Page 3 of Strings
“Sebastian Corronov,” he says, holding out his hand on the sly for me to shake it. “Not Adam.” When I glare down at his hand and roll my eyes, he pulls it back and glances over toward Bella to make sure she didn’t see him. “And I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”
“Is thatreallyyour name?”
“Sebastian? Yes, why?”
“Sebastian Corronov sounds like a Russian mobster’s name. I should have sat next to Sneezy.” I mumble incoherently to myself as I wipe the sweat from my brow and adjust the airflow above me. Is it possible it’s hotter in here than the airport? He snickers lightly as if he’s amused by me. It agitates me even more.
Is there a sign on my forehead that sayseasy mark? I’ve been pulled into way too many schemes in my life. I’m not participating in whatever game he’s decided to play with this chick’s heart.
The flight attendants deliver their best song and dance about wearing your seatbelts and what to do in case of an emergency as the man with the weird name stares at me nervously.
“Can I explain? I really need to explain.”
I’m uncomfortable in more ways than one. My seat belt is twisted and cutting into my hip. I unbuckle the belt, rotate the strap, re-buckle myself, and tighten it across my waist. He’s waiting for me to answer. Realizing the sooner he gets it off his chest, the sooner he’ll leave me alone, I say, “Go ahead. Explain.”
“We work together. She’s been throwing herself at me for what seems like forever.”
I gaze over at Bella as she dries her eyes. Sneezy has an entire box of tissues and he’s sharing. She’s wearing a designer dress and heels with red bottoms. I may have never owned a pair, but I know what they mean. She screams money. Her long black hair flows gloriously around her neck in waves that appear natural and create a stunning contrast against the bright blue of her wrap dress. My hair used to be long and dark like that. Now it’s short and blond. But even with my hair long, I never looked like her. She seems like the kind of girl who wakes up looking like a million bucks. I turn back to face Sebastian. “Aww, you poor thing. She’s hideous. It must be awful for you.”
“If I’ve learned anything in my thirty years, it’s that you can’t judge a book by its cover. Yes, she’s pretty on the outside, but inside she’s a hot mess.”
“We’re all a hot mess—usually because some guy fucked us over. What did you do to her to make her that way?”
He scrubs his hand over his face and I can tell he’s frustrated. I can’t help but crack a grin. I like irritating people way too much. I was supposed to be working on becoming a different person, and so far I haven’t changed anything other than my appearance. Being me has never worked to my advantage. Maybe I should do the opposite of what my gut tells me from here on out. What ifnotbeing me in every way shape and form is the key to my success?
I attempt to soften my cold steel heart. “Okay. Start over. So Bella has been throwing herself at you…” I motion for him to continue and try to seem more interested in what he’s saying.
He seems relieved I’m willing to listen. “For some reason, she likes me. I’ve tried to give her every reason not to, but she still thinks I’m grand.”
He removes his glasses and starts to clean them on his shirt. His eyes are a deep shade of blue, like the ocean on crack. I guess I hadn’t noticed just how blue they were because they were hard to see behind his lenses. It takes me aback. He’s actually handsome if you’re into the geeky thing. He’s cuter without glasses. I decide to check out the rest of him.
His fingernails are manicured to perfection although a little longer than I usually like. Most guys I know from home have grease forever embedded under them. His fingers are long and his hands are strong. I can see the veins in them. They almost seem muscular like he uses them a lot. Maybe he’s a surgeon.
He’s wearing expensive jeans and a button-down blue shirt with a brand name logo on it. I sniff the air, and the scent coats my nostrils lovingly like a massage to my senses. It’s not the cheap cologne I’m used to. That stuff makes you cough and burns your nose hairs when you breathe. He obviously has money like Bella. Maybe she’s a doctor too.
I rub my temples with my fingers and steal a quick glance her way. She’s still staring. Closing my eyes briefly, I imagine Bella standing next to Sebastian in front of a patient’s door in a hospital. They’re both wearing scrubs made of dollar bills. People walk past them and hand them their money. They can barely hold it all and it falls to the floor. I smirk as I picture myself lying at their feet and stuffing their leftovers into my bra. The old version of me perks up a little at the thought of making a few bucks, and I have to internally slap her to remind her she’s trying to change.
I gaze at him once more as he holds his glasses toward the light to check if they’re clean. He has deep circles under his eyes that cause me to wonder if he has problems sleeping or works too much to sleep. I knew someone who had insomnia and had similar marks. Something in my gut tells me he’s stressed.
I imagine being a doctor and cutting people open is stressful. Then again, mobsters cut people open, too. Don’t mobsters have dirty fingernails, though? I try to remember what Bobby Bullseyes’ hands looked like, and I shudder thinking about him. Sebastian may have the name of a crime lord, but he doesn’t fit the part. Watching him carefully reposition his glasses on his face, I decide he seems like the kind of guy who would feel bad for killing a fly. I bet he catches them and lets them go outside, all while reciting a speech about living life to the fullest.
“We were in Detroit on business and we had a few drinks.”
His voice snaps me back to the issue at hand. “Drinks, huh? So you got wasted and slept with her?”
“No, of course not.”
He seems mortified that I might think that. Is it the drinking or the sex? Is he a holy roller or something? He said he was thirty. Surely, by now, he’s had his fair share of one-night stands and random hook-ups. I stopped counting years ago. Why is that so offensive?
“I agreed to have dinner with her. We had wine, but no one got drunk. It was late. We’d been working all day. I figured once she got to know me better, she’d see I’m not a catch and be on her way.”
“It didn’t work?”
“No. It didn’t. When I explained I’m a workaholic with a demanding personality, she only seemed more interested, so I Iisted all my flaws.” He counts them on his fingers. “I’m messy. I don’t know how to cook. I swear. I hate cheese.”
I snicker. “You hate cheese?”
“No, I love cheese. But who hates cheese? You have to be mentally insane to not like cheese, right?”
