Page 14 of Resting Grump Face
Sienna extends her arm, demanding her phone back. While handing it to her, I stealthily slip my other hand into the purse next to her on the loveseat and steal a tiny vial of what appears to be her perfume. I don’t know why I do it, but it seems like the right thing to do. I let it slide into my pocket, then involuntarily catch a glimpse of her black lace panties once again. Not wanting to be a creep, I turn away and stare right at the mini-bar.Exactly what I need right now.So I walk over, take a glass and pour myself some overpriced champagne.
Sienna scoffs from behind me.
“Anything you wanna say?” I inquire.
“You like champagne?” she asks, sounding about as surprised as she sounds judgmental.
“Why wouldn’t I like champagne? It bubbles in your mouth like fireworks. It’s like pop rocks for grown-ups. Plus, this is getting me drunk, which, considering I am trapped in here with you, seems like a pretty neat idea.”
Sienna stops typing on her phone, looks over to me, and seems to consider my words for a second. “Hm, you’re right. That was a sexist thing for me to say. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make fun of you for something like that. Especially when there are so many other things to taunt you with. Like,” she holds her phone over her head with two hands now, then reads out loud, “Oh, this might be my personal favorite yet:‘Billionaire Ryker Grayson Caught Cheating On His Affair. Girlfriend And SecretSecond Girlfriend Not Happy.’” Sienna grunts and turns over in her seat. “Look, until yesterday, I knew nothing about you except for the two or three things Olivia had told me. And they were all positive, so I have to assume they were lies too. Now I just really wish I had a time machine, so I’d never have to meet you in the first place.”
You and me both.
She walks over to the bar, grabs herself a tumbler, and fills it with more whiskey than could be considered medicinal. Then she continues, “You are literally the personification of everything that is wrong with this world. You are filthy rich, yet fail to use that wealth for anything good, you are incredibly influential, yet only use that influence to your own advantage, you are regrettably handsome, yet have the personality of a mosquito,” her eyes look me up and down, apparently on the search for more things she could throw my way in an attempt to get a rise out of me.
She can try. But she won’t succeed. Her opinion means nothing to me.
“…and, on top of that, you aren’t even good in the sack.”
6
SIENNA
He gasps audibly, but, when he notices me noticing, regains his composure immediately. Of course he’s not bothered by actually warranted criticism. I had to attack his pride to get under his skin, even if only for a second. Probably not my finest or most feminist moment, but in love and war (or in this case, altercations with arrogant assholes)…
“People have said a lot of things about me,” he growls, and I can’t help but wonder what is more fragile: the flute of champagne in his hand, or his bruised ego. “But no one has ever complained about my performance in the bedroom… or any other room for that matter.”
“Oh,” I exhale, feigning shock, “you should have told me you were still a virgin until yesterday. I wouldn’t have been so hard on you then.”
There’s silence, then his eyes shoot south for a millisecond. Mine follow.
“Wait, are you… actually hard right now?” I ask, roll my eyes and take a big sip of whiskey.
What the hell is wrong with him? And, more importantly, what the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be attracted to all of this.
“Alright, that’s it,” he says, takes the whiskey from my hand and puts both glasses down on the bar. “We are solving this once and for all.”
“Solving what?” I ask and try to figure out if our fight actually turned him on or if I was seeing things.
More flashbacks of yesterday shoot through my mind, even though I wish they wouldn’t. In them, his broad chest is pressed against my back, his lips on my neck. I really wish the faintest memory of it wouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.
“Stop looking at my dick,” he growls again and throws a pillow in my face, which drops right to the ground. “I’m not having sex with you. Not even if you beg.” It almost sounds like he actually means it too. “Now pick that up and let’s go.”
Ryker grabs another pillow off the giant bed and waits for me to arm myself.
“And you think this is?—”
“No,” he grunts, and holds his empty hand up. “The first rule of Pillow Fight Club is: You do not talkduringPillow Fight Club.”
He steps closer, waiting for me to attack first, but I don’t move.
The way he is standing there with the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the pulsing veins on his arms, the top of his shirt unbuttoned and his furrowed brows on display does definitely make me want to whack him. But then again, I am not 13 anymore and we’re not at a slumber party.
I repeat, “And you think this is going to?—”
His pillow hits me right in the head, making my hair fly all over.
“Hey, I spent two hours?—”
