Page 23 of Resting Grump Face
9
RYKER
When she finally notices my presence, I, for some inexplicable reason, seize up, although I am not the one dancing almost bare naked through someone else’s apartment.
There’s just something about this woman that makes me… confused. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Though wanting to put my fingers on her again seems to be a big part of the problem (and only partially in a murdery sense).
Sienna takes off her headphones and thereby unleashes what can probably best be described as crazy sex hair. Because that’s what I immediately have to think of when seeing her like this. It also seems to be made of medusa’s snakes because I can only stand there, unable to move. My eyes are locked onto hers, which appear to make a 360-degree turn in her head.
She is thrilled to see me. Good.
A towel hangs over her shoulders, barely covering her chest. But instead of shrieking and running away, she crosses her arms in defiance, shifts her stance and opens her mouth, probably to say something snappy and rude.
I cut her off before she can get the first blow in. “Someone stole your pants? And shirt? And bra?”
She huffs and tries to hide a smile. I think I know because that’s what she does to me too.
“It’s almost as if we’re destined to run into each other,” she finally says, only dressed in some emerald green lace panties, the towel, and a hauntingly annoyed gaze.
“Hm,” I grunt, “it’s almost as if someone wants us to run into each other, but I doubt dear old Destiny has anything to do with it.” I lift the heavy bags of food Phoenix made me get to ‘stock their fridgetodayplease, before we get back…’ in about two weeks. “Phoenix told me to bring groceries.”I should have known.
“Olivia told me to take care of their plants and mail.”
“We should probably find new friends.”
“Finally, something we can agree on.”
Olivia’s words shoot through my head: ‘We can’t be best friends anymore. Ryker is my best friend now.’
We look at each other for a while. No one moving, no one saying a word. This is probably what people describe as palpable tension, which should usually make one uncomfortable, but it’s not. If anything, it’s invigorating in the oddest way.
Sienna certainly is a lot of things. Easily embarrassed is not one of them. She exudes confidence and conviction. Too bad she seems to use it to be disagreeable and rude most of the time.
“Well,” she finally says and steps towards me, “I’d be mad at them, but I haven’t really eaten anything yet, so….” She reaches for one of the bags and tries to take it from me. I hold tight to the bag, Sienna holds tight to my hand, and the temperature suddenly rises a few degrees.
“You should probably put on some clothes before you catch something,” I say, and carry everything to the kitchen.
“If I haven’t caught anything from you yet, I’m probably not going to,” Sienna quips and follows slowly. “Did you fireallof your assistants? Is that why you have to run errands like this yourself now?”
“What makes you think I have several assistants to take care of things like this for me?”
“For one, you’re rich, like filthy rich. For two, you did fire one of them at the airport, and for three, your hands are way too soft and dainty. They probably haven’t seen any physical labor since you last disposed of a body.”
Here we go again. Sienna is like a boxer. Quick on her feet and even quicker to hit you with a combination to your metaphorical liver and jaw. It’s rude and disrespectful and, for whatever reason, incredibly arousing.
“First of all, I fired her for very good reasons. And, secondly, I assure you, those hands wouldn’t look as dainty wrapped around your neck.”
“Well, well, well, look at Mr. Handful threatening murder once again.”
“You just bring it out in me,” I admit.
“I do tend to bring out the best in people,” Sienna shoots back, grabs the grapes that I just put on the counter and hops off towards the terrace. “And I am not surprised the best you have to offer is murdering innocent women.”
Innocent is probably the last word any sane person would use to describe Sienna de la Vega.
I watch her ass shake as she walks away, because, apparently, I have a masochistic streak in me I didn’t know about. How else would you explain me still being here in the first place?
From the kitchen, I can see how Sienna strips off her panties and glides into the bubbles underneath her. Steam is coming from the hot tub, and only now do I realize that my useless dickhas a mind of his own once again. It’s raging against my zipper, asking to go for a swim.
