Page 20 of Player
"You're the one who's going to be attracted to me."
She shakes her head, amused. "Impossible."
Her confident tone triggers an alarm in me. Why is she so convinced it won't happen?
"Are you a lesbian?"
"No, but it's worse for you because I'm sapiosexual." Since I don't respond, she continues. "What attracts me to a guy is his intelligence and charisma, so you can put away your pretty face and athletic body because they don't do anything for me."
"I don't believe that for a second."
We face off with our eyes, and I feel doubt creeping in. Could Alabama really be the first woman immune to my charm? I immediately push that idea away. It's just impossible, statistics don't lie. Women who aren’t already ready to takeoff their panties just by meeting me became that way after I do what’s needed to seduce them. Alabama won't be an exception to the rule.
"You're lying," I assert.
She shakes her head, and puts another fry, a very long one, between her lush lips. "Oh no, I assure you. And just for your information: commenting on a woman's weight isn't how you seduce her."
Without taking my eyes off Alabama, I take a long drink of water before calmly setting the bottle back on the table. My tone is falsely gentle when I answer her, "Oh yeah? And what topics do you like? You probably enjoy talking about little kittens, fairy tales, and chocolate."
She doesn't reply, but the murderous gleam in her eyes doesn't escape me.
"Oh no," I continue, "let me guess! What makes you dream is a Prince Charming on his white horse who'll put a ring on your finger, and with whom you'll start a perfect little family." I make a disgusted face. “Probably with a picket fence and a dog, too. Some stupid breed like a French bulldog or a labradoodle.”
"In any case, it's certainly not you who I like!" she protests.
I hold her gaze as I lean a bit over the table. Alabama's slight movement backward doesn't escape me.
"You'll fall for me, Alabama, and do you want to know why?" I ask. Her mouth parts, but I don't give her time to reply as I continue, "Because I'm not talking to your intellect."
I place an index finger on my temple to accompany my point.
"No, I'm speaking directly to your tight little pussy. I'm the type who could fuck you in the middle of this cafeteria without even attracting anyone else's attention."
Alabama's eyes have widened with shock. Her breathinghas quickened, and she doesn't interrupt me. I have a small, smug smile as I continue:
"I'm the guy who could slip into your room in the middle of the night to lick your pussy until you scream with pleasure, I'm the guy who could fuck you in his car in a parking lot. Yes, I'd be that guy who would do all those things you've never done, Alabama, those you dared to imagine but never try, and those you'll never admit you fantasize about."
The use of her nickname seems to break her silence, because she retorts. "Right now, you're mostly the guy whose name should appear in the dictionary under the definition of 'presumptuous.'"
"I have plenty of conquests ready to confirm what I just said."
Alabama laughs mockingly. "Wait, you think I'm asking for social proof?"
She laughs even harder, and suddenly I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her away from the crowd. Once alone, I'd shove my cock down her throat, and she wouldn't be laughing so much when I fucked her like she's never been fucked before.
Oblivious to my thoughts, Alabama continues, "All your declarations won't change anything, Player."
She grabs her tray and stands up. I lift my eyes to maintain contact with her.
"You might have fucked every woman around," she delivers with utter, convincing vehemence, "but I'll be the one who resists you and makes you swallow your arrogance."
With those words, she turns on her heel. I watch her cross the large seating area, my fists and jaw clenched. This girl might not be so easy to make give in. Maddingly, I feel a mixture of frustration and desire swirling together.
Emery's imposing figure materializes at the table. "Are you done acting like an ass?"
He fixes his gaze on mine, a questioning look on his face.
"Mind your own business," I growl.
