Page 33 of Faux Real
“What—” She swallows, pressing her lips into a thin line, her sheepish eyes narrowing in embarrassment. “I wasn’t—” She clears her throat, tucking a wayward hair behind her ear before aggressively shoving a pastry bag into my chest. “Here! Have a muffin.”
“A muffin?” I ask, letting out an amused laugh as I take hold of the bag. Did she just give me her breakfast?
“It’s blueberry,” she peeps, noticeably avoiding looking at me. “It’s... good. From Elle’s... in town?”
“Yes, I know what Elle’s Café is,” I muse, oddly entertained by her stuttering. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“I—uh—” She bites her lip as she thinks, attempting to formulate a cohesive sentence, no doubt. “I ran into town to get you a copy of the master key and stopped for a snack. You weren’t at dinner or um...breakfast so I thought maybe you’d be hungry or something.” She pauses, almost wincing. “Is that plausible?”
I lean across the threshold and whisper, “Not at all.”
She nods, taking a step back, a nervous giggle escaping her pink lips. “Well, we’re just going to go with that anyway. Right so—” She tightens her ponytail before reaching into her pocket and holding out a key. “Here you go. Don’t lose it, okay? I don’t want to go back to town this week.”
“Thanks.” I narrow my eyes at her as I take the golden key from her hand, our fingers grazing. “Did you actuallyrunto town?” I ask, scanning her outfit again.
“Yes, I just got back,” she says, her eyes unable to focus on solely my face.This girl.
“That’s a fifteen-kilometer round trip.” I cross my arms, bulging out my pecs as I lean against the door frame, hoping to torture her a little more. “A long way to run.”
“It’s tenmilesactually,” she corrects me in a whisper as she runs a hand over her rising chest. Is she getting hot?Hmm. “We’re in the States, remember?”
“How could I forget,” I say, my gaze following the slow sweeping of her hand across her spilling tits. Does she know what she’s doing? Bloody minx. “Are you turned on or something?”
“What?” Kennedy freezes, dropping her arms to her sides, her startled eyes darting to mine. Oh,finallysome eye contact. I was beginning to feel like a piece of meat.
“You keep touching yourself,” I observe, cocking my head to the side. “I can’t help but think it’s because you’re turned on.”
Her jaw drops. “I am notturned on!” she protests, shaking her head feverishly. “It’s just hot in here and my hand is cold, and I just ran fifteen kilometers. Miles! Fifteen miles. Ten miles! You’d be a little hot too if you ran that far, so don’t stand there and make shit up about me being, you know...I’m not—It’s not—” She takes a deep breath, her face crimson, her eyes bugging out of their sockets. “Put on a fucking shirt!”
“Why?” I ask, grinning at the blubbering idiot in front of me. “Am I distracting you?”
Kennedy tosses me a tight-lipped smile. “Nope.I’mfine. Areyoudistracted?”
I give her chest an obvious once-over. “A tad.”
Kenny immediately zips up her hoodie in a huff, facing away from me. “So inappropriate!”
“Me?” I ask, laughing while checking out her ass. She must runa lot. “You were the one staring at me like I was an eclipse.”
“I was notstaring.I was—” She tightens her ponytail again. A nervous tick perhaps. “I was just—” She pauses. “I wasn’t—” A beat. “Fuck,” she mutters almost inaudibly.
“It’s alright, love,” I coo. “It’s not your fault. I tend to get this reaction quite frequently. After all, it’s human nature to appreciate a work of art.”
She whips her head around, no longer flustered. “Aworkofart?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Isthathow you see yourself? Wow, cocky.”
I shrug. “Clearly that’s howyouseeme.”
“I’ll have you know that I was looking at themoleon your chest,” she says, pointing her finger. “It looks a little abnormal. Maybe you should—”
“Go get it checked out?” I smirk. “Like my hand?”
“Mhmm,” she hums. “You seem to have lots of potential medical issues.”
I chuckle, running a hand through my bed hair. “And you seem to have a lot of issues in general.”
She blinks. “I would normally disagree,” she says slowly. “But recent events have proved that to be slightly...true.”
“Admitting you have a problem is thefirststep to recovery,” I note with a lopsided grin. “I’m glad that you’re so self-aware.”
