Still flashing that mysterious smile, he stops in front of me, slides his hands inside my shirt––technically, his––and looks down, studying my chest.
He cups, squeezes, and kneads my breasts, his eyes still cradling that smile.
“How are things in New York?” I ask.
He lifts his eyes to me.
“New York?”
“Yes. Your work? Home? Francisco…?”
I pause.
“Alejandro?” I continue, throwing his name into the mix as a distraction so it’s not that obvious I’m going down a list based on the text messages I found on his phone.
He bites his lip, flashing a knowing smile as if he knows I know what’s on his phone.
I doubt he’s checked it, but maybe he has. Or perhaps I’m overthinking the whole thing.
It’s like we’re playing a game.
Regardless, I like his lopsided grin and how he tips his gaze down, his arms cradling my back.
“Why are you so interested?”
He lifts his gaze, and it’s made of pure fire.
I mirror his attitude.
“I’m just making conversation.”
My gaze drops as well, scanning his shorts, low-sitting waistband, and muscular legs.
His skin is taut and tanned.
“Everything is good. I talked to Shauna before I came here…”
My eyes swing up and center on his face.
“Shauna?”
He nods.
“I told her about my father.”
My smile vanishes.
“And the woman he’d kept company with,” he continues. “Shauna was under the impression that you and I had talked about her, and I told her it had nothing to do with you.”
“What prompted you to do that?”
“I couldn’t keep it a secret for much longer. She needs to know the truth, and he won’t tell her anything. So I did. And that’s that.”
I muse over his words.
“And other than that?” I ask.
“Nothing.”