4. I thought he looked more like a Ken doll.
4 /
i thought he looked more like a ken doll.
charlie
two years ago - the first new year’s eve
My lips tingle, and I’m giggling. I don’t giggle. Ever. It’s a telltale sign of having too much alcohol, but I told myself I’d have a good night tonight, and I am. Even if he’s here. Ugh, just the sight of him is enough to make me want to drink until I blackout, and I hardly ever drink.
Rafael is dancing with someone I’ve never met, and she’s throwing her head back, laughing like she’s having the time of her life. I’m not a jealous person, but I’m jealous of her. And of him, too. Just once, I’d like to know what it’s like to live the easygoing life Rafael seems to. I certainly would like to have someone to make me feel like that woman probably feels. Beautiful. Sexy. Wanted.
I want someone to make me laugh like that.
Robert . It should be Robert making me laugh like that.
Not him , though.
I could sit here and watch them, use their joy as inspiration for my next book, but the thought of watching Rafael makes me nauseous. I’d much rather look at someone else to give me a little inspiration.
A tall blond man making aggressive eye contact with me interrupts my thoughts. He’s walking over here. Oh dear.
“Hey.” Yes, that’s all he says as he looks me up and down, about as subtle as a punch in the face. In an effort not to roll my eyes, I take a sip of my drink.
“Hi there,” I bite out as he walks closer. He has hazel eyes, a visibly fake tan and there’s a lot of product in his hair, which makes it look shiny, like one of my old Ken dolls I played with as a kid. I have the urge to touch it, but I am also scared I’ll lose my hand in there or that the sticky mess will end up all over me.
“You having a good night, beautiful?”
I could do without the generic question and calling me beautiful, but sure. Let’s go with this. I’ll give Ken a chance. If nothing else, for the book content. And the possibility of an orgasm. Thank goodness small talk comes a little more easily with the help of alcohol.
“I am now,” I whisper to him, and the loser falls for the bait. His eyes sparkle with the idea that he is actually enticing enough to make me interested in him. I’m about to step closer and put my hand on his forearm when I feel a massive warm body beside mine and then a matching massive hand on my lower back.
“Chuck. There you are. I need to talk to you.” I turn my head and deep, dark eyes are staring me down. “Right now, please.” He doesn’t even acknowledge Ken; he just guides me away from my potential one-night-stand, and I’m so stunned that I let him. His hand never leaves my back, fingers wrapping around one side of my waist. It’s the kind of intimate touch I’m completely unfamiliar with.
We make it to a quiet area of the garden, and I come to my senses. “What do you think you’re doing, Machado?” I step away from his scorching, fiery touch and stumble forward, only to be caught around the waist. I hardly have time to process the warmth in my lower belly before my back is up against a tree, and I nearly smash my face against Rafael’s massive chest.
“What am I doing? Oh, that’s rich. You’re completely wasted and were about to get sloppy with that department store mannequin, but yeah, ask me what I’m doing.”
His hands are on his hips and I’m pretty sure I’ve never taken notice of just how good he smells before. Fresh and citrusy. Probably because we’ve never been this physically close before. Probably because we don’t like each other.
“I thought he looked more like a Ken doll, but mannequin works, too.” I lean against the tree, letting my head fall back so I can look him in the eyes briefly. “And I was trying to get laid, in case it wasn’t obvious. Thanks for ruining that for me.” His breath warms my cheek, and the heat in his eyes is almost too much for me to bear. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I make a move to swerve around him, but he stops me with a giant palm landing on my forehead, pushing me back against the tree. “Owww!”
“Not tonight, Ginger Spice. You’ve had way too much to drink to be going home with anyone, let alone that leather-skinned dumbass out there.” He lowers his hand, and I stay put, once again shocked by the physical contact and the sheer size of him.
“Oh, stop. You’re not on duty, Machado. And you’re not my bloody bodyguard.” Heat rushes to my cheeks as it always does when I get into a tiff with Rafael. “What’s it to you, anyway? You shag a different girl every other night. What happened to the one that was just hanging off you? It’s positively appalling how you?—”
“Are you about to slut shame me? Because I thought you were better than that.” He crosses his insanely tanned and tattooed arms, and the way his muscles bunch up only distracts me for a moment.
“What? No! Of course not. I don’t care about your sex life enough to bother trying to shame you for it. But why do you get to sleep around, and when I try to get busy with a guy one time you think you can stop me?” With my arms over my chest, mimicking his stance, I do my best to stand up straight, but I can feel my upper body swaying. I’m so bloody wankered.
“Get busy? You don’t get busy .” He air quotes annoyingly. “I know you.” I’m hit with a waft of his cologne again, and I hold my breath to keep myself from breathing in deeper.
“You know nothing about me.” My voice is shaky, and suddenly, I don’t feel like I’ve had nearly enough drinks to be this close to him.
“Oh no? But you know so much about me that you can talk about who I sleep with?” He quirks up an eyebrow, and I want to drop-kick it. I want to smack that eyebrow right off his unreasonably handsome face.
“I know enough.”
He steps forward, and the air becomes instantly thicker. Hotter. It’s hard to breathe, move, think.
“Is that so?” He smirks, and I scowl up at him. It’s a look I know he’s used to seeing from me. “Why do you fight with me so much? What is it you think you know about me that makes you hate me?”
“I don’t… I never said that I…” I can’t look at him now, but I can feel his gaze is steady on me.
“You don’t have to say it, red. You avoid every room I’m in. When you see me, you scowl. Every time I smile at you, you roll your eyes and walk the other way.” He leans in closer and pulls my chin up, so I have to look at him. “Is it because you’re the proper British girl who’s never had a real man make her scream his name before? Or is it that you’re so attracted to me that you get jealous of the women who take me to their beds?” The flush hits my cheeks before he even finishes the question. The jerk chuckles. “So that’s it then. You want to know what all the fuss is about. Want to find out for yourself if you’d melt in my hands, too.” It’s not even a question, and the pompous jerk raises one eyebrow with all the confidence in the world. “How did I do, Princess Charlotte?”
Anger rises from my chest to my temples. I push my hands as hard as I can against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “Screw you, Machado. And don’t ever call me that again. You really want to know what I think about you?”
He licks his lips and lowers his chin, urging me on. I keep my eyes locked on his nose, avoiding his eyes while refusing to be distracted by the lip-licking. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve thought about these words before, I would be frozen right now, completely unable to retort. But I’ve defended myself against his picture-perfect smile laced with taunts in the comfort of my own mind before. I’m ready now.
“You probably peaked in high school, and that’s why you feel you need to keep up this little charade now. Let me guess… you were some sort of sports star who got away with doing bugger all, not having to actually try at anything. Your little girlfriends probably did all your homework for you because you were too dense to figure it out yourself, and all that charm that oozes out of your pores allowed you to get away with it. You wear your conquests like a badge of honor because you have nothing else to be proud of.” I’m panting as the words I’ve thought about so many times explode out of me. “How did I do, big guy?”
I look up long enough to notice that the glimmer in his eyes is gone, and his jaw is clenched. I should feel guilty about what I said, but I’m too drunk and angry to care, and still far too unsettled by him calling me out on my curiosity about his sexual prowess—because damn it, I am curious.
He steps back, and if I hadn’t been staring at him unblinkingly, I might have missed it. He looks down at his shoes before looking back up at me. “You got it, Chuck. You got it just right.”
But I don’t feel like I got anything right. I feel like I got it all wrong, but I can’t take anything back now because before I can apologize, I’m throwing up into a bush. And it is violent. Maeve is going to throw a wobbler when she finds out about this.