12. Twelve
Twelve
Payton
A insley’s ignoring me.
She swam for the dock and I let her, knowing I’d read her too well and been too honest when she wasn’t ready to hear it. It’s a fucking curse to see what people try to hide behind; the insecurities, what they don't even understand about themselves. That’s where Ainsley’s at. She’s trying to be something she’s not, wearing hard emotions—her control, anger, hostility, hate, and venom—to keep everything good at bay because she knows how easily it can be taken away, or used against her. It’s so fucking heartbreaking knowing someone did that to her, made her that way, because no one is hardwired to think like that— they’re programmed.
She took her things up to the pool and plopped onto a lounge chair, sunglasses firmly in place, hat back on, not sparing me a glance as she stares at her phone. I followed her sweet little ass calling her name, and now I’m stopped in front of her chair, casting a shadow over her.
“Hungry? Thirsty? Need some sunscreen so you don’t burn that pretty skin?”
She doesn’t answer me, thumbs flying over her phone screen, messaging someone, probably. She may be telling them she’s frustrated or upset at the lake with some guy who’s being an unreasonable asshole to her. She'll have to keep details about who it is and what we’re doing to a minimum after signing the NDA. I’m confident in her ability to follow the rules, given her profession and how thoroughly she read through the document before signing it. Or maybe she’s taking notes for the story I’ve agreed to and starting off strong with how much of a jerk I am.
Getting no response, I turn and head inside. Maybe some time alone is what she needs. Perhaps I should’ve waited more than twenty-four hours after meeting her to pull that nugget of information out and throw it in her face. I may have just lost my opportunity at a friendship with Ainsley by pushing her boundaries and my luck.
It’s not often my meddling tendencies come back to bite me in the ass, but when they do, it’s pretty spectacular, and this feels like it could be one of those instances. I lean against the wall of windows overlooking the pool and watch Ainsley on her phone below. She’s beautiful, young, cranky as hell, driven, and lonely. I recognized that part of her so quickly, seeing a reflection of myself in her workaholic tendencies and thinking I’d found a kindred spirit that maybe I could beat back the loneliness with if she’ll ever let me close enough.
When I return to the pool, I’m armed with a peace offering. The tray loaded with food and drinks catches Ainsley’s attention and she actually looks at me as I walk past to an umbrella-covered double lounger with a table between the cushions perfect for a picnic. I set the tray down and begin to arrange the food without acknowledgment. I can feel her irritation despite being ten feet away.
I pour a chilled sparkling wine into two stemless glasses and set them next to a charcuterie spread full of meats and cheeses, sliced fruit, vegetables, bowls of pasta salad, baguette slices, and a plate of assorted chocolate truffles I hope don’t melt in the Georgia heat. Satisfied my picnic is presented to the best of my abilities, I turn to the sapphire pool and dive in smoothly. I swim the length and return to where I started before pulling myself onto the deck, sufficiently cooled off.
Ainsley is sitting up now, looking between the spread and me. I nod at the food as I push wet hair out of my face before collapsing onto one side of the lounger and grabbing a glass of wine.
“Help yourself.”
I pick up an olive and pop it into my mouth before creating a sandwich, not waiting for her to make up her mind if she’s going to join me. I take a bite and will myself to ignore her as she gets up and makes her way over to me, wearing her button-down shirt over her bikini, the middle open so I can see her perky, palm-sized tits bounce with each step, the ends of the shirt hitting her high on the thighs, not doing much to act as a poolside cover-up and giving me plenty to look at. I blink at the beautiful sight and go back to eating so I don’t end up needing to adjust my hardening cock in front of her.
She sits on the other side of the lounger, grabs a water bottle, untwists the cap, and takes a drink. She pops a chocolate truffle in her mouth as she inspects the charcuterie spread and begins to build her own sandwich.
“What, no comment about eating dessert first?” she asks wryly, grabbing another truffle and eating it in between words.
“None at all. I call that a dessert-itizer. You’re smart to start with the sweetest bite so you’re sure to enjoy it before you get full off the main meal.” I resolutely keep my attention on my own food, grabbing a fork and turning to my pasta salad while she quietly stews next to me as I eat. I’m just happy to see her eating what I’ve prepared, letting me take care of her in this small way.
I keep her guessing the rest of the day. We eat, swim, and take my sailboat around the lake for a few hours. Not once do I touch her. I don't slip sex into the conversation. I don't flirt. She’s on edge by the time we’re driving back to Atlanta, shoulders slightly sunburnt, and tired from spending the day outside.
“What are you doing?” she snaps when we’re nearly back to the city.
“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my attention on the road, but I can see her arms are crossed and she’s staring at my profile. It’s cute watching her work out this change.
“You’re not flirting. You’re acting like a normal human. You haven’t touched me since we got out of the lake.” She ticks off her accusations on her fingers. “What are you up to?”
I spare her a glance before returning my attention to the road. “I’m respecting your boundaries. You wanted me to stop, so I have.”
“Is this another way to mess with my head because you’re a master manipulator? You changed it up to keep me guessing?”
“You give me too much credit. Thank you for thinking me devious enough to execute that successfully with you,” I say sincerely.
“That’s it? You’re just going to…stop? It’s that easy? Why didn’t you stop the other times I asked?”
“You actually meant it this time, and I told you I’d show you I’ll respect your boundaries. I’m a man of my word, and even though I really enjoy flirting with you, I’m doing as you asked. Don't you like it better this way? It’s what you wanted, after all.” I keep my eyes ahead, but I feel her processing this information, warring with her natural distrust.
“So if I flirted with you, or touched you, you wouldn’t do anything back?”
“Do you want to flirt with and touch me?”
“Of course not. I was asking about your response. Like, if I put my hand on your thigh right now, or turned the tables and started talking like you’ve been, you’d respect my boundaries?”
“Oh, little Spitfire, make no mistake. That’s not at all what I’m saying,” I tell her, glancing over quickly and catching a calculating look on her face, wishing I could see beneath her sunglasses. “If you initiate, I’ll follow your signals, but I won't follow for long. I’ll take control and then we’ll see what you’re hiding under that hostility and anger and how fun you can be.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Why can’t I torture you the same way you’ve been driving me insane the last twenty-four hours? I should be able to get payback, right? You need to know how annoying you are and how awful it is to have someone not only pick you apart but not listen when you beg them to stop.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and glance her way again, debating if I give her what she’s asking for or not. Honesty is the best policy in the early stages of any relationship, I guess, and strong communication will be the only way we make this work.
“You are torturing me. It’s pretty fucking hard not to flirt with you when that’s my default. It sucks not touching you when I want because I like how you feel under my hands and despite what you say, your body’s reactions tell me you enjoy it when I touch you, too. I read people, so not calling out everything I see that you blatantly ignore is driving me crazy.”
I glance her way, seeing her attention riveted on me, her thighs pressed together like she can feel my words on her skin even if my hands aren’t. She’s definitely a words girl, and mine are doing it for her. I return my attention back to the road, but I lower my voice and slow my cadence, aware it’ll get to her even more.
“It’s absolutely excruciating knowing I can use a certain tone, say a few dirty words, look at you a certain way, and you’d be rubbing your thighs together for me, looking for something only I can give you, but I have to keep that locked up when I'm certain it would feel so fucking good for both of us to play.”
I rub a palm down my face instead of reaching for her thigh like I want to. I drop my hand to my shorts, where my cock is making a valiant effort to strain against the bonds of the fabric in this position, and adjust myself for her to see.
“Is that what you want, Ainsley? For me to suffer as long as you want me to because I’m willing to respect your boundaries?”
“How do you manage to infuse sex into an answer like that?” she asks, her voice husky and tremulous, unable to take her eyes off my cock. My body. Me.
Yes, Princess, look at Daddy and see what you do to me. Want me and everything I can give you. Trust me to take care of you.
“It’s a talent of mine,” I muse, focusing again on the road.
She clears her throat and shifts in her seat, leaving the conversation there. I swallow and settle myself the fuck down. There’s no need to get us worked up over nothing. She has boundaries and I’m perfectly fine staying on my side of them, even if I have no problem telling her how I feel about it. I change the subject, wanting to know more about her if I can’t have her the way I really want to.
“Tell me about Charleston and your family. Do they still live there?”
She looks over at me quickly. “Yes,” she says warily. “You remembered that?”
“I have a very good memory.” That only partially covers it. I remember everything, good and bad. “So tell me about your family. You know about my brothers. Do you have siblings?”
“I have four sisters. I’m right in the middle. Serena and Lana are older. Brooke and Cora are younger.”
“So we’re both middle children. Funny how that works. Did you have to referee for your sisters like I did for my brothers? Or were you the quintessential middle child who was doing anything for attention since the eldest is usually independent and the parents baby the youngest?”
“Is that why you’re so annoying and weird?” she asks, the snarl back on her lips for prying into her personal life again.
“Damn, calm down, Spitfire.” I laugh at her quick deflection. “I’m not flirting. I’m just trying to get to know you.”
She huffs in annoyance, likely because I’m right. “I guess it was both stifling and lonely in the middle. There was a gap between my older sisters and me, then my younger sisters, so I’m not very close to either set, but they’re close to each other. I kept to myself, and I read a lot. Partly it was to get away from my noisy family, but mostly because I loved stories. That love turned into writing my own stories. That’s why I decided journalism was the career I wanted to pursue. I wanted to know the story behind everything.”
I love how easily she gave up that bit of information without prompting. It makes me greedy, needing more of her history.
“Are you close with your family now?”
Whether they admit it or not, my brothers are my best friends and the closest people in my life despite how often they drive me crazy or do dumb shit I have to clean up for them. My mom is my favorite person, and my dad is my hero. Family means everything to me. Even Harlowe, the evil queen who wants to set me up with every single woman she knows, is part of that.
“Yes, but I don't get to see them much. Lana and Serena live a few states away. Cora is still in Charleston in high school, and Brooke is at the University of South Carolina a few hours away. My parents live in the house I grew up in, so it feels like a time capsule every time I go home to visit. So much changes, yet stays the same.”
She’s growing more unguarded, less angry, the longer she talks about her family. She’s actually pleasant, which is a nice change.
“Did you like growing up in Charleston?”
“It was fine. It’s a small town but big enough because of the tourism and local industry, so there’s enough to keep busy. We aren’t high society and stayed out of the real drama, with just enough to scrape by for a family of seven. My dad’s an aeronautical engineer. He teaches at the South Carolina Aeronautical Training Center at Trident Technical College. Sounds fancy, but it’s nothing prestigious. My mom is also a teacher but at a local elementary school. ”
My ears perk at her father’s career path. “You know Olympus has a clean burning jet engine project we’re working on. We’d have a lot to talk about if we met.”
“You’ll never meet my dad,” Ainsley scoffs with a tone of finality.
“Never say never,” I say with just as much conviction, right as I pull up to her apartment building. “Now be a good girl and think about all you’ve learned about yourself today.” She starts to protest and I stop her. “No, really, just give it some thought and explore the ideas a bit to see what you discover. I don't have to factor into it. I’d rather you know the parts of yourself that can bring you satisfaction and pleasure if you let the control go and what that looks like. I'm here if you want to talk, but I’m not pushing you. Thanks for a fun day at the lake.”
She looks at me incredulously, shakes her head, and removes the pink and gold sunglasses, tucking them back in the glove compartment. “Yeah, it was something.”
When she looks my way again, the fading sunlight catches on her hazel eyes, turning them amber and gold, highlighting a small scattering of light freckles across her cheeks. I find myself smiling at the constellation marking summer on her skin.
“You’re really nothing like I imagined, Payton Olsen. Especially not the sex-fiend side of you.”
I laugh at that. “You have no idea, Ainsley Montgomery, but if you want to, just say the words. I’m looking forward to being your boyfriend and getting to know you better, so I don't have to imagine anything.”
“Fake boyfriend,” she huffs, ignoring the rest of my comment before pulling the door open, stepping out, and turning back to me. “Good night.”
“Night, Muffin. ”
She rolls her eyes as she grabs her bag and shuts the door before whirling and heading into her apartment without another word as I chuckle at her haughty retreat.
“You’re going to be mine, little Spitfire.”