Page 60 of Cinderella Is Faking It

He cocked his head to the side like he was looking at an alien. “You’ve stayed in my bed before.”

“I was on so many antihistamines, I was basically high.” Or drunk. Or something. Both groggy and unable to sleep due to the adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream. I’d seen literal shackles in his nightstand and had shrugged off the possibility that he might be an unhinged axe murderer, because I’d been so desperate to just lie down. “That night hardly counts.”

“What are you worried about?”

“Sex,” I said because he was clearly not an axe murderer.

“Off the table unless you ask me for it. What else?”

“Being a nuisance.”

“I don’t tolerate nuisances. If I didn’t want you in my space, you wouldn’t be in my space. Anything else?”

He was rationalizing again. I blinked at him. His gray eyes were unwavering as he waited for my answer, ready to talk through every racing thought in my brain. Even though none of this was about sex. Or orgasms. This was just me and my overactive mind. “Don’t you have plans? A business dinner? Or a date? I don’t want you to cancel your plans for me, so you should go, but I would feel uncomfortable staying here without you.”

“Actually,” Beck said, “I do have plans tonight but you’re welcome to join me.”

* * *

“Oh god,it’s dripping. It’s dripping.” I scooped my finger along Beck’s neck to stop the gloopy face mask from running into the collar of his shirt. He’d taken off his tie and loosened his collar, but it was still a crisp white shirt vs. a neon blue gel.

“You get it?” he asked and lifted his chin to give me better access.

“I think I used too much. Oh no, no, no.” Now that he tilted his head back, it was dripping down his hairline. Those tiny blue micro-beads couldn’t be good for his hair. One hand still on his neck, I tried to scoop the gel mask from his hair back to his face with the spatula that had come with The Kit. “Shit.”

“Blondie, this was supposed to be relaxing,” he chuckled, throat vibrating against my fingers.

“I am very relaxed,” I protested, voice shrill.

“I think the face mask is a bust. Let’s just skip to the next step.” He pulled the towel from the back of the sofa and wiped his face off. I stood between his knees, bent over him to spread the mask evenly - but had clearly failed. I sighed and wiped my sticky fingers on the towel he offered.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I wasn’t 100% sold on this being his predetermined evening plan, but since he had zero blemishes on that perfectly sculpted face, he might actually spend every Wednesday night going through elaborate skincare routines. How would I know? I had no idea how people kept up with these routines. I used a whopping combination of micellar water and SPF.

“Let’s see,” his hand dove into the gift bag in his lap and he pulled out another very beige, very minimalist container. “Nutrient-rich face cream for a daily glow-boost.”

“Do you mind if I just use my hands? I don’t think that spatula is working for me.”

“Go for it. Boost my glow by any means necessary.” He grinned and tilted his head back again, eyes closed.

“No pressure,” I laughed. I liked this playful side of him. The calculated, rational Beck was comforting in contrast to the flock of hummingbirds in my chest, but this relaxed version felt like a glimpse at something he didn’t let the world see. “You actually have really nice skin.”

“Thank you.”

I dipped my fingers into the smooth surface of the face cream, testing a tiny amount for its consistency between my fingertips before even getting near his face this time. “Here we go,” I whispered before I brought my hand against his face. I smoothed the cream over the bridge of his nose and along the curve under his eyes, his breathing even while I held mine. My face hovered inches above his as I drew meticulous borders around his hairline. I stopped after my hand sloped down his sharp cheekbones. “What do I do with the beard?”

“You can put some on it,” he said, voice lowered, “it’s short enough.”

I dipped my fingers back into the lotion, hoping I was getting the right amount to not ruin his beard, but those doubts vanished the second I touched his face again and he let out a low hum. My insides tightened at that one sound. And my mind immediately conjured up visions of what that rough stubble would feel like grazing against other parts of my body. How I would touch him to hear that hum again. God, I needed to get a grip. Because speaking from experience, reality didn’t live up to the images in my head.

“All done.” I cleared my suddenly clogged throat and leaned back. His skin had already absorbed most of the moisturizer, leaving a thin sheen behind that only highlighted his unfair bone structure.

“Your turn.”

I climbed sideways onto the sofa, so he could just turn around to me instead of bending down. If he had to fold all that height down, he would have probably toppled right on top of me. On second thought, maybe I should have chanced that.Nope. Just here for his bed, grateful for shelter, nothing more. “You’re the lucky winner of a deep tissue detox.” He smirked as he read the back of the tube he just pulled out. The gift bag wandered to the floor and Beck hoisted himself around. He popped the lid off the detox and a splotch of green goo splashed into his palm.

“Oh, definitely not. That looks like it will toxify my skin rather than detox it.”

“Come here.” He chuckled and squeezed more of the glibbery, Shrek-colored slime from the tube.

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