I plaster a pleasant smile on my face, not wanting whomever this is to see me in this conflicted stated.
And…it’s him.
“Fuck me,” I mutter.
He grins, charming, dashing, debonair, all the bullshit words one would attribute to a guy like this.
“If you insist.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to try to pin me up against the wall of the elevator and do all the deliciously dirty things he promised in the lounge. He reaches his hand toward me. Then just stares at me expectantly, his fingers inches from my waist.
I give him the stink-eye. “What the fuck, dude?”
Evan clears his throat. “Um, just want to push the button for my floor.” He nods his head toward the row of buttons that I’m actually leaning against.
I shift to my right and my face burns as I realize that in my attempt to be casual, I happened to light up almost all of the buttons on the panel.
An amused smirk crosses his chiseled features.
“Looks like it’s going to be a long ride.”
I roll my eyes. Is he always like this with the innuendos?
I wonder briefly what floor he’s on, but don’t bother asking. If I’m pretending I’m not interested…err, I mean, if I’m not interested, no sense in giving off the impression I care.
“What do you do, Emilia?” he asks as the doors slide open at the next floor and neither of us get out.
Small talk, then. Okay, I can handle that.
“I’m a writer.”
He looks genuinely intrigued. “What kind of writer?” The doors close again.
“I write romance.” Then I wait. It’s inevitable.
Now, a salacious grin crosses those perfect lips. Lips which are still burning my hand from their touch.
“Like sexy romance?”
And there it is, folks.
Every. Fucking. Time.
I can’t tell anyone I’m a romance writer without them immediately thinking I write porn or some shit. I mean…I do like it hot. Naughty. Filthy, even.
But people don’t seem to see that it’s more than that.
At the heart of it, it’s about love.
Ironic, though, that I’ve never experienced that for myself.
“Yes, Evan,” I reply, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice. His smile is kind of contagious like that. “Sexy romance.”
I think he’s about to say something else, something stupid and immature like ‘Let me know if you need help with any research’ or some shit.
But instead, when the elevator stops at the next floor—my floor—and the doors slide open, Evan gives me a wink and a grin, and says, “This is me,” then steps off the elevator.
Just like that. Now I’m the one left hanging, wanting more? How did he flip the script on me so fast?