Page 88 of Just for the Cameras
“Do you ever listen?”
“It’s rare.”
She huffs and then turns away from me and charges up her stairs. I follow until she reaches her apartment. She ignores my domineering presence, opens the door, and quickly slides in, trying to shut the door on me, but I slide my foot in the crack and prevent her from doing so. She has nothing on my strength, so I slide the door open and let myself in before shutting it behind me.
“Graydon, I’m not in the mood to get into an argument with you right now.”
I lean against her door, watching as she nervously crosses her armsover her chest, attempting to look tough, but I see right through her.
I don’t want to get into an argument either. Not because I don’t have things to say, because I do. I have so much to say about that fucking prick who thought he could just show up and put himself between Maple and me as if he had the goddamn right. I really don’t want to get into an argument because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here in her apartment in the first place. Any sane man would have just dropped her off and left, but I’m anything but sane right now.
I feel downright jealous.
Angry.
Betrayed, which is so fucking stupid, because what did she really do?
Nothing.
So why do I care about Flamingo Boy?
Why did I feel this insane, possessive pulse thrumming through me when he got near her?
Why did I desire to bring her back to her apartment to make sure she came back alone…with no one else?
All questions I’m not prepared to answer.
“I don’t want to argue either,” I say.
“Okay, so…why are you here?”
She wets her lips and my eyes track the movement, my stomach aching from the sight of her glistening red lipstick.
I don’t answer her, because I really don’t have an answer. I don’t know why I’m here other than I want to be. I want to make sure she’s here, alone. I want to make sure that no other fuck has the privilege of seeing her right before she gets ready for bed.
So I push off her door, close the space between us, and then gentlyplace my hand on her waist before slowly turning her around, her back to my chest.
Surprised, she looks over her shoulder and shakily asks, “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” I say as I rest my hand on her hip and then take her zipper and slowly slide it down her back until it reaches the very top of her black lace underwear.
Jesus.
My mouth goes dry at the mere sight of the delicate fabric, at the way the gentle slope of her back leads to a pair of dimples right above her ass. Her round, pert ass.
“Oh,” she says breathlessly. “Um, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, not moving away, my hand still on her hip, her scent clouding my thoughts and judgment.
She slowly looks over her shoulder, and when our eyes meet, a beat of electricity pushes between us, a wave that almost tastes palpable, like something is brewing that I’m not ready to accept.
But something my body desperately wants.
I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth as she blinks up at me, her lashes framing the depths of blue in her eyes, her innocence reflecting like endless pools, inviting me in to corrupt the calm waters.
“Do you need help with anything else?” I ask, my thumb betraying me and skimming across her exposed lower back.
“I…I don’t think so.”
