“I’ll have you know I’m employing every scintilla of self-control to not pull back and land a left hook on your chin. Or better yet, your liver,” Isabella said through gritted teeth as they walked down the hall. “Don’t for a second think I’m somehow endorsing you. Instead, I am trying hard to live in the moment and practice mindful, loving kindness. Hence, the lack of physical violence.”
“Look, I appreciate your not causing bodily harm, really I do. I’m a firm believer that war is not the answer,” Sawyer said. “I just really need to explain some things to you. I hope you’ll understand.”
“I’m particularly not interested in lengthy diatribes about anything.”
“I don’t even know what a diatribe is, so no worries, I won’t be employing them.”
“Funny,” she said as she entered the room with the closed door.
“More like funny looking,” he said,poking fun at her, his mouth curling up into a smile on one side of his face.
She just gave him a smirk in reply.
The two of them stood next to one another in the dimly lit room. It contained nothing but a queen-sized bed with an overstuffed duvet that made Isabella want to curl under it and hide, she so hated confrontation. Or pull him under there with her because if she was being truthful, the man was too good-looking for his own good. Not that she was paying attention because she wasn’t. But once you let go of the anger, it’s amazing how you notice things you otherwise wouldn’t have picked up on. Like his light gray-blue eyes that looked like windows into his soul. His dark, evil soul.
Oh, God, she wasn’t allowed to think that way. She wanted to do her mother proud by being above it all, not stooping to the ugliness. Besides, there was really very little ugliness in front of her. Instead, there was this man who fit his slacks amazingly well. Like seriously, he must use a Stairmaster pretty regularly to get a butt like that, and if she wanted to look longer—she didn’t—she might even notice his broad chest and strong arms, no doubt from lifting heavy pots in the kitchen. Heavy pots of delicious food she’d be more than happy to eat with him. More like with someone like him but not him because she wasn’t about to commune over a dinner table with this man anytime soon.
Sawyer extended his hand toward the bed. “Have a seat, please,” he said.
Bella looked at where his hand pointed, then looked at him, then looked at that bed again.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Why? You planning to smother me under the goose down duvet?”
She let out a little laugh. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t thought about it but now that you mention it, that’s not such a bad plan. Thanks for the suggestion.”
He shrugged. “Any time I can be of help.”
“Because that’s worked so well so far.”
“About that,” he started to say.
“Ugh, please, I just don’t want to rehash this.”
“I need to explain,” he said, placing his drink on the nearby nightstand before sitting down on the bed. “But please, would you join me?”
One thing was for sure—the last time a man asked her kindly to join him on a bed, things unfolded in a way they definitely weren’t going to unfold right now.
“I’m not sure about the two of us sitting together on a bed, what with our adversarial position and all.”
“I can’t think of a better reason,” he said. “After all, what could happen? Worst-case scenario you try to hurt me. Best-case scenario, I don’t die because of the soft bedding. All’s well that ends well.”
“All right,” Isabella said, finally relenting, but keeping a healthy distance between them. She placed her French Seventy-Five, or whatever the thing was called, on the nightstand and put her arm around the brass frame at the top of the bed, scooching the pillows out of the way at the head of the bed to make room for her bottom. “But make it quick. I’ve got things to do.” Like, throw back a few more of those French Seventy-Fives, for starters.
“So you see, I really want to apologize to you for what happened,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but truly, it was all a huge mistake. Well, a mistake compounded by a malicious employee.”
“Are you talking about the first time or the second time? Because clearly they weren’t both mistakes.”
“Oh, but they were,” he said. “The first one even more so. Well, wait, the second one as well, but it wasn’t a mistake for someone.” Poor Sawyer stammered as he tried to make sense of things.
“So you just happened to stick that vibrator in my backpack thinking it was something I, what, needed? Wanted? Would laugh about?”
“God, no. It wasn’t even intended for you,” he said. “It was supposed to go in someone else’s backpack.”
“So you just randomly went around putting remote-control dildos in people’s backpacks, not even checking to be sure it was going in the right one? So was your girlfriend upset I got it instead of her?”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Trust me, that was not for a girlfriend,” he said. “Although, damn, wouldn’t I have been the lucky one at the school if it was.” He paused, lost in thought, perhaps fantasizing about being such a fortunate fourteen-year-old.
“I can tell you who wasn’t the lucky one.”
“I’m really, really sorry about that,” he said. “I never even knew who you were. I mean, you were just this random girl and you completely slipped under my radar. I don’t even think I knew you existed!”
Isabella glared at him and crossed her arms, fortifying herself against the man.
“Wait, that came out wrong,” he said.
If Sawyer thought this apology thing was going to be easy, he was in for a hard lesson.