Say what you want about me being an asshole, but I’m not selfish. I put the people I care about above myself—which, yes, I can happen to count on one hand—and I notice things.
For instance, I noticed how Maren’s breath caught in her throat, how she had to shift from one leg to the other to try to ignore how much my words affected her. I noticed that she looked at me with shock, lust, and shame behind her eyes before she quickly looked away.
Shit, the things I would do if she’d let me, if I’d let myself. I’d bring her into the back hallway, the coat closet, even the fucking bathroom and call hermygood girl, compliment her like she deserves untilshe’s begging and shaking and then begging again. Erase every fucking doubt from her mind that Russell put there.
To think, she doesn’t evenknowhow good I could make her feel just with words. This dress is so thin I can feel that she’s not wearing any underwear, and she’s probably wet from my unintentional little discovery—I should think about anything else right now.
My grandmother.
My upcoming tax return.
Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California…
Presidents? George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson… this is what two years of college gets me.
But my hand is still on her. I don’t really want to let go, even though I should, because I’ve already gotten a fix after trying so hard to stay away, and I want to ride the high. So, I simply will.
And fuck Russell Ashe. I’ll make Maren forget he even spoke to her tonight.
“I’m looking forward to my peaceful, quiet, picture-free day tomorrow,” I tease, sliding her newly deposited wine glass closer to her. She eases herself up on the now empty seat behind her and comes inches closer to my face. I run a hand down her arm.
“How far away do I have to stand?” she asks.
Fuck, if my fingers don’t tense against her involuntarily before I break contact. “I have very good hearing.”
“I don’t believe you.” She places a palm against my chest and tries to playfully push me backward, but I don’t budge. “Did you even want to play golf professionally?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Things,” she says and waits for my answer that isn’t going to come. “Okay… did you want to graduate from college?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Just like I say a lot of words.” The challenge in her voice rises at the end, throwing my own words back at me.
For someone who does both, she certainly listens well too.
“I never said that it was a bad thing,” I tell her.
She bites her lip in thought. “I guess you didn’t. Is it a bad thing?”
“No,” I tell her truthfully.
She gasps and smiles. “Youcananswer questions.”
“I can do lots of things.”
Maren’s ears go pink at the tone of my voice.
The woman sitting behind me gets up, so I pull the stool closer to Maren and sit back on the edge.
She tenses when she glances over my shoulder, eyes a mix of torture and worry, and I turn to see Craig has walked in, thankfully with his camera at his side.
I raise my hand and let myself wrap a palm along her jaw. “Focus back here. You’re safe with me. I’ll sue them if they air any footage of me.”
She rolls her eyes like I’m joking. “You made the right choice not being a part of it.”
“Forget it’s there. And Iwillsue.”