fuck? Yours is nice also? Why did putting “also” at the end of a sentence automatically make a person sound stiff? Living on an island for the last eight years had seriously fucked with my game.
Rose smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “Well, aren’t we both full of compliments today.”
Her hands were still smoothing down the sleeve of my jumper, and my eyes grew hooded as I watched their descent. When was the last time a woman had touched me skin to skin? My ex-girlfriend, Lizzy, felt like a lifetime ago. We’d both been lonely and had filled a void in each other’s lives. In the end, it was she who’d pushed me away, telling me I needed to deal with my issues, that she wasn’t the one for me.
“Hey, are you all right?” Rose asked gently.
I swallowed and nodded before turning to sit in the chair Graham gestured to. It’d been a while since I’d thought of Lizzy, and it still hurt to remember how alone I’d felt when she told me I needed to go, that I was just filling time with her, and simply “settling” wasn’t what either one of us deserved.
When I looked at Rose through the mirror, she lifted a brow, her eyes wide with concern, like she thought she’d done something wrong. I returned her look with one of my own, one that said everything was fine. She seemed content with that and went to sit on a bench, flicking through a magazine while Graham set to work on my hair.
After a while Rose lost interest in what she was reading and simply sat back to watch me. I met her gaze through the mirror once more, my eyes travelling over her form. Her dark brown hair was twisted along one shoulder, her blouse tight over her full chest but flaring out at her hips. Her dark jeans outlined her shapely thighs, and my mind began to wander as I imagined how she might look stripped bare.
There were so many details to a woman that the imagination just couldn’t do justice. I wanted to know if she had freckles anywhere other than the sparse few that dusted her cheeks. Would she feel soft underneath me? How would she smell with my scent all over her? How would she taste? Would she be tight and wet if we fucked?
Jesus.
The direction of my thoughts must have showed on my face, because Rose tensed up, folding her arms over her chest as she focused on the floor for a time. I couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or if my attention was simply unwanted. I hated the lack of certainty, wished I was better at reading women and their subtle cues.
When Graham was done with me, he pulled the coverall off and held a mirror up to the back of my head so that I could see.
“Well, what do you think?”
“It’s great. You’ve outdone yourself,” said Rose before I could answer. In truth, I had no opinion other than it didn’t look like someone had gone to work on me with a hacksaw. Right then I only really valued my looks in relation to how they affected Rose. I wanted her to be attracted to me. No, I needed her to be, needed her to look into my eyes and tell me to fuck her until she couldn’t stand straight.
I stood and walked over to the counter to pay Graham, while Rose went to gather our coats. When we were standing outside, she stuck her thumb out for a taxi to take us back to the studio, saying it was too cold to walk this time. I caught sight of a few men standing on the other side of the street, watching us, and it struck me as odd. They looked like press, but they couldn’t be. Nobody cared about me anymore. I was certain that most people had completely forgotten who I was since I’d been out of the public eye for so long.
“Did you see those men?” Rose asked once we were seated in the taxi, and I swore inwardly. I hadn’t been the only one to notice them.
“Aye,” I said, exhaling a gruff breath.
“I think they were photographing you from outside when you were getting your hair done. I didn’t want to say anything at first because I thought it might freak you out.”
“Let them take pictures. They’ll get bored eventually.”
“Hmm, well, maybe you should think about hiring a PR rep, just in case. People