Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“Oh, no,” I tell her, swiping her phone off the table. It’s all I can think of to do to keep her from walking out. “You don’t get to ‘Damn it, Lance’ me.”

“Give me my phone.”

“No.”

She’s never been this angry in front of me. Her eyes glow, a ring of gold settling around the blue. The flush to her cheeks hints at what she might look like after an orgasm and it’s something I really, really want to confirm.

“Can you let me save some of the little dignity I have left?” she asks. “Just give me my phone so I can leave.”

I don’t. I don’t even consider it. Instead, I sit as far away from her as I can with her phone nestled in my lap.

“Tell me this: why are you without dignity?”

“Are you seriously going to make me address this?” she hisses.

“Um, yeah.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” I say, trying not to crack a smile. “You like me and so does the other you. As a matter of fact, one of you almost kissed me last night and this you, well, we both know what this you has been up to.”

“I never would’ve said anything if I’d have known it was you,” she growls.

I blink once. Twice. Three times. “So, let me get this straight. You’d talk dirty, filthy, actually, if I remember some of those conversations correctly—”

“Lance. Stop it.”

“Fine,” I say, propelling myself forward. The salt shaker rattles on the table. “You’ll talk that way to some guy you don’t even know but not to me? You would’ve let me kiss you last night, but you would’ve fucked some guy who didn’t even give a shit about you? What the hell, Mariah?”

“It’s you!” she exclaims like it’s self-explanatory. “I have to see you every day. You’re sleeping with God knows how many women—”

“Wait,” I say, my jaw tensing. “Are you sleeping with men on that app?”

Her eyes narrow. “You know I’m not.”

“I don’t know shit. I’m a little mind-boggled right now to tell you the truth.”

“It’s nothing to you, but no, I’m not sleeping with anyone at all. App or otherwise.”

“Good answer.”

“Oh, go to hell with your good answer bullshit,” she says. “How many women have you slept with this week?”

I don’t even blink. “Zero.”

She does blink.

Something in our exchange calms her a touch. She starts to talk but closes her mouth instead. We watch each other like we’re having a staring contest. The longer we sit like this, the closer she gets to smiling. I hate to tell her, but I’m content with sitting here until the buffet closes because I haven’t even begun to process this.

“Do you need anything?” A waitress approaches us, she’s unknowingly coming upon a den of wounded badgers. “Drinks? Buffet slips?”

Without taking my eyes off Mariah, I twist slightly in my seat. “I’ll tip you one way or the other, but can you give us a few minutes alone?”

“Sure thing.”

Mariah breaks eye contact and checks to see if she’s gone.

“I can’t believe this,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re History Hunk. I mean, it makes sense. I just never even imagined it.”

“Are you saying I’m a hunk?”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Nerdy Nurse, huh?” I grin. “That was tricky. Not that I would’ve expected you of all people to be hiding out under a fake name on a sex app, but I wouldn’t have looked for you as a nurse.”

“That was Whitney,” she sighs. “My friend made the account for me and kind of threw it in my lap. I didn’t want an account because of my job and working in the school and all and, besides, pretending to be someone else was fun.”

Her hands cover her face again. There’s no suppressing my chuckle this time. It earns me a glare, but there’s no anger there. Just a beautiful girl trying to hide behind a façade.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, her playing with the salt shaker and me tapping against the screen of her phone. There are questions for days I could pepper her with, jokes for years. I could pop just by watching her flush that pretty shade of pink.

“This is mortifying,” she breathes.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask. Leaning on the table, my hands clasped in front of me, I look her dead in the eye. “I wanted to fuck you when you were Mariah. I wanted to fuck you when you were the other you. Whatever,” I say, confusing myself. “The point is this doesn’t change anything. It just means I’m insanely attracted to you.”

She bats her eyes like I misspoke and she’s waiting on me to clarify what I mean. I could keep talking but decide it’s better for the silence to make the point for me.

“What do we do now?” she asks. “I have to see you every day.”