Page 52 of Miss Behaved
Why did I decide that was a bad thing?
Oh, that’s right, because regardless of what I tell him, we can’t actually be friends ever again. Those innocent kids were kidding themselves. They didn’t know Carson would grow up with that amazeballs body or that, in our ten years apart, the man would learn how to use it.
Carson follows close behind me as we make our way to the edge of the group. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like they’re reaching out to him. As much as I want to remember why I’m mad at him and stick to the plan, I wish he’d wrap his hands over my thighs and play with the hem of this ridiculously short dress.
He leans down and whispers in my ear, “How long till they figure out it’s you, Cookie?”
I grin but keep my gaze straight ahead. “Who says it is?”
“I know you.”
Pushing a shoulder back, I press in closer to him. “Then say something,” I challenge.
Carson’s hand finds the center of my back, and his fingers dance up my spine, sending shivers over my skin, because the dress is also backless.
Seriously, what in the world did I let Luce talk me into with this thing?
“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Craven?” I ask with a touch of southern drawl. “I don’t remember reading that in out introductory cards.”
His fingers climb up the back of my neck, and he traces a line over the curve of my shoulder.
“I’m taking creative liberties.” He moves all the way down my side until his fingertips play with the hem of my dress. “Besides, I don’t hear you complaining.”
He slides his fingers under the back and traces the bottom curve of my ass. I press my back against him and feel his rock-hard length ready for me.
“Cookie!” I hear my character’s name screamed from the side of the room, and I barely manage to pull away from Carson in time for the entire room to look in my direction.
“Looks like you’re found out, darlin’.” Carson chuckles and turns away, bringing the temperature of the air around me down five hundred notches. Hopefully the thoughts in my head aren’t showing, because it feels like“I want to do dirty things to Carson”is stamped on my forehead as everyone stares at me.
After the inquisition, my innocent jig is up, and the room uncovers me as the murderer. It’s a bit of a rush, being the unsuspecting killer tonight. Like another dark part of myself that’s hidden under the bouncy curls has been pried open. Everyone takes a shot to celebrate the end of the game, but I switch to water, already feeling enough swoosh in my head between the dirty martini and the dirty grin on the man who handed it to me.
The hotel invites everyone to stay and enjoy the rest of the evening in the decked-out rooms, and as much as I should stay and have fun in this barely-there dress, I’m distracted, searching the room for Carson.
He’s at the edge of the room, leaning in an open doorway and talking to someone who must be a hotel employee or random guest, because I don’t recognize her. Her short red hair is pinned neatly off her face, and a tight jean skirt doesn’t leave much of her toned legs to the imagination. She laughs, petting his arm, and my stomach swims, wondering what’s so funny. He leans closer and says something in her ear, and she leans back to look at him with come-fuck-me eyes.
My hand clutches my stomach, and the martini kicks in harder. The room seems to split, and I welcome it to swallow me up as I make my way to a table in the back corner.
How do I always get it wrong?
I’ve seen that look enough times. On men like Steven. Pretending to play nice, but secretly flirting right in front of me. And I’m the good girlfriend who pretends not to notice, because as long as he keeps his hands off, then there’s still a chance he can be my prince.
But seeing that smile on Carson stings differently.
This is what you wanted, Monica. This is what you told him. Friends, remember?
How come he can’t see that I didn’t mean it? That I clearly never grew up and am still playing childhood games? Pretending not to like the boy just so he’ll chase me.
“Hey, Mon,” Carson says, and I jump.
How long has he been standing there?
“Hi” is all I say as I take a drink of water through my straw.
He sits on the stool beside me. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Nodding, I take another sip, wondering how much water it would take to quell the fire in my belly. “It’s been a long day,” I tell him.
“Back to that, huh?” He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, pinning me with his stare.
