Page 3 of Perfectly Imperfect Us
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to keep coming back to try to say hello. Like every day. Maybe even twice a day.” I bit my lip and tried not to laugh. Irritating Ava as much as she irritated me had just slid to the top of my daily to-do list. I did have a lot of extra time on my hands these days now that I was retired.
I spun around to head back to my house when a familiar voice came through the door.
“You aresoannoying. And those pants are hideous.”
2
Ava
You know when you have one of those days where you leave the house and you feel like a million bucks? Your hair curls without that crease from the wand clip and your winged eyeliner goes on perfectly—onbothsides—and your outfit looks like you stepped right out of a celebrity mag?
I felt that way every day.
I know, I know. That sounded conceited, but really, I just put a lot of time and effort into looking good, so my percentage chance of leaving the house feeling like a million bucks went up substantially from your average person.
Today, though, was the exception to the rule.
I’d taken a chance on some new powder meant to last eighteen hours, and all the beauty bloggers were talking about it as if it was the pixie dust of our childhood dreams. It had gone on smooth and covered well, which was my priority in makeup. Coverage, baby.
Everything had been fine until Virgie Maywell decided to take out her foot pain on little ol’ me. Wasn’t my fault she had bunions that didn’t respond to those orthopedic shoes she wore every day. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were the black pair. Tuesday and Thursday were taupe. Not tan. I’d made that mistake before and she’d set me straight in no uncertain terms. Well, black pair had let her down and she’d snapped at me forty-five minutes before my shift was up on a Friday night the first week of summer.
Cooler restock.
Might as well have sent me to hell, which would have been the opposite temperature problem but the same result on my makeup. You ever gone from hot store to cold cooler back and forth with the humidity of a damp blanket pressing in on you the whole time you lifted heavy jugs of milk? No? Well, let me tell you, there wasn’t a square inch of my skin not covered by a coat of perspiration as thick as my irritation at my manager.
I came out of the cooler at quittin’ time and caught a glimpse of myself in the glass door. Apparently coverage meant something completely different to the beauty gurus. You could see my skin coming through in patches where the makeup had slicked right off my face.
Unacceptable.
I hightailed it out of there with my eyes locked on my feet and my hair swinging free to shield me from anyone’s stare. Would have made it to my house in peace just fine if it hadn’t been for Ryder Steele banging on my door like I had an obligation to open it. I caught a glimpse of his fine form from the front window, even though I’d know that voice anywhere. I’d just wanted to look at him. Sue me.
“You are so annoying,” I finally told him after he threatened to keep coming back. “And those pants are hideous.”
They weren’t. Not at all. In fact, they were the nicest pair of pants I’d ever laid eyes on and it wasn’t just because of the fine backside that filled them out like America’s top model. I’d bet they cost more than my antique truck outside.
I sneered, not that Ryder could see me through the thick wood door, but just thinking about him caused my lip to snarl up to my nose. I held my breath, wondering if he’d go away now that I’d acknowledged his presence. His ego probably couldn’t handle a girl ignoring him.
“These pantsarehideous, but they paid me good money to be their model, so…” His voice trailed off as my jaw dropped.
Mr. Famous and Gorgeous admitted his pants were ugly? Almost sounded like he was doing the right thing by his sponsor which would imply he had a conscience. I shook my head to clear it. That couldn’t be right. Everything I’d heard or seen about Ryder Steele said he was an entitled pretty boy living off his good looks and money, spending all his time with other pretty people. So predictable. So boring.
“You going to open this door at some point or are we gonna keep talking through a panel of wood?”
My heart raced at the thought of opening the door. Nope. No way that was happening.
“I think I like you better when I don’t have to see you.”
There was a pause. That probably wasn’t the nicest thing to say and I bet Ryder Steele never had a woman say she didn’t want to look at him with those puffy lips, razor-sharp cheekbones, and aquamarine eyes that hit you like a laser.
He was gorgeous, I could admit. But also so full of himself.
I mean, he’d been on the cover of every fashion magazine at some point in his career, walked the swankiest red carpets, been to every international fashion show, and he was coming over to be neighborly and say hi? Please. The boy was up to something and I did not have time to deal with him. I needed another full makeup session before I could leave the house again and hang with my girls. Besides filming YouTube makeup tutorials, spending time with my best friends saved my sanity after a shift at Knot a Chain.
“That’s surprisingly hurtful, Ava. We’re friends and now neighbors. The least you can do is open the door for a proper conversation.”
I rolled my eyes and then checked the time on my phone. “Our friends are friends.Weare not friends,” I clarified. “I have somewhere to be shortly, so if you don’t mind, I need to get ready.”
Another pause and I wondered what he was doing. Just staring at the door, or already checking his phone for texts from someone more interesting. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
