Page 7 of First Comes Forever

“Or what?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Lunch.”

She laughs. “I don’t think so, Adam Montgomery,” she says.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I grimace. “Ouch.”

“Ouch?” Her brows knit together in confusion.

“Yeah. It’s never fun to hear that a pretty girl doesn’t find you attractive in return.” I pretend to pout at her. “There’s only one reason you’d turn me down without really knowing me.”

Rolling her eyes, she crosses the space between us. She drops her shoes before she straightens the collar of my dress shirt with both hands, sending a shiver down my back. She’s so close I can breathe her in.

Fuck.I resist withdrawing.

That smell.

She smells good, but something about that scent makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It’s light and floral…like… I can’t quite put my finger on it. But it’s something distinct that I remember.

Amani drops her hands to my shoulders, brushing off the nonexistent crumbs. It seems like she’s just finding any excuse to touch me. I like her hands on me. Her touch is tender, which does not match the goofy cross-eyed smile she flashes me as she pokes her tongue out. “I don’t want your poor ego taking a hit. You’re tolerable.”

I place my hand over hers and she flinches. But she doesn’t pull away as I remove her hand from my shoulder and weave my fingers between hers. “So, it’s my personality? Because I can work on that.” I give her hand a little squeeze and she must feel the little jolt as well because she rips her hand out of my grip.

Taking a small step backward, she says, “Your words, not mine.” She scrunches her nose playfully.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Not that I’ve seen any indication of a man in Amani’s life on social media. Then again, most successful influencers these days are becoming pretty skilled at talking constantly at the world, yet keeping their private livesprivate.

“Definitely not,” she mutters, her tone unmistakably bitter. She bends down, her legs pressed together, to scoop her shoes by their straps. Smoothing her dark purple, skin-tight mini dress as she stands, she tries and fails to pull the hem an inch lower. The dress seems determined to ride back up, revealing her mid-thighs.

“Then what’s the issue? If you want me to earn your attention, Amani, just let me know I at least have a shot. Then, believe me, I’m willing to work for it.”

“Right there,” she says. “That’s the issue. Smooth line, Adam. Exactly what a woman wants to hear—”

“Well, I mean it—”

“Which means it’s rehearsed,” she says, cutting me off. She pumps her eyebrows twice and her expression screams that I’m caught. I just don’t know what for.

“Rehearsed?”

“Yes,you flirt. The very first thing I noticed when I walked in tonight was you making your rounds, hitting on everything with a pulse.” She laughs. “I’m not looking to join the body count.”

“I’m sorry, all I just heard is that I was the first person you noticed when you walked in. I’m really flattered. Seriously, I was beginning to think this infatuation was a little one-sided.” I gesture to the space between us while my smile grows wide. Amani seems unimpressed with my teasing, so I exhale and lazily roll my eyes. “I wasn’t hitting on anyone. It’s called schmoozing. Half the people here are playmakers in Hollywood. My literal job is making and keeping connections with these people.”

She deadpans. “The busty blonde who, gun to her head, could not spell the word orange is a Hollywood playmaker?” Her tone is full of skepticism and she’s trying hard not to laugh.

“That…is not…she…” I trail off. To be honest, I’m not stalling due to a guilty conscience. It’s just that half of the women here are blondes with sizable breasts, and most of them are so drunk and high right now, they really couldn’t spell orange. I have no idea who she’s talking about.

Hannah fits the description, and her dad owns Studio Fourteen. Despite her best efforts, it’s why I’ve never touched the girl. A messy fallout after a one-night stand is a great way to piss off her very powerful father and get Chase on the permanent shit list for one of the industry’s biggest production companies.

She holds her palms in the air. “Hey, I’m not trying to be an asshole. Your life seems fun, Adam. But right now, contrary to popular belief, it’s not what I’m looking for.”

I squint at her. “You’re not looking forfun?”

She swivels her pointer finger in the air. “I’m looking for less of this.”

“Listening to strangers pee? Or do you mean celebrity birthday party ragers?”

She chuckles at least. “Both,” she responds.

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