Page 77 of Prince Charmless
“Hey, Melina, I was kidding.” I grab her wrist before she goes too far. “Why are you denying yourself?”
She exhales. “I don’t want to feel like your interim fun.”
“What do you meaninterim?”
Her eyes close. “Don’t make me say it out loud.”
“Well, I am. Say it out loud.”
“Don’t you have to have kids and, you know, court a wife soon? It’d feel like you’re wasting your time with me. I’m not really a hit-it-and-quit-it type girl. Or at least, uh, not anymore.”
I grab her other hand. “You’re not a waste of my time. Why would you—” I look up to the sky to collect my thoughts. “Not to sound like a complete douchebag, but I’m pretty efficient with one-night stands. If I wanted one, I would’ve asked already.”
Melina stiffens. I might’ve scared her.
I grab a fluffy white towel from the table. Cassie must’ve brought them out, and I didn’t notice. I wrap it around her shoulders, then pull her snug. She looks up at me with those big brown eyes. Even when she’s a wet mess, I have to do everything in my power not to kiss her. She probably doesn’t want that right now.
“You think too much,” I say instead. “You’re too good for this world to be thinking too much.”
I succumb to leaving a peck on her hairline before walking away.
Maybe I should lay off for a while.
24
Melina
Instead of processing whatever happened back on the patio, I smoked a bit more of Cassie’s weed. Taylor didn’t seem to mind my chattiness. While I told him about all the ways I think AI is going to take over the world, he just sat there with his eyes closed, listening, being. He only interrupted once to tell me how brown my eyes are.Your irises remind me of the chocolate dusting on a tiramisu,he said. We haven’t gotten the chance to be alone together again, and he hasn’t touched me since.
After we came back to earth, Cassie and Neil took us on their boat. Exceptboatmight be an understatement. The thing resembles a small pirate ship. Taylor knows how to sail because most rich people in St. Claire do. We had a sailing field trip in elementary school once, but I didn’t retain any information to be of any help. Much to Cassie’s chagrin, the boys did most of the work. She’s currently being tortured by Neil, who’s making her take it easy while pregnant. That didn’t stop her from backseat-sailing, however. I don’t think I thought about work or royal gossip the whole voyage. Instead, I distracted myself by watching Taylor’s hair fluff in the wind. I like the way he handles ropes and says nautical terms likestarboardall seriously.
It’s impossible to hide anymore. I like his company, and now I know he likes mine. In a perfect world, this would end in a date, but something about that doesn’t feel right. I can’t date a prince. It’s too Telenovela. What would be the point of exploring our feelings if the ending has already been spoiled? Yes, thinking about marriage when we’ve only kissed sounds completely psychotic, but how can I not? Marriage and kids are the two topbullet points in a prince’s job description. Two things I know are true: I’m not going to be the Princess of St. Claire, and this is nothing more than an ephemeral crush.
“How good are you at pool, Melina?” Cassie asks, chalking up her cue.
Her face glows purple from the neon beer signs. Harry’s Tavern is dark and sticky. Some might call it gross, but I’ll call it local.
“I played some in university,” I tell her. “But not much since then. Don’t expect any skill.”
“I’ll be Taylor’s partner then. Neil’s the best shot out of all of us.
Her husband lifts the triangle rack off the table. Neil’s very much the silent type. When he does speak, it’s always sailing-related conversation. I can tell what Cassie sees in her gruff seaman with a sensitive vegan side. For the past hour, I’ve been asking them questions about their business. I love it when people talk about their passions, but it almost makes me a little sad. I wish I were as passionate about my job.
I sip the last of my beer. “I’m going to get another. One of you should break. It’d be pathetic if it were me.”
“I’ll do it,” Taylor says.
Tonight’s black button-down is a more casual shirt than his usual pressed and tucked ones. The three buttons undone render him a bit pornstary, but I guess he’s in party mode. Who am I to complain about man cleavage? He’s wearing glasses because his right contact got ruined by the pool’s chlorine, and he didn’t bring an extra pair. I should feel bad about blinding him, but he protrudes this whole Clark Kent vibe that makes it very hard not to.
Taylor hands me his drink, takes a step back, then bends over the table. Some hair falls over his forehead as he lines up with the white ball, biting his lip to concentrate. Kill me now. After aswift motion, the balls shatter, and eventually the striped eleven sinks. He leans back and bonks me on the head with his cue.
“Did you see that?” he asks like a toddler who just did a somersault. “There is truly nothing I can’t do.”
He sounds like a cat poster. I’m guessing he doesn’t go to bars very often. I thought it’d be nice to see him in this kind of setting, but Taylor amongst average people in an average bar makes me wish that he was just that, average. Maybe we could’ve worked something out if he were an accountant.
He runs a hand through his hair and takes the beer back. Oh yeah, I said I was getting another one. I got distracted by the pool porn. Speaking of pool porn, I’ve been thinking about him shirtless all day. I wish the guy had a physical flaw. How can I let a man with a perfect face and a runner’s body grip my ass cheek like he owns it and get away scot-free?
I mull over this conundrum as I squeeze between the Harry’s Tavern regulars.
