Page 53 of Cinderella Is Faking It

She only needed two. She polished that other girl off without letting her get a single hit in. The sense of pride that swelled in my chest diminished when she stopped in front of me and nailed me with an icy glare though. “So? Are you a patriarchal asshole who only wants to use this girl for sex - who gets mad when she values your companionship over your penis?”

Brody may have inherited her mother’s soft face, but that attitude of hers was all Julian. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you, Brody,” I said while helping her out of her gloves. “You and your father are way too nosy.”

“You come tomyfight and spend the entire time looking at your phone. I deserve an explanation that doesn’t involve the word friendzone.” She grabbed her water bottle but kept her eyes trained on me, brows raised, waiting for an answer while she drank.

I huffed an exasperated sigh. The CIA should employ teenage girls. If anyone could torture information out of you, it was them. “If you liked a boy, how would you signal that to him?”

“Depends on the context.” She shrugged and chugged more water from her bottle even though her brow was barely crested in sweat.

“Explain.” I had stooped so low as to ask my teenage niece for dating advice. Great.

“If we went out on a date, absolutely dress up. I’d want to look my best, look cute, snap a couple pics with him and take some videos. We could totally match our fits for the aesthetic. And he could be all ‘look at my hot girlfriend’ you know?” The wordhotdidn’t compute in relation to my niece, but I understood the basic gist of what she was saying. Going out equaled being seen - even digitally - which equaled getting dressed up.

“What about… study dates?”

“School, library or at home?”

Part of me was curious why the location seemed to matter, but that wasn’t the point. “At my place.”

“Hmm.” She weighed her head back and forth. “I’d dress casual but cute. I feel like if I dressed up too much, I’d signal that I was just there for a quick stop between more important plans. If I’m legit just coming tostudy, I’m in the most comfortable shit, loose shirt, stretchy pants, mismatched socks. But if it’s a studydate, I’d still do my hair cute, wear some skintight yoga pants, maybe a little crop top moment with a dainty necklace. Comfortable but I have a great body and am not afraid to show it, right? I might slide a little closer, let my arm brush his, tell him he smelled nice. Stuff like that.”

I blinked at her. She had described the outfit Del had shown up in on Monday. Down to the fucking necklace. There was no arm-touching when you sat eight feet apart though. “I see.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“What did shesignal?”

“Yoga pants.”

“Good for you, uncle Auggie.” She punched my upper arm with more force than necessary, and I hated to admit that it hurt enough to bruise the next day. “And good for me. I’m in desperate need of a cool aunt who doesn’t turn green when I use the word penis.”

I didn’t tell her that the woman in question might turn bright red instead.

TWENTY-TWO

Beck wasat the office again on Friday, making this the second day we didn’t see each other after the whole vibrator incident. I went to his place with the best intentions of burrowing myself in his books, but yesterday’s heat was still simmering in the streets and his penthouse was mostly south-facing windows. By 11am, the relentless sunlight had brought the sweltering temperatures inside. I tried adjusting the thermostat, but it was on a timer and no matter how many buttons I pressed, it just beeped angrily at me and flashed a big red light. Asshole.

There was no way Beck didn’t have AC, but there was every way he didn’t switch it on unless he was actually at home, considering most of his time was spent out and about.

Fine. I could get some cool relief in other ways. I yanked the freezer door open, a wave of cool air hitting my damp skin. Thank God. I sighed and turned, trying to get that 360-degree popsicle treatment, but the problem with freezers was that there was no air blast. The cold barely penetrated past my clothes. I’d taken my pants off for far more scandalous reasons in here the other day, so I had less inhibitions as I yanked up the hem of my shirt. Immediately the cool air sank through my belly, deep into my nerves, soothing my discomfort. “Oh, come on,” I groaned as I tried to peel my soaked t-shirt over my neck, but it was stuck somewhere between my bra and my elbows, too wet to slide off, “for goodness’ sake.”

“Need help?”

The low rumbling voice made me scream and jump.

I hadn’t even heard him come in.

He was supposed to be at the office.

And I was currently stuck in front of his freezer with my pink Taylor Swift shirt covering my face but not my chest.

“I’m good,” I squeaked, turning in the direction his voice had come from, only to collide with a hard, warm wall. I yelped again. Damn, his steps were silent.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who entered the security code wrong three times and tripped the silent alarm?”

“Security code?” I asked and tensed when his hands slid up my sides to hook in under my shirt. Oh god. That thing was so sweaty. He’d have my smelly, hot sweat all over his hands.

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