girls — Sean Kingston ?

She’s here.

My body buzzes and rattles at each click of her heels in my direction, hinting that I’m her mission.

So much for never meeting.

The woman who's held my week-long fantasy of ripping her Boston Red Sox gear off, dropping it in a pit of fire, and fucking her in front of it is yards away from me.

Yards.

And each step Reagan takes in her navy blue gown, that highlights every one of her curves, only confirms that she’s on her way to come see me.

Fucking blue.

I knew it’d look perfect on her skin. My imagination didn’t do her any justice because she looks a million times better in person.

Almost unreal.

The normally composed man that I'd describe myself as—he took off and fled the fucking building. My inhales and exhales are staggered at best as she steals and stomps on each one the closer she gets out of the corner of my eye.

But her talking to me, isn’t going to fucking happen.

And as much as I’d love to hear the tone of her voice, to know the pitch and how softly it resonates through the air, my rationality knows we can’t meet.

Ever.

The man who's been hiding behind his best friend, who thank fuck isn't with me tonight, is fully aware that what I'm doing is wrong.

I don't know what sort of hopes and dreams she has with that Bumblebee app, but it's not going to be a happily ever after with me. I'm the prince who locked himself in his own castle, not available to go out and meet a princess.

But fuck a princess when you have a seductress who entices every illusion and figment of your imagination at your fingertips—literally.

I don’t know what made me look in her direction at first, it was just a strong feeling that suddenly overcame me. As though I could sense her even though I’ve never physically met her.

My gaze fights with me to take another look. To give it another few seconds to let me soak her in under the chandelier lighting. To examine the curve of her hips or see a glint of any body part that I can sear to memory.

My eyes want to study and gape one more time because they’ll never see her again.

They can’t.

Thankfully, Em came right to my side, to probably ask me a question, but I threw her in as a roadblock. Surprisingly, she didn't waste a minute to argue with me. Maybe she heard the desperation in my voice or the pure dread seeping off every syllable, but her ass moves to cut her off.

It'll pose a twenty-minute question and answer session afterward, but I'd rather deal with her than stare at Reagan like a deer in headlights.

While my petite assistant acts as a bodyguard, I pretend to listen to Senator John Caldson preach about solar power panels. His proposal is making hard-working families pay for them instead of the government.

He’s a fucking idiot.

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