Page 84 of Just for the Cameras
OC rocks on his heels, hands in his pockets, looking around with what seems like a million questions on his mind, but for once, he’s reading the room as he says, “You know, I think I might go get a refill on my drink.”
He takes off, leaving me alone with Maple.
Maple in a short, tight red dress.
Maple in heels that define her legs in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
Maple with her blue eyes looking like endless pools of solitude.
And those goddamn red lips.
Like a siren, calling to me, testing me.
It’s driving me fucking nuts.
When she opened her door, I honestly didn’t know what I expected her to be wearing, but that dress…I swear she’s taunting me. Not that we’ve ever interacted in a way that involves sexual taunting, but it fucking felt like that.
She’s basically giving me a middle finger about my high-water pants comment. The way the fabric hugs her curves, making my vision go dizzy as I narrow in on her waist, her hips, and her ass…fuck, when she turns around I’m going to have to look away.
It’s taking me fucking effort to keep my eyes straight ahead.
To not drool.
To not constantly check her out every goddamn second we share the same air.
It’s been an effort since day one, when I first met her, but I’ve been able to control it—for the most part. Now that she’s in that dress, Jesus, it’s as alluring as the goddamn yoga pants. At least she was sitting down when she was wearing those, hidden under the table.
She’s not hidden at all tonight.
Nope, out in the open for my goddamn wandering eyes.
And I hate myself for it.
I really fucking do.
I wish I had more goddamn control.
But I don’t. The only control I had was exerted when zipping up her dress in her apartment and not taking it off. I also was able to holdback the onslaught of drool and inappropriate compliments that rolled through me. Like…
Christ, you look hot.
And…lock the door, get undressed, you’re not leaving this apartment.
And…bend over, ass up, underpants off.
Maple clears her throat, waking me up from my red-dress reverie. “You know, I think we’re supposed to mingle, talk to people, not be silent brooders in the corner of the event space, but what do I know about fundraising events?” she asks, a bit of snark in her voice.
“Then go mingle,” I say, nodding toward the crowd.
“It would help if my celebrity counterpart came with me.”
“Wouldn’t that require you to drink more alcohol…spending that much time with me?”
Her eyes fall on mine. “Yes, it would, but I don’t believe emptying the adult watering hole is going to help the situation, therefore, I shall suck it up and stick to this one drink.”
“That’s awfully big of you.”
“Well, someone has to be,” she says with a shrug and then takes another sip of her drink.
