Page 30 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“Do you really need them?” he asks, his voice soft as butter.
My eyes swim in his, baffled. I’m nearly cross-eyed from how close we’re suddenly standing. “Of … Of course I need them. How can I do the interview without any questions?”
“We can just … talk,” Cole suggests sweetly.
“Talk?” I blurt out, like I’m allergic to the word.
“Yeah.” With his face so unnecessarily close to mine, I notice every subtle movement. When he draws breath. When his lips curl at the corners, appearing amused. When his eyes widen ever so slightly, indicating surprise. “We can make this easy,” he says with that Cole-brand confidence, showing me just how easy everything comes to him, even speaking words. “You and I can just chat about whatever comes to mind. How’s that sound?”
Then Cole has the audacity to smile.
That dashing, perfect, movie-screen smile.
Pearly whites. Flawless lips. The faintest hint of dimples at the corners of his mouth. The way his face lights up like the sun when he smiles, pouring all of his beauty and charm onto me with such laughably minimal effort.
“Don’t you want to chat freely with me, Noah?” he asks, his smile deepening.
Why is he being so irresponsible with that smile of his?
Doesn’t he know how it can affect people around him? How it can be confusing?
How it can bedevastating?
The next second, he grabs his thigh and hisses out, dropping right back into his chair. “Oh, fuck!”
I take a step back, alarmed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Ch-Charley! H-H-Horse! Fuck!”
Without thinking, I drop to my knees in front of the armchair, at his feet. “Here?” I ask, placing my hands on his left upper thigh where he seems to be helplessly and feebly grabbing at.
“Higher!” he squeaks like a chew toy.
I slide my hands up his thigh a few inches. “Here?”
“H-Higher! Urgh!”
My hands slide into his shorts. “Uh … here …?”
“Almost! Almost! Fuck, this is a bad one…!”
My fingers slide even further up his shorts.
The top of my hand grazes something else.
Something firm yet pliable.
His bulge.
Through his underwear.
“Here?” I ask meekly.
“Yes!” he groans. “Right there!”
I completely ignore what else my hand is brushing up against as I dig my fingers into his thigh, massaging and working out the knot causing Cole such unrelenting anguish. He grits his teeth the whole time, hissing through them, eyes squeezed shut. I apply as much tenderness as I do strength. I can literally feel the tightened muscle with my fingers, how they’ve knotted up like a baseball.
The more I massage, the more my fingers graze his privates.
