ARIA
Irush to my room and throw myself face first on the bed. “Whyyyy?” I moan into the raw silk duvet. Rolling over, I stare at the ornately paneled ceiling. He was supposed to be back tomorrow. I never in a million years would have been napping in a mother fucking bikini if I’d have known he was coming back early.
Bubbles and I went for a ten-mile hike, had lunch, worked on her agility, and did her obedience training. Why couldn’t he have come home then? But no. He came homean hourafter we finished for the day, just in time to catch us snoozing after our dip in the pool. That was a bad look, but nothing is quite as embarrassing as having a wardrobe malfunction with my tits hanging right in the face of the man I’ve been pining after like a delusional schoolgirl.
I take my time getting ready, trying to kill time until I have to face him again. A girl can only handle so much humiliation in one day. I shower and let my hair dry straight.
Mustering up my courage, I go in search of Carson, praying to every god I can remember from Greek, Roman,andNorse mythology to keep me from embarrassing myself any more than I already have… Between the nip slip and dick punching my boss, I’d say I’ve maxed out my quota for the day.Oh, mighty Odin, protect me and keep me from sticking my foot in my mouth. Merciful Poseidon, please, for once, don’t flood my panties every time Carson looks at me. And Eros, listen up you son-of-a-bitch, don’t make me fall for someone so completely, cruelly out of my reach.
Carson is already in the theater, and I swear to God, this man never does anything halfway. There are rows of cozy, oversized sofas, along with cushy footstools, velvet pillows, and knit throw blankets in earthy tones. Tiny lights embedded in the black ceiling twinkle like the night sky. If any room could give you a hug, it would be this one.
It would all be terribly impressive, if the man lounging in the front row didn’t steal the show. Carson has changed into a pale blue linen shirt, and has the cuffs rolled up his forearms. His bare feet are kicked up on an ottoman, and he’s leaning back, hands behind his head. He looks like he fell asleep watching the stars, and just the sight of him is enough to send my poor heart racing. Aaaaaand Poseidon has already forsaken me. Goddamn that slippery, fish-scented dickbag.
Maybe this is a bad idea. I mean, I can already tell it’s certainly not a smart one. I wasn’t thinking when I agreed to Chinese and a movie. Because to me, Chinese and a movie has always involved at least four other roommates piled onto a creaky couch or sitting on the floor, throwing popcorn and heckling the old TV.
This is so much cozier. I’m not sure my heart can take it, because what I want, more than anything, is to go curl up at his side and breathe him in. I want to feel the heat of his body, his fingers on my skin. What Iwantis a fucking fairy tale, and when’s the last time trailer trash from SoCal ended up with Prince Charming?
If I were smart, I’d turn around and go back to my room. If I were smart, I’d let him sleep, and I’d stick to dog training, and never ever look him in his gorgeous eyes again. Bubbles is asleep at his feet, and if I back out of the room suuuuper quietly—
“You’re not backing out on me, are you?” Carson’s voice rumbles in the quiet room.And I’m busted.He doesn’t open his eyes, but a dimple sinks in his cheek as he grins.
“How did you know I was here? I thought you were sleeping.”
“I could just tell.” The part of me that knows I can’t have him whimpers.
“If you’re tired—"
Carson turns his head to look at me, interrupting my backpedaling. “Nah, I’m wide awake. And starving.” I can think of a few things I could offer up for him to eat, but since I know he meansdinnerand notme,I keep my mouth shut.
It’s truly unfair. Every word out of his mouth makes me think of sex, sex, and more sex. It’s like I turn into a teenager, riddled with hormones and desperate for someone to fix it. Except in my case, there’s onlyonesomeone, and he’s so far out of my league that it’s not even funny.
Carson sits up, smacking the seat next to him jovially. “Come on. I got some of everything.” He lifts an enormous brown bag off the floor and plunks it on the ottoman in front of him as I sit.
“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” I laugh as he pulls out container after container.
“Yeah, it’s my guilty pleasure.” Carson doesn’t look at all abashed. He hands me a carton of chicken lo mein and a pair of bamboo chopsticks in the little red sleeve.
“It’s so weird that you eat like normal people,” I say before taking a huge bite of salty noodles.
“What do you mean? I’m totally normal.” Carson chuckles, digging into sesame chicken.
“I doubt you were ever normal a day in your life, but I’m also not saying that’s a bad thing.”
“You’ve lost me,” he raises an eyebrow and takes another bite.
“You have… like true God-given talent or maybe you won the genetic lottery, but… look at you.” I laugh, gesturing to all of him. “How many people get to look like you, sing like you, write music like you do, and then pivot to acting and win an Academy Award? That’s some seriously good karma you must have racked up.”
“I don’t usually enjoy flattery, but from you, I’ll take it.” His eyes bore into mine, crinkles forming in the corners, and my heart flutters.I thought we had a fucking deal, Eros. I will snap those arrows in two, you diaper-wearing man-baby.
“Okay, but to be fair, I have the world’s meanest trainer. He kicks my ass and laughs in my face if I whine.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I cackle, turning sideways and pulling my knee to my chest so I can face him.
“Yes, he does,” Carson insists, pointing his chopsticks at me. “His name is Ivan, and I’m pretty sure he has ties to the Latvian bratva.”
“So, what you’re saying isthat,” I gesture at all of him again. “Is the house that Ivan built.”
“Ivan and dim sum.” Carson winks at me and digs through the cartons to find the beef and broccoli. “What about you?”