I chuckle at the randomness but then sit up, aware she’s admitting to knowing about my parents when she claimed not to have a clue. “I thought you didn’t know my family?”
“We were hired by them so I kind of did, I just never paid attention. I’m there to do my job. But my roommate, Jenny, did some research. She didn’t want me going out with a weirdo.” She shudders again and takes a sip of her drink. I make the mistake of looking down when she squeezes her thighs.
Stop touching her, I think, but I can’t physically do that.
“I’m glad she didn’t think I was a weirdo. I would’ve hated missing out on seeing you wear this dress.”
Her cheeks darken. “Oh no, you’re still a weirdo, but I guess you’re cool or whatever.”
I softly pinch her. “Or whatever?”
“Or whatever,” she repeats, voice louder and sultrier. “Come on, tell me about you.”
I tell myself to breathe when she rests her free palm on my thigh again. “I was born in New York, but Dad wanted me to be acquainted with his hometown and family in the UK, so I spent a lot of my childhood there. I guess without realizing it, I pickedup the accent and it’s stuck ever since. It’s not as heavy as Dad’s, but it’s there.”
“Mmm…” She hums. “It’s hot.”
My brows lift, my heart pumping in my ears. “Hot?”
Her blink is slow and expression delayed, as if she’s realized what she said. “I could backtrack, but you know what? I won’t. I’m sure you hear that a lot, huh?”
I shrug, feigning innocence. A few years ago—I’m embarrassed to admit this—I’d have eaten up the attention. Now it’s whatever, but hearingAnnasay that? I’ll speak for the praise alone.
She rolls her eyes but smiles big and dopey. “So, how fluent are you in Spanish?”
“Very. I also speak Portuguese. And I can semi understand and speak French and Italian.”
“Wow, little Mr. Overachiever,” she muses, her tone playfully patronizing.
“My parents are huge overachievers.” I gently pinch her again. “And I’m far from little.”
The corner of her lips curve upward into a haughty smirk, then dull into a coy one. “I’m sorry.”
My hand freezes on her back. “What are you sorry for?”
“For assuming…”
“Assuming what?” I resume drawing random designs, touching her back everywhere I’m able to.
“That you were going to sacrifice my body or something. Jenny’s right, I watch too much TV, but in my defense, rich people do weird things.”
My hand halts as I bring my glass to my lips, head tipping back as a laugh bubbles free. I’m not sure what I thought she was going to say, but that wasn’t it.
“We usually do that on Tuesdays. You got lucky.”
Her lips part. “I got lucky?”
I play into it. “Yeah. Tuesdays are for rituals, followed by the sacrifice. If we wait until the weekend, someone could catch on to it.” I take a drink. “As they say, never let them know your next move.”
Her lips flatten in what looks like an attempt to smother a laugh, but she’s hardly successful. “But today’s Friday the thirteenth. Wouldn’t today have been the perfect day to complete said ritual?”
I shrug. “It’s December. We’re feeling the Christmas spirit or whatever.”
Anna laughs this time. “Or whatever?”
“Or whatever,” I reiterate, keeping my lips in a straight line to look stoic, but she makes it hard.
She takes a long drink. “Well, thanks for not sacrificing me. It wouldn’t have been good for my business.”
