Page 9 of Wicked Little Game
5
RUBY
It’s already late morning when I wake up. Probably more like early noon. But I have nothing to attend to, no job where I need to be, and I sincerely don’t want to listen to James bitching in the early hours of the day.
The sun is blinding outside, and I decide to spend the day at the pool. Remembering James' comments about my outfit yesterday I rummage through my drawers, looking for the tiniest bikini I can find.
After a while, I get a hold of one that I usually wear for tanning. A tiny triangle top and bottoms that Sarah called “dental floss” when I bought them on one of our shopping trips.
Sometimes I miss spending time with her, but then I look at my phone and see the countless ignored messages.
I put on my bikini and throw an oversized shirt on before I grab a big towel and my necessities for a day at the pool, and make my way down the stairs. Upon seeing me, James shakes his head like a disapproving grandma. And he hasn’t even seen my bikini yet. This is going to be good.
I try to ignore the fact thatprovoking Jamesisn’t the only reason for my outfit.
While he is a humongous asshole and the biggest killjoy I have ever met, he’s still fucking hot. Muscular thighs that would make a wonderful seat, a slim waist and broad shoulders. Tall, and with arms so big that I’m pretty sure that both of my hands wouldn’t be able to wrap around them.
And those are not just pretty muscles to show off. It’s obvious that there’s pure strength inside of him. I noticed it when he almost ripped my arm clean off on the first night.
What slightly pisses me off is that he seems so uninterested in me. I know it sounds vain, maybe even a bit egocentric, but the last few bodyguards made it pretty clear that they found me attractive from the get-go. Most men I meet do this, in varying degrees of creepiness.
But James doesn’t, not in the slightest. It’s the opposite. He doesn’t even look at me and when he does, he’s pulling a face like I’m a pile of dog shit at a park. Well, at least the minuscule part of his face that I can see. It messes with my self-esteem and I don’t like it.
As I put my things on a lounger by the pool, I notice that he deliberately turned his back towards the open terrace door. I spread out my towel and get comfortable.
The day goes by in a blur. I’m reading for most of it, turning from my stomach on my back, hopping in the pool to cool down and get back to tanning again, interrupted by dozing off every few hours. It’s wonderful and I have to admit that my father’s wealth definitely has its perks.
James does his best to not look out here. He keeps on sitting in his chair for half the day, switches between staring into his phone, into his laptop, and into the void, and then he vanishes, probably towards the gym, judging by his outfit.
The sun is already setting, making it uncomfortable to continue reading my book. Since James is nowhere to be seen,seemingly far enough away for me to have at least a bit of freedom, I decide to get myself a glass of wine.
My father doesn’t like it when I drink. Myattitude, as he calls it, admittedly increases as soon as I’m a little tipsy. It got me into a bit of a hassle with the son of one of his business partners a few years ago, but the creep just couldn’t keep his hands to himself and I didn’t want to accept that.
I sneak off towards the wine cellar. It’s more of a small wine shed, located slightly hidden in the garden. Chills wash over my body as soon as I enter, even though I pulled my shirt back on for the short walk.
A bottle of white wine near the entrance calls my name and I take it with me. The label is pretty, and that is honestly the only information I need to pick out my wine.Like a real sommelier.
I rush back to the pool before James sees that I’m gone and gets all hysterical. But he’s still nowhere to be seen. Now that I’m no longer close to freezing to death, I take a better look at the bottle I brought.
Okay, this one is expensive. I make a mental note to discard the empty bottle somewhere my father won’t see it. The wine may be expensive, but a sip from the bottle confirms it’s not sweet at all.
I sneak inside the house to get a glass, a bit of syrup, and sparkling water. Makes even the driest wine drinkable.
Just when I walk back outside, a deep voice catches my attention. James stands in the middle of the living room, a towel around his neck, and I try really hard not to stare at the imprint of his dick on his sweatpants. He clears his throat and I force myself to look somewhere else.
“What are you doing?”
“Enjoying my evening,” I answer. The attention-starved part of my brain takes over as I walk back out on the patio,turning around to him again halfway to my lounger. “You want a glass?”
He hesitates for a second and I’m sure that this is a no as I put my glass on the ground and lay down on my lounger.
“One,” he grumbles, acting like he is doing me a favor by accepting my offer. Which is kind of the embarrassing truth.
“Fine. Then bring one with you.”
He comes over with a water glass in his hand and I want to chuckle, but then I remember that I just drank straight from the bottle, also not very classy.
I don’t offer him syrup or sparkling water. I bet he likes to drink his wine the boring way and if that isn’t the case, he’s free to add stuff on his own. I won’t start behaving like I’m his servant, no matter how much I want him tofucking look at me.
