Stroke It - Brooke Page Page 0,4

on her bottom lid, threatening to drip along with her tears. She darted her head away from me before I could blink.

“I’m f-f-fine,” she stuttered, wiping at her cheeks.

She was distraught, but holy hell, was she beautiful. She quickly stood from the ottoman, wearing a pink and black polka dot dress. It was modest, reminding me of a chick from the 50s by how it tapered at her hips, giving her a figure with the loosened fabric. Her heals were high, but that didn’t hide her height. She couldn’t be taller than five feet with those things off. That was a turn on for me, considering I wasn’t one of the tallest of guys.

I raised a brow and crossed my arms. “You sure? I just heard sniffling on my way to the bar, must have been another person crying.”

Taking a deep breath and biting her lip, she met my gaze, crossing her own arms. “You must have confused yourself with the music playing loudly from the bar.”

She had a valid point. “Must have been a loud sniff. Anyway, I’m glad you weren’t crying.”

Her eyes swiped down my body, her body stiffening for the slightest moment. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I’d be lying if I said she didn’t look familiar, either. I kept my eyes out of tabloids because I hated them, but this girl had a face that was magazine worthy, even with her makeup running down her cheeks. Holding out my hand, I offered an official introduction. “I’m Jet. What’s your name?”

She eyed my hand coyly, cautiously, slipping her delicate fingers into mine. “Hi.”

I smiled inwardly. “And your name would be…?”

“Regan.”

“Nice to meet you, Regan.”

She kept her hand in mine, her eyes skeptical while they skidding over me again. Did she realize how obvious she was being?

“Are you imagining what I’d look like naked right now?”

Her eyes shot to mine. Yanking her hand from my grasp, she sputtered, “No! Why would you even say that?!”

I smirked, not bothered by her disgust. She had been caught, and I liked calling girls out for shit they claim they never do. “Because you haven't stopped roaming those sexy eyes over my body.”

Her brows narrowed, her mouth forming a straight line. “You’re really sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “I call it how I see it.”

Turning on her heel, she walked to the corner of the room, keeping her arms crossed. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as slick as you think you are.”

I followed her, a crunch emerging from my shoe. I looked down to see shards of glass all over the floor. Weird? I continued to follow her, stopping until we were both standing in front of an abstract sculpture of sailboats on the wall. “Maybe you’re not as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are.”

She glared at me, and I couldn’t hide my smile any longer. “Why were you crying?”

“I told you--” She began, but her expression softened, the pain in her eyes overtaking her anger. “You’re right.” She blew out air. “I was crying.”

I bit at my smile, not wanting to rub it in that I was right. Walking across the room and dodging the random shards of glass, I found Kleenex on the end table, tugging it out of the fancy box to bring it back to her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, dabbing at her nose. “I’m probably a mess on the outside.”

I shrugged, sitting down on the couch that belonged to the ottoman she was sitting on earlier. “Better to be a mess on the outside verses the inside.”

She laughed under her breath. “Easier to hide when it’s on the inside.” Grabbing a small bag that matched her dress, she took a seat on the sister love seat, the leather creaking when her small frame relaxed into it. Digging through the bag, she pulled out one of those circle things all girls seemed to carry with them. Her shoulders sagged as she looked at her reflection. “Wow, I’m really not hiding my emotions tonight.”

I chuckled. “I think it depends on the person and who’s looking.”

“Did your therapist tell you that?” She joked, taking another tissue and blotting it under her eyes. “I knew I should have brought my eye makeup.”

“No, but he helped me realize it’s important to fix what’s on the inside. Something makeup can’t fix.”

She blinked rapidly. “Maybe I should start seeing a therapist then.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Nothing wrong with