Good morning. Did you sleep well?
ME
Good morning. I guess, yeah. You?
Andrew
Unfortunately, something was missing.
Don’t tell me he meansme? And why the hell am I grinning like a damn fool? God, this is embarrassing.
The only reason I agreed to give him a chance was to stop him from making a scene, but I have to admit, he’s endearing anddangerously hot. When I think of him–which is rather often lately–it’s that damn smirk and muscular body that pops up.
Do I want to sleep with him? Absolutely.
Will I give in to this aching desire? Of course not.
I like the way he looks at me. Like I’m precious. The complete opposite of what I truly am. It makes me want to know how he’d look at me when I have my mouth wrapped around his-
“Holy shit,” I snap. “What the fuck are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me!” I clutch my chest and sigh as I stare back at Andrew whose smile is way too bright for my dull eyes. “Don’t do that again.”
“I was walking by and saw you through the window. Beautiful as always.”
“And you simply sat down?” I pluck out my earphones and lean back in my chair. “Besides, don’t call me that.”
“Why not? Youarebeautiful.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I want to hear it from you while you’re looking at melike that.”
“Like what?”
I scoff and shake my head, shutting my PC. “Whatever.”
“I love how you were smiling while answering my texts,” he teases, his wavy dark hair combed back and honey eyes shimmering with delight. The sage green shirt he’s wearing wraps around his perfect muscles when he leans forward. “Makes me think you actually like me, too.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I roll my eyes, folding the sleeves of my white shirt and accidentally revealing my scar. “I was smiling at a picture of Amira’s cat.”
Andrew’s smile falters as his eyes glaze over my forearm and I tilt my head, oddly at ease with his gaze on such a sensitive part of me.
“I think your friends don’t like me.”
“Sally adores you already because you’re rich,” I joke. “Elena doesn’t care as long as I’m happy, and Amira, well, she’s harder to please. She’s like my mother.”
He looks at me a bit bewildered and conflicted. “As in she acts like your mom or that she treats you like her son? What kind of person is your mother?”
My chest constricts at the memory of her bright smile and cheerful personality. “She illuminated every room she walked in. You couldn’t find a funnier and kinder person than her. Amira is more introverted, and calmer compared to my mom.”
“I see.” He smiles softly at me, grasping the implicit truth I’d rather not talk about. “What are you doing right now?”
Grateful for the change of subject, I smirk. “Look who’s being nosy. I was working–though I’m stuck and it’s really annoying.”
“Working on what?” he probs, his hand inching closer to mine on the table as he rests his chin on the back of his other hand.
I chuckle despite myself. “I’m a writer.”
“You write books? That’s amazing. Do I know any of your work?” His complexion lights up but the look in his eyes tells me he already knew.
“I use a pen name. You might have heard of me, but I can’t tell you what it is.”
