Page 105 of Maneater
“I’ve never kissed a target or a suspect. Never. You were the one exception. It was why this was so complicated for me.” My thumb grazes along the hard lines of his cheekbone, stubble scraping along my skin as I smile softly. “I’d already kissed you and knewhow much I liked it. I thought if I did it again, it would muddy my mind even more than you already had.”
A beat passes before a grin of his own breaks out along his lips. “Oh, you had it bad from the beginning,” he mumbles against my lips.
“Real bad,” I admit in a whisper. Then he kisses me long and deep, showing and sharing each crumb of the joy and gratitude we both feel, before finally pulling back.
“Okay, it’s time for you to finish getting all dolled up for your date.”
Without meaning to, I grimace at the reminder but sit down all the same.
“Why do you look like that?” he asks with a laugh.
“Like what?” I ask, reaching for the lipstick to apply it.
“Like you’re annoyed as fuck.” I meet his eyes behind me in the mirror as I glide the lipstick over my lips, painting them a pretty pink. He’s once again watching me while resting on the bathroom wall, and I like this: him keeping me company while I get ready, talking about our jobs and expectations openly and honestly like adults. Justbeingwith him.
“Because I realized that I’m going on a date with someone else before I go on a real date with you,” I admit. His face goes soft at that, like he really likes my words, and even though I’m annoyed, it brings me joy, knowing I brought himjoy. “It’s annoying.”
“I wouldn’t call it a date,” he says, and I let out a small laugh at the irritation now onhisface.
“I bet he would. And, again, it’sannoyingthat he gets to have a dinner date with me before you do.” The irritation melts away, and he gives me a soft smile.
“Is my little troublemaker sad we’re not going on a date?” He stands behind me, and I watch in the mirror as his hand moves to my cheek, thumb moving over my cheekbone.
“Yes,” I pout like a petulant child instead of a full-grown woman.
He dips down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Well, as soon as we can, I promise to take you out. Show you off. The whole nine.”
“Thewhole nine, huh?” I ask with an eyebrow raised and a smile.
“Oh yeah. Wine and dine, baby.”
I can’t help but laugh as I look at him in the mirror. “And what all does wine and dine include, Mr. Fisher?”
“Well, first, we have wine. And then I dine.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I can’t help it: I let out a loud laugh at his terrible innuendo. “Dine, huh?” I ask.
He nods, dipping his head down and pressing his lips to the spot right below my ear on my neck that makes me shiver, his tongue dipping out to taste me there. My pulse pounds in response.
Because I’m a brave girl, though, I swat him away.
It would only take another press like that to completely mangle my mind, to have me forget that I have a job to do and thirty minutes to finish getting ready.
“We don’t have time for that right now, unfortunately,” I say with a sigh filled with genuine regret. Then I look over my shoulder. “But hold that thought.” A deep laugh fills the room as I take out the clips holding my hair back and pick up my curling iron to touch up a few things.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says. “You look gorgeous with your natural hair.”
I smile as I release the perfect curl. “I know.”
He lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to go all out. You’d win him over regardless.”
With that, I set my iron down. “I guess we should have this talk, too,” I say with a sigh.
“Oh?” he asks, clearly entertained.
“I don’t do this,” I say, moving my hand down my body and over my hair, “for other people. Yes, there are certain styles that consistently perform better for my job. However, I spend an hour styling my hair because I want to and because I like the way it looks. If you want this to be a thing, you’ve gotta accept that sometimes, I’m goingto take two hours to do my hair just to go to the grocery store. Sometimes, I’ll throw my hair in a ponytail and not wash it for a week, but that’s becauseIwant to. I like doing my makeup, so if you tell me I’m prettier without it, I’m actually going to get pissed, no matter how well-intentioned you are. And sometimes, I’ll wear a tiny dress or a low-cut top: again, for my job—it can be a requirement because men are often distracted—but I still do it for myself. I’ve had men in the past not like that, not be into it, and I’ve ended things quick because of it. You will not be the exception to that rule.”
Silence hangs in the air between us, and even though I stare at him with a bit of anticipation, I know this is a hill I’m willing to lay it all out on. I am me, and no one and nothing will change that.
