The Player and the Pixie
Page 33
She’d flushed a delectable shade of pink and declined with a prim, “No, thank you.”
Unfortunately, she said very little during the drive, leaving Broderick and me to converse without her. Though I did catch her staring at me from time to time. I ignored her lingering stares, not wanting to give her any reason to be self-conscious. She could look her fill. I rather liked it. In fact, she could do whatever she pleased just as long as our agreement held.
Broderick carried most of the conversation. Typically, I cared very little about a person’s past. Most people were boring. They’d led insignificant little lives doing insignificant little things.
As an example, I consider myself boring.
Broderick was not boring.
“You were stationed in Guantanamo? At the naval base?”
He shrugged, turning on the street and maneuvering around two yellow taxis parked outside the hotel. “Just for three years.”
“What did you do there? Did you guard the detainees?”
“I was the triage officer for the base. We’re here.” He gestured to the Ritz Carlton with his chin, placing the automobile in park.
I made no move to exit. “What does the triage officer do?”
We’d been talking—or he’d been talking—for the last several hours, though it felt like hardly any time had passed. I could see why Lucy liked spending time with him.
“I’ll save that story for another day. I need to get back to the studio.” Broderick lifted an eyebrow at me, then his attention caught on the rearview mirror. “Lucy, mind if I drop you off here? Heading uptown is crazy during rush hour and I’m running late.”
“Uh, no problem. Thanks for driving.”
We piled out of the car and a bellman jogged over with a cart. A spur-of-the-moment idea had me requesting he load Lucy’s bags next to mine while she and Broderick exchanged goodbyes.
To my surprise, before turning to go, Broderick stepped forward and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Yes. You as well.” And I meant it.
“Get my number from Lucy. I’ll take you to my favorite pub in the city. We’ll have steak.”
Astonished by the offer, it took me a moment to respond. “I will.”
He nodded once, then left. I watched him pull into traffic, a curious, hollow sensation in the middle of my chest.
“I think he likes you.” Lucy nudged my arm with hers, drawing my attention to her. Her gaze teasing and smiling as she added in a sing-song voice, “And I think you like him.”
I frowned and responded automatically, “Nobody likes me.”
The smile fell away from her eyes and was replaced with surprise, then determination. “Well, I like you. And so does Broderick. So, once again, you are wrong.”
I studied her open features, the fullness of her bottom lip, the point of her chin. “Do you like me enough to have dinner with me?”
Her lashes fluttered. “S-sure. When? Tomorrow?”
I stepped into her space and wove our fingers together. “Tonight. Now.”
“Oh.” Obviously caught unaware, Lucy blinked at our surroundings, perhaps searching for her bag. “I, uh. Well, I need to go home and change.”
“We’ll order room service.” I tugged her toward the hotel entrance and held the door as I ushered her in. “No need to change. I had the bellhop take your bags up to my room.”
She glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. “Presumptuous much?”
“I’m a problem solver.”
“I’d like some clean clothes.”
I shrugged, leading her to the VIP check-in desk. “We’ll send your laundry out for washing.”
“Sean . . .”
“Or I can buy you something new. The hotel has a shop.”
“No.” Her tone was flat and dismissive.
I wrapped my arm around her waist, drew her to my side, and whispered in her ear, “Or we could be naked.”
She stiffened, her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull out of my grip. I leaned just slightly away so I could see her profile. She kept her eyes diligently forward.
While I checked in, she remained silent, making no move to separate our bodies. And when I added her to the room and presented her with a key, she accepted it, slipping the rectangle into her handbag without a word.
Chapter Nine
@SeanCassinova Where might one procure a shoe horn in NYC?
@RugbyFan101 to @SeanCassinova I’ll loan you my horn any day of the week, baby ;-)
@SeanCassinova to @RugbyFan101 Who is this and where did you get my number?
@RugbyFan101 to @SeanCassinova Uh, this is Twitter.
@SeanCassinova to @RugbyFan101 That’s a very strange name. What were your parents thinking?
@EilishCassidy @SeanCassinova Stop being an arse.
*Sean*
“What do you want to do?”
“I’d like to lick your pussy.”
Lucy choked on her water. She’d been mid-sip from an Evian bottle when I responded. I listened, perusing the room service menu, as she continued to cough and sputter.
“Sean—”
“Then I think I’d like a steak.” The restaurant had several nice cuts of meat; I decided on the prime rib.
“Sean—”
“Wine with the meal. After dinner, perhaps drinks? Then sex?”
“Sean.”
I lifted my eyes from the menu, found her scowling at me from across the room. “What?”
Unfortunately, she said very little during the drive, leaving Broderick and me to converse without her. Though I did catch her staring at me from time to time. I ignored her lingering stares, not wanting to give her any reason to be self-conscious. She could look her fill. I rather liked it. In fact, she could do whatever she pleased just as long as our agreement held.
Broderick carried most of the conversation. Typically, I cared very little about a person’s past. Most people were boring. They’d led insignificant little lives doing insignificant little things.
As an example, I consider myself boring.
Broderick was not boring.
“You were stationed in Guantanamo? At the naval base?”
He shrugged, turning on the street and maneuvering around two yellow taxis parked outside the hotel. “Just for three years.”
“What did you do there? Did you guard the detainees?”
“I was the triage officer for the base. We’re here.” He gestured to the Ritz Carlton with his chin, placing the automobile in park.
I made no move to exit. “What does the triage officer do?”
We’d been talking—or he’d been talking—for the last several hours, though it felt like hardly any time had passed. I could see why Lucy liked spending time with him.
“I’ll save that story for another day. I need to get back to the studio.” Broderick lifted an eyebrow at me, then his attention caught on the rearview mirror. “Lucy, mind if I drop you off here? Heading uptown is crazy during rush hour and I’m running late.”
“Uh, no problem. Thanks for driving.”
We piled out of the car and a bellman jogged over with a cart. A spur-of-the-moment idea had me requesting he load Lucy’s bags next to mine while she and Broderick exchanged goodbyes.
To my surprise, before turning to go, Broderick stepped forward and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“Yes. You as well.” And I meant it.
“Get my number from Lucy. I’ll take you to my favorite pub in the city. We’ll have steak.”
Astonished by the offer, it took me a moment to respond. “I will.”
He nodded once, then left. I watched him pull into traffic, a curious, hollow sensation in the middle of my chest.
“I think he likes you.” Lucy nudged my arm with hers, drawing my attention to her. Her gaze teasing and smiling as she added in a sing-song voice, “And I think you like him.”
I frowned and responded automatically, “Nobody likes me.”
The smile fell away from her eyes and was replaced with surprise, then determination. “Well, I like you. And so does Broderick. So, once again, you are wrong.”
I studied her open features, the fullness of her bottom lip, the point of her chin. “Do you like me enough to have dinner with me?”
Her lashes fluttered. “S-sure. When? Tomorrow?”
I stepped into her space and wove our fingers together. “Tonight. Now.”
“Oh.” Obviously caught unaware, Lucy blinked at our surroundings, perhaps searching for her bag. “I, uh. Well, I need to go home and change.”
“We’ll order room service.” I tugged her toward the hotel entrance and held the door as I ushered her in. “No need to change. I had the bellhop take your bags up to my room.”
She glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. “Presumptuous much?”
“I’m a problem solver.”
“I’d like some clean clothes.”
I shrugged, leading her to the VIP check-in desk. “We’ll send your laundry out for washing.”
“Sean . . .”
“Or I can buy you something new. The hotel has a shop.”
“No.” Her tone was flat and dismissive.
I wrapped my arm around her waist, drew her to my side, and whispered in her ear, “Or we could be naked.”
She stiffened, her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull out of my grip. I leaned just slightly away so I could see her profile. She kept her eyes diligently forward.
While I checked in, she remained silent, making no move to separate our bodies. And when I added her to the room and presented her with a key, she accepted it, slipping the rectangle into her handbag without a word.
Chapter Nine
@SeanCassinova Where might one procure a shoe horn in NYC?
@RugbyFan101 to @SeanCassinova I’ll loan you my horn any day of the week, baby ;-)
@SeanCassinova to @RugbyFan101 Who is this and where did you get my number?
@RugbyFan101 to @SeanCassinova Uh, this is Twitter.
@SeanCassinova to @RugbyFan101 That’s a very strange name. What were your parents thinking?
@EilishCassidy @SeanCassinova Stop being an arse.
*Sean*
“What do you want to do?”
“I’d like to lick your pussy.”
Lucy choked on her water. She’d been mid-sip from an Evian bottle when I responded. I listened, perusing the room service menu, as she continued to cough and sputter.
“Sean—”
“Then I think I’d like a steak.” The restaurant had several nice cuts of meat; I decided on the prime rib.
“Sean—”
“Wine with the meal. After dinner, perhaps drinks? Then sex?”
“Sean.”
I lifted my eyes from the menu, found her scowling at me from across the room. “What?”
