Page 107 of Play of Love
Over the last few weeks, as the time grew closer to today, I’d started thinking about him and wondering how it would be when we saw each other. Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t have thought much of it. But I had, and I’d probably spent more time thinking about him than I should have.
We didn’t exactly have an amicable split, but we didn’t have what most people deemed to be a disastrous blow up, either. Whichever way anyone chose to describe it, the whole thing left me heartbroken, and it took me a while before I could feel like myself again. I didn’t feel the hatred that most people express when they break up, but I wouldn’t exactly roll out the welcome carpet for Scott either.
Looking down at him now, I didn’t feel anything one way or the other, except for the mild irritation at him for posing as if everyone should kneel down and worship him. I thought the next few days may be difficult, but I was hopeful that I could avoid having too much contact with him.
I sighed and rolled my eyes again as I watched Scott turn to his good side so that the paparazzi who’d now gathered could take their best pictures.
“Jesus.” I muttered under my breath and narrowed my eyes at him.
He really was standing there like he owned the world. Now there were six Barbie-doll-like women trying to get a photo with him. The ones closest to him really took advantage of the moment and snuggled into his chest. They all laughed as the photographer said something funny.
Then, Scott went back to posing by himself. He took off his biker jacket, revealing a white T-shirt that highlighted some serious muscle across his wide shoulders, powerful chest, and rigid abs. He flexed an arm to show off the mass of his huge biceps.
An image of one of those Levi’s ads came to my mind as I looked down and focused on his jeans. Just like in the ads, the jeans did a good job of showing off the athletic definition in his legs.
Okay, so I wasn’t entirely immune to a great body. The man was definitely of the Greek god variety. Shame about the personality though. Men this good-looking should come with some kind of warning label.
Maybe it was that sixth sense that people spoke of, or maybe it was the piercing stare I gave him that made him turn and look up to where I stood.
Our eyes locked and a familiar tingle fluttered through my stomach, resonating from deep within. It was an eccentric blend of anxiety and anticipation that scattered my nerves.
I didn’t expect to feel it, or anything, for that matter, and I immediately felt the off-balance daze I remembered feeling when I first met him and the world had stopped.
We stared at each other across the distance that separated us. Even from where I was, I could see the rich turquoise color of his eyes. They sparkled as he took me in and continued to stare.
The tingle turned into something more, something that heated me right up. My body’s reaction to him both surprised and annoyed me.
His eyes roamed over me even though he was being called and even though two of theBarbieswere trying to get more pictures with him. Scott didn’t move or respond; he just continued to stare until the moment felt almost awkward. The women looked to where he was looking, to me.
Politely, he lifted his hand and waved. The me of the past would have waved back excitedly with a smile, but I wanted to show him the changed woman I was now and mask the effect he’d just had on me. So, I tipped my head and gave him a curt nod of acknowledgment. I then turned away, not wanting to prolong the moment or the contact, and walked back through the lobby. There was no point encouraging contact even though he was three floors down and several feet away. There was a dinner later where I’d see him, but wouldn’t engage then either.
That was how I planned to be for the rest of this trip.
“Abi!” Cole rushed up to me.
I noted the look of worry on his face, his clamped mouth and the fear in his eyes. I’d spent an hour yesterday calming his nerves. Some guys got cold feet before their wedding, but this one was too busy making sure everything was perfect for his bride. He got all worked up yesterday when the hotel placed red roses in Margo’s princess suite instead of pink ones. He said the smell and the ambiance were wrong. I didn’t know that red roses smelled different from pink ones and couldn’t see what the problem was because the flowers were out-of-this-world beautiful.
Apparently, though, they weren’t good enough for his Margo, who he insisted had to have pink roses.
Cole had the tendency to go completely over the top when it came to Margo. Even this venue, beautiful as the Saylor Hotel was and the finest in San Francisco, was insisted on by Cole. He said he wouldn’t live up to his Barrett family name if he didn’t give Margo the best. And the best for the soon to be Mrs. Barrett meant the Saylor Hotel. Aside from its exquisiteness, Becca Walker –Margo’s favorite singer and absolute idol – had gotten married here. They had to book a year in advance, and he paid for all the guests who were attending to stay here.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, greeting him with a warm smile. I geared myself up for hearing some sort of ridiculousness like I had heard yesterday.
“No. Margo’s not here,” he winced.
“What?”Margo was supposed to arrive last night with everyone else traveling from LA. I had a migraine which is why I had come early.
“Are her parents here?”
“Yes.” His bright blue eyes looked sad and even more worried. “They got here just after you went up to your room.”
Margo had planned to travel with her parents. I found it strange that not only had I not called, but that Margo didn’t call me either. “Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes, and no,” Cole replied with a tentative expression on his face.
“What does that mean?” I laughed.
“Abi, I did something bad.” He brought his large hands together and clasped them at his chin, then touched the dimple in his cleft.
