“Is there a pattern you follow?”
“No. I never went to school for this, I’m self-taught.”
“So how do you decide?”
She shrugs, a hint of a smile gracing her lips and adding a hundred points to how desirable she looks.
“I mix and match until it looks pretty.”
That’s one way to go about it.
She grabs a handful of yellow flowers, mixing them with the roses.
“What are those called?”
She looks up, her signature skeptical eyebrow raised. “You want a floriculture lesson?”
“Why not? We’re alone and I have nothing better to do.”
She takes a second to decide, scanning my face as if she thinks this is a prank. Or maybe a trap. Satisfied that I have no malicious intent, she beckons me forward.
The air smells sweet, though earthy, a standard flower shop scent, yet it’s overpowered by Bianca’s blend when I come closer. Coconut, sea salt, and something uniquely her.
I stop a foot away, watching her nimble fingers twist the stems until they sit where she wants them. She doesn’t speak for a long beat.
“Those are carnations.” She angles her head, checking whether I’m paying attention, then shoves one in my face. “Smell it.”
I take a whiff, holding her big honey eyes hostage. “I can’t smell anything save for coconut.”
“Coconut?” She frowns briefly before recognition hits and her eyebrows meet her hairline. “Oh, I... I didn’t realize the scent was so potent. I can’t smell it at all.”
“Because you’re used to it. What is it, anyway? Hair shampoo? Conditioner?”
“Body lotion.”
I shouldn’t have asked.
The mention of body lotionalone is enough to fill my head with Bianca lathering it all over her skin. Legs first, I bet, from her ankles, up her thighs, then higher over the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, those bouncy breasts...
I grit my teeth. Imagining her naked won’t help me stave off this mild obsession bubbling inside me.
She’s gorgeous. The magnetic pull between us draws me closer and closer, but it’s irrelevant. Nothing will happen. Not even one wild night.
Especiallynot that.
I’ve thought about it a lot since we arrived in Cleveland. We could never be casual. I can’t satisfy my need for her body without things getting awkward later. It wouldn’t work.
“I know those.” I point at the purple flowers she reaches for next. “Hydrangeas. My mother’s favorite.”
“They’re my favorite, too,” she admits, a softness settling over her features and somehow seeping into her voice.
Her whole face changes in an instant, as if someone’s switching her emotions on and off via a button at the back of her neck. She’s soft, delicate, amenable...
Fucking perfect.
“Let’s test your aesthetic streak.” She twists the bouquet left and right. “Pink, yellow, purple. What else would you add?”
“No idea. Blue or white, maybe.”
