Page 20 of Dirty Roxie
ME: Exactly.
ME: How’s it going with you?
JEN: Good. Heading back home in a few days to see my parents.
ME: Oh wow. Think you-know-who will be there?
JEN: If he is, I’m prepared this time.
ME: Hell yes you are. You kick ass, woman.
JEN: I’ll kill him if I must.
ME: I’ll help.
JEN: LOL You won’t be there.
ME: Fine, I’ll take the blame for you. I’ll last way longer in prison than you will.
JEN: Shut up. Bitch.
ME: Love you too.
JEN: I gotta run. Stay safe, Rox. Keep me posted.
ME: Will do. Love you for real.
JEN: Love you back.
I fuss with my wig in the mirror, then swipe another coat of mascara on my already heavily made-up eyes. Anything to look busy and distract myself until Ronan comes out of the bedroom and I can replace the image of wet soapy naked Ronan in my mind with fully clothed, stuffed shirt, muckety-muck, fancy pants Ronan.
It’s weird seeing a reflection staring back at me that isn’t familiar. Not my hair, the precise cut and dark hair make my features look different, more asymmetrical somehow. Not my face with the dark-rimmed eyes and the red lips. It’s like looking at an entirely different person. And surely an entirely different looking person is worthy of an entirely different acting person, right?
I adopt a cool and aloof expression, turning this way and that, deciding I like the way it settles into my features. That’s who this girl is. She’s not loud and obnoxious like Roxie. She’s calm and collected. Not quite reserved, or shy, more vocal and judgmental. Elite with an attitude. And with good reason, because she’sMrs-Fucking-Johnson. Married to the devastatingly handsome, Mr. Johnson, staying at the most upscale resort in Medellín, Colombia.
Ronan’s face appears in the mirror beside mine, I hadn’t even heard him approach.
“I like this look.” He rests his palms on my shoulders, his skin warm against mine. “A lot.”
I can’t stop the shiver that runs through my body from both the compliment and the touch. I take advantage of his presence and get a good look at him in the mirror. First, his newly blond hair. Where I thought it would make him look washed out, it works devastatingly well. His chiseled features seem even more prominent, and his eyes beckon like dark pools of molten heat. For tonight, he’s got it slicked back and gathered at the nape of his neck. I’ve never been a fan of longish hair or ponytails on men, until now.
My eyes travel down his torso—his tuxedo looks as though it was custom made for him. Shit, it probably was.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box. “Before I forget.” The box opens and inside lies the most beautiful wedding ring set I’ve ever seen. If I were to want to get married, which I don’t, this would be the exact thing I would want for myself.
“I hope they fit,” he says as he pulls the two rings out of the box and then holds up my left hand with his right and uses his other to slide the rings onto my ring finger. The diamond band first, followed by the solitaire. The two fitting together with some sort of zigzag in the band that fits around the setting of the solitaire. The diamond seems to float in between in a beautiful Bezel setting versus a normal prong style.
I hold my hand up to study it. The diamonds sparkle in the waning sunlight coming through the window. Decorating the walls with a myriad of tiny rainbow prisms. How is it that he knows what I would like? I don’t even think I knew what I liked until I saw this.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
“It reminded me of you,” he says, taking my hand back in his and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.
It’s unfair. The injustice of wanting to fuck someone who doesn’t care to fuck you back. And what the hell kind of man is he that he doesn’t just want to have sex for the sake of having sex? Isn’t that human nature? What every person wants always?
How can he possibly touch me like this and not want to have sex?
Not to mention, why is he being so nice all of a sudden?
“Wait,” I say. “Where’s yours?”
He lifts his left hand up and I see the platinum band shining back at me. I meet his gaze in the mirror, desire reflecting in his eyes. I take his hand and repeat the gesture, inhaling the subtle scent of body wash and maleness remaining on his skin. He holds my stare and a rush of adrenaline tempered by a wave of relief courses through my body. Adrenaline from the desire of wanting someone who is standing this close to me. And relief from finally getting the confirmation Ronan Sinclair wants to fuck me too.
