by Adriana Law
He shushes me, muttering in my hair as he moves to a sitting position taking me with him. I’m crushed into his chest. My cheek to his bare chest. “Sh, stop crying,” he coos, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry, Mya. I was just messy around. Goofing off. I’m sorry. Sh.” He keeps repeating, “Please don’t cry. I wasn’t think. I shouldn’t have done that.”
I inhale the clean soap smell from being wrapped in his warmth. Not allowing myself to get too comfortable there before I scramble out of his lap. “Don’t ever do that again, you jerk!” I punch him in the upper arm a couple of times. I look away, wiping my face and laughing at the same time. “I should kick your ass…you got paint in my mouth.”
I’m not upset about the paint.
I know it.
He knows it.
Any other guy would make a huge deal out of it. But Sawyer removes the now blue-grey streaked glasses and stretches out on the floor saying nothing at all, allowing me the time it takes to collect myself before I turn toward him. He threads his fingers behind his head in a lazy sort of way. I lay down also, using his belly for a pillow and crossing my ankles.
We stay like that, quiet, for several minutes. My head rises and lowers with his breaths. When I’m comfortable enough that there is no risk of my voice sounding distressed, I ask, “What do you think of Victoria and Sterling?”
His voice is low, a little hoarse, “What do you mean?”
“I can’t imagine being that caught up in someone.”
“Me either.”
“You ever notice how they finish each other’s sentences.”
“Yea.” He chuckles, and I feel it. “It’s freaky. How about when they glance at each other and suddenly laugh for no reason…like they share some inside joke.”
I make a “huh uh” sound in agreement. “That is really annoying.”
He keeps going, “And how they’re always touching. It’s like they are incapable of going more than an hour without touching or kissing.”
“I don’t think I could do it,” I say.
“Do what?”
“All the PDA.” I lace my fingers, laying them on my stomach. “I’m not sure if they do it for show, or if they like each other that damn much.”
“They like each other that damn much,” Sawyer says.
I lift my head and glance up at his face. “You think?”
“Yea. I know my brother. My brother loves Victoria.”
I rest my head back against his flat abdomen. “Huh. I don’t think I will ever feel that comfortable with someone.” Suddenly Sawyer’s fingers run through my hair laid out over his chest.
“You have paint in your hair,” he explains.
I let him comb the paint out while I tell him, “I had this friend that used to let her boyfriend insert her tampon.”
Sawyer cringes and lifts his hands, covering his ears. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
“You’re a cop and you can’t handle the thought of menstrual blood.” Laughing, I pull down on his arm in an attempt to remove his hand from his ear, shouting, “Vagina blood! Vagina blood!” He shudders underneath me. “You big baby,” I say.
“I’m serious. That is gross. A guy should never go anywhere near a girl when—”
“So you won’t have sex with a girl that’s on the rag?” I flash my eyes up at Sawyer waiting for an answer. He lifts his head, his eyes drifting over the rest of me. I sit up and punch his gut causing him to suck in air. “I’m not talking about with me.” I return to where I was, comfortable with him as my pillow.
He laughs. “How did we go from paint to this topic?”
“I don’t know, but let’s change it.”
“Agreed.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. I can tell by the rippling of the muscles along his jawline. I’ve learned this means Sawyer is thinking. Finally, after several moments of him being off somewhere else, I nudge his side. “What are you thinking about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. Tell me.” He doesn’t say anything. I focus on the name “Mya” written on his wall. I assume we’re done painting for the day. “That might cause a problem,” I say.
“What?” he asks.
I gesture at the wall. “What’s going to happen when you bring some girl home and you have the name “Mya” on your wall?”
Sawyer chuckles. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t bring girls home.”
“Liar.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
I glance up at him and raise a brow in disbelief. “Never?”
He slowly shakes his head. “Not once.”
“How is that even possible?”
He shrugs. “I’m too busy working.”
I’m beginning to see that nothing about Sawyer is as it seems. I turn to my side, my arm against his stomach holding my head up. “I’m curious. How many girls have you—?”
Color spreads in his cheeks. “I’m not telling you that,” he laughs out. I am making him uncomfortable which makes me even more curious. “Ok, I will throw out a number. Thirty?”
“Thirty!” he shrieks.
“Half? Fifteen?”
“Lower.”
“Ten?” I ask.
“Lower.”
“How can it be lower than ten? Are you even a guy? That’s…unnatural.”
“Thanks.”
I closely study his face waiting for some sign that he is yanking my chain. There is no sign that he is lying. “You’re serious. Five?” I hold five fingers up in front of his face.
My elbow rises and falls with his deep sigh. “Racheal was the first,” he eventually says. “We dated all through high school and after. Right before we went out to Colorado for Colton’s parents funeral I caught her in bed with Sterling.”
I suddenly sit up. “Are you serious? You dated ONE girl for that many years and then caught her having sex with your brother!”
He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal. “Sterling was too fucked up to even know his name."
"You forgive him a lot."
"I think Racheal had always had a thing for him; she saw an opportunity and took it.”
“That’s horrible!” I exclaim.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you, Saw?”
“Like you pity me. I’m thankful my brother showed me the huge mistake I was about to make.”
“Wait. What mistake were you about to make?” His lips compress. “Were you going to ask Racheal to marry you?”
He ignores the question saying instead, “The second girl was to get over the first.”
My mouth falls open with the word “no”. I’m still stuck on the thought of Sawyer buying a ring. The thought does funny things to my insides. In fact, the thought makes me slightly nauseous. I tell myself it’s from hearing of Sterling’s involvement, but I’m not so sure.
This is so unexpected.
His number is two while mine is…significantly higher.
Suddenly Sawyer is pushing me off him and getting to his feet. “We should probably clean up.” He goes to the kitchen sink and turns the water on, submerging his forearm under the faucet and scrubbing the dry paint off. I follow him and slide up onto the counter top, sitting by him as he washes up. I have a huge problem sitting still; my legs dangle, the heel of my foot tapping against the cabinet door with unspent energy. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Get over her by having sex with the other girl?” The water shuts off. Sawyer towels off before scooping up one of his shirts laid over the back of a bar stools. He pulls the shirt on over his head. I’m not giving up. I want to know. I need to know. I’m not sure why. I just do. “You have to tell me. I’m not helping clean up all the spilled paint until you do.”
Sawyer comes over to where I am perched on the counter. He grips the counter on each side of my legs. His hips brush the insides of my thighs. I’m suddenly very aware of his presence. I suspect that’s what he wants, to make me as uncomfortable as I
’m making him. “Why does it matter?” he asks and I realize I had been holding my breath.
“It doesn’t.”
His brown eyes narrow slightly. “What about you?”
“You already know I’m a little slut.”
“Don’t say that,” he scolds. “I meant…have you ever been in love?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. He makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat, saying, “I forgot. You had a thing for my brother.”
Guilt creeps up my neck into my cheeks, causing my skin to feel suddenly very hot. “I’ve never been in love,” I tell him, my breaths unsteady.
“Liar.”
“It’s true. Never.”
“No first boyfriend?”
“I don’t remember my first,” I admit. Or my second. Or third. “Much like your brother I was always too fuck up to know what I was doing and then with Ricin…”
Sawyer’s fingers brush mine on the counter top, a barely there light touch that has me jumping and moving my hands into my lap. His dark eyes remain fixed as if they silently caress every feature of my face. I stare over his shoulder, telling him, “I felt nothing whenever those men…you know. I felt like an empty shell with no emotion. I certainly felt no connection.” My eyes meet with his. “Honestly, I think sex is seriously overrated. If you ask me…it’s kind of invasive and demeaning.”
He lifts his hand very slowly. His thumb skims my upper arm. The other hand moves to my hair where he catches a strand of it, drawing the strand through his fingertips, from root to the tip. “You still have paint in your hair.”
My breath leaves my body in one long, rush. “What are you doing,” I whisper. His fingers cup my elbow, his grip tightening slightly. There is a faint smile present as his mouth comes dangerously close to mine.
Immediately I lean away, back toward the overhead cabinets and my head bumps wood.
“Ouch!” Sawyer says, “That had to hurt.” His forehead rests on a shoulder blade. His breath tickles my flesh, I notice his shoulders shaking with laughter. He is solid and leaning into me, and I don’t like it one bit. I feel flustered. Manipulated. And suddenly infuriated. “It’s not funny. You’re a jackass.” I mean to sound scathing but my words come out breathy and completely affected by his closeness.
He lifts his head staring into my glare. I notice that his hands have moved to my outer thighs where he traces circles. “You’re right,” he says, his warm breath blowing wisp of hair from my temple. “It’s not funny. I’m sorry you bumped your head on the cabinet.”
I fight for composure and ignore the goose bumps popping up all over my skin. His hand at my waist startles me. His lips brush my ear causing tingles in places I don’t want to acknowledge.
“We’re friends,” I choke out, “please don’t mess that up, Sawyer.”
He pauses as if he is considering my words and then he steps back giving me the space I asked for. Every response in my body subsides the instant he steps away. The flutter in my stomach is regretfully gone. Suddenly, I find myself wanting to take the words back.
Sawyer Bentley may not be what I’m used to, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting him. I learned today my friend is: Unique. Caring. Loyal. And incredibly sexy. The right combination of good and bad. I didn’t know there was such a thing.
He leaves me there; sitting on my counter.
I intently watch him clean off the lenses of his glasses, sliding them into place. The play of muscle within his biceps and across his upper shoulders as he stoops by the paint pan and begins cleaning up our mess….
God help me.
I have fallen for the guy.
***
The door to the bathroom opens, and my breath catches in my throat. “I never pegged you for the dinner party type,” I say with bite in my tone. I hide my obvious pout over how incredibly strong and sexy Sawyer looks tonight. I hate when girls pout.
He is dressed in black pants that hug his toned ass and a wrinkle-free, white button up which he is still in the process of fixing the collar of by the mirror. “I’m not usually, but it’s important to my father.”
“I bet,” I mutter under my breath.
He turns away from the mirror and comes toward where I am sitting on the side of the bed, stops in front of me and leans over me, a hand resting on the mattress. “So that you know…my father invited a girl.”
“A girl?” I break eye contact. “I thought he was still on wife number four?”
“Not for him. For me.”
I don’t like how this information makes me feel. “Why are you telling me this?”
He lifts a brow. “Are you jealous?”
“Why would I be?” I huff out.
He makes a show of reaching past me for the tie laying on his bed. I get to the tie before him, snatching it up and holding it behind me. “You don’t need it,” I tell him in a challenge. I know I'm juvenile but I want my Sawyer, the one that makes up his mind and finds his own girls. The playful one. The one that is willing to not bother with wearing contacts and loves pushing my buttons. The real Sawyer. Not this pretty-boy, fashion model fake one.
“Okay.” He pushes up off the bed by his knuckles and goes back to the mirror, loosening the collar of the shirt. “You’re right. No tie,” he says staring at his reflection. “She might appreciate a peek at my sexy chest.”
“So your father is your pimp now?”
“That’s not nice,” he says, laughing.
I fling the tie at him. “Wear the damn tie.” I push up from the bed and storm out, throwing over a shoulder. “While you’re at it, why don’t you wear a penguin suit and be your father’s perfect wind-up Ken doll.”
I hear his deep laughter all the way out into the kitchen.
I don’t know why I’m so pissed. I guess I don’t want to get ready for this stupid party, but there is no way Sawyer will go without me. Even though I am royally pissed and annoyed with him at the moment, I still have heavy convictions over ruining his night.
My stomach is tied in the knots the entire time I shower and dress for the party. I already know his father despises me, that’s the reason for the invitation extended to this other woman. Samuel Bentley is not blind. He knows there is something going on here, and he wants to get ahead of it by tempting his son with other options.
Not wanting to overpower everyone at the party I opt to just applying coconut lotion over my freshly shaved legs. I’m going for light and airy. I choose a red slip dress and slide on a pair of black stilettos that make my legs appear exceptionally long. I hated the men staring at me during Ricin’s party, but tonight I want the attention. For no other reason but to drive Sawyer insane with jealousy.
The heels squeeze my feet, so I slide on a pair of black converses instead. It works. Not as sexy but it’s more me. I check my reflection in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom, breathing deep breaths for the courage to walk out and face Sawyers reaction. The red dress I’m wearing tonight is different than the one Ricin forced me to wear. For one thing, it is longer falling mid-thigh, covering up what I don’t want everyone to see. The dress is me. My taste. My decision. I smile.
By the end of the night, Sawyer Bentley will be glued to my side.
That’s the plan anyways.
Another deep breath and I walk out into the main part of the apartment. “You ready,” I say grabbing up my purse.
Sawyer freezes mid-step. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Shit. Not the reaction I expected out of him. Here it comes. I prepare myself for the insults. I consider his question. It’s not worth feeling like shit over it all night. “I’ll change,” I say, wheeling around and heading back into the bedroom.
Sawyer reaches out and grabs my arm. His brown eyes lower. “Red is your color,” he tells me.
“I thought you didn’t like the dress.” I hate how weak and pathetic I sound. As if I need his approval. Suddenly I realize, I do.
“I love the dress.” His eyes have yet to leave mine. He scratches
his shaved jawline. “I only meant next to you…I’m the one who needs to change. Next to you I look like chopped liver.”
I smile, thinking “trust me, you are way more than chopped liver.”
He adds, “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how fancy your father’s party would be. I mean you’re wearing a fucking tie—”
“I’m not talking about the dress anymore.” Sawyer reaches up, his knuckles lightly brushing the contour of my face to the end of my chin. “I’m talking about the smile. It looks good on you.” I don’t know how to respond. He clears his throat and steps back. “You ready?” He pauses by the door, holding it open for me.
I can feel his eyes devouring my backside as I pass. Yes. By the end of the night, the woman his father invited won’t stand a chance.
I never expected “the woman” to have a history with Sawyer. Her name is Ellie and apparently she has had a thing for him for quite a while. She’s blond and beautiful in a fake-Barbie sort of way.
They will make a perfect couple.
A windup Ken and Barbie.
My plan to flirt with Sawyer’s friends and have him follow me around because of their interest is derailed before the first bloody steak is tossed on the grill. It was a horrible plan anyways, considering that Sawyer caught his last girlfriend in bed cheating with his brother. Hitting on his friends might not earn me Brownie points.
What it might do is destroy our friendship. I decide I am not willing to risk it. So, every time one of his cop friends tries to approach me, I make it clear that I am not interested.
But Sawyer seems to be enjoying Ellie’s attention tonight. The guys from work keep making jokes about how she “shot him down” last time and how maybe this time he will “get lucky.”
Quietly I seethe with anger on the sofa, surrounded by guys shouting at the television every time some football player fumbles the ball.
It’s not the party I envisioned.
It’s casual. Laid-back. More of a cook out.
Sawyer’s father fires up the grill and barbeque-smelling smoke finds its way in through the open glass doors. There is a beer in every hand but mine. I could easily get drunk. Drunk off my ass. In fact, it’s hard not to accept the alcohol when it’s offered. But none of these people want to see what happens whenever I drink.
