Page 35 of Wicked Player
Chapter Twelve
“Christian, let’s go,” I bark. “You know the rules.” He doesn’t have his life vest, and he’s not allowed past the lookout deck without his jacket.
He runs up ahead of us, full of energy.
“So you never answered my question,” he says. “What else do the fine bay folks say about us?”
I don’t mean to be harsh, but might as well tell it like it is. “They say you’re a spoiled rich boy.”
“Yep… I know about that one. It’s true. What else?”
“The ladies all agree that you’re very handsome.”
He laughs. “Is that so?” he says. “And what about you, Clara? Do you agree with that statement?”
I stop abruptly, just as we’re about to step onto the lookout deck. He bangs into me, and we both laugh as I turn to him. “I disagree. You’re too pretty. I like my men a little rough around the edges. You’re not my type.”
He practically falls back, stunned by my words. “Okay…” is all he says, at a loss for words. I guess Colton Rossi is not used to women not falling at his feet.
“Miriam,” I go on. “She lives down the street… she says you work at your family business and you went to business school, and that you’re actually really smart.”
He laughs. “Wow, look at that. Someone actually said something nice about me. I like this Miriam lady,” he says as we finally both arrive at the cabin, both of us a little winded. “She’s right. I’m the CEO, and I like to think I do a good job.”
I turn to him. “I’m sure you do. You clearly have a passion for music and guitars,” I say, and then I just can’t help myself when I add, “and women.”
I invite him in, a little ill-at-ease. My place is so tiny, it’s embarrassing. It’s basically one wide open space, separated by three or four wall that don’t quite reach the cedar planked ceiling.
“I love it,” he says. “It’s cozy.”
Yes… cozy.
That’s the word most people use when they first see this place. Code for ‘small as fuck.'
“And charming too, right?” I tease.
He smiles as his gaze darts across the space, as it bounces over the seventies inspired furniture and sky blue walls, funky art and old wood burning stove. “It is charming,” he argues. “Honestly… I love it.”
Christian’s nose is already buried in the pantry, fetching some microwave popcorn. I reach for some candy; some Twizzlers and some Skittles. “You’ll need to brush your teeth right after the movie,” I remind Christian.
He rolls his eyes. “I know, Mommy. I know.” Already with the attitude, and he’s only seven.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I urge, and Colton quickly takes a seat on my grey futon sofa. He looks out of place in my cabin, like he’s too awesome for this space. He looks much more at home on his own expensive velvet sectional in his fancy-ass living room.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask. “I have soda, iced tea, lemonade. I don’t offer him alcohol because I know he’s driving.
“I’ll have a coke,” he says. “With ice… if you have it.”
I frown at him. “I have ice,” I say defensively pointing toward my cheap old yellow refrigerator. “See this… it’s a working freezer.”
“I meant the Coke.”
“Oh…”
I really don’t know why I’m being so defensive. I suppose I just don’t like his type. I’ve been conditioned over the years to not like the lake folks. It’s very much an ‘us against them’ mentality around here. And I realize that I am presently consorting with the enemy. If the neighbors could only see me, I’d probably be ostracized.
I busy myself making the snack preparations and every now and then, I turn to check him out. He’s studying the books and items on my bookshelf, and I try to remember what books I have in my collection, hoping there’s nothing too embarrassing. A woman’s bookshelf is a very personal thing, more personal than an underwear drawer in my opinion. You can tell a lot about a person just from getting a peek at their book collection.
Christian is busy setting up the movie. Fortunately, the kid is very technology gifted. They’re making small talk. Colton asks him about school, and of course he tells him all about Mrs. Garcia, blushing a little.
