Page 101 of Our Little Cliche
“Don’t be. Who needs that title anyway? I have you.”
“And you will for always.”
“Have you checked your phone for an email from him?”
“No, I’ve been with Susan,” she pulls out her phone, flicking through the apps, but then her face falls even more. “Oh.”
“Let me guess. You’re fired?”
“…Yep,” she pops thep.
“Well, screw that prick and his wasted publishing company. Get in,” I say as a red BMW rolls by the entrance. “Let’s take you home. Toourhome.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
HOLLY
Six weeks later…
In a failingattempt to braid my hair the way I want to, I huff, feeling my cheeks flush with frustration. “Gahh, stupid hair,” I vent, throwing my brush on the bed and crossing my arms.
He should be home any minute now and I’m not even ready. My hair is a bloody disaster.Though, he’d still love me even with enough grease in my hair to drizzle a pork for the crunchiest crackling.
But today, my hair just doesn’t want to cooperate with my technique. I want to look good… uhh, sorry, scratch that, I want to lookover the topfor Cyrus today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and he deserves to have me pretty in red, the color of love. I got my nails polished this morning with a simple french tip, and less than 24 hours ago I waxed from head to toe—which Ido notrecommend doing by the way, unless you enjoy the feeling of your skin separating from the subcutaneous tissue—for my fake tan to go on, that I’ve only just washed off.
“Is that a cranky princess in distress I hear?” Cyrus’s voice rumbles from the other side of the bedroom door, startling me.I didn’t even hear the front door.But then again, he is good at stalking.“On your special day?”
“Hey, no peeking!” I shout, running to nudge the door closed. “And I’m pretty sure Valentine’s Day isourspecial day,”
I can hear his hands press against the door, his muffled voice vibrating through it. “Nope. You get all the special princess treatment today because you mean the world to me, and it’s my job to make sure you are spoiled rotten.”
“That’s not fair, what about you?”
“Me? I get spoiled rotten too…” There’s a playful note to his heated tone. “Burying my face between your legs is what I call being spoiled rotten.”
“Naughty.”
“Indeed. So, what has you so worked up, anyway?”
My tongue rests on the back of my upper teeth, split seconds away from pronouncing the wordnothing, but he speaks again. “Don’t you dare.”
I sigh.He knows me too well.“It’s my hair.”
“What’s wrong with it? Oh, don’t tell me… you’ve gone bald, haven’t you? Or accidentally dyed it blue?”
“No, ya muppet,” I toy, leaning around the bathroom door to catch another glimpse at my very muchUN-styledhair in the mirror. “I just can’t get it to sit right. I was trying to braid it so it looked nice under a beanie as well as when I take it off without it frizzing, but I just can’t?—”
“Fuck.”
I crane my neck over my shoulder, seeing Cyrus’s stoic gaze burning over my body.So much for no peeking.I’m only wearing my new matching red lingerie set, and since he said red is his favorite color on me I think it’s safe to say that I have successfully short circuited his brain.
“You like?” I ask, even though I didn’t need to. His eyes drop to the now obvious bulge in his pants, then back up to me withado you really need an answerlook on his face. “Hmm, that’s a yes, then.”
My cheeks heat to his warm hands as he plants them there, then slides them down to cradle the nape of my neck. “If it wasn’t for this reservation, I’d be having you right here, right now,” he says, grabbing a bundle of my hair from each side, and twirls it between his fingers. “But it’s going to have to wait, because if we don’t leave in the next 10 minutes, we’re going to miss our schedule.”
The northern lights.
What is it with us and missing, or nearly missing important events?
