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I should be angry at his insult but all I can do is laugh. The kinds of things he says with a straight face impress the hell out of me, and I can’t help feeling oddly attracted to his blunt nature. I blame my exposure to Pride and Prejudice at a young and impressionable age.
It’s like she shits sprinkles and consumes rainbows for sustenance. I’m not sure what kind of fairy tale forest she was raised in, but no one can be this optimistic about everything.
“Wonderful weather, am I right?” Someone cue the crickets. “Why yes, Zahra, I was wondering what’s the point of showering in the morning if the humidity does the job for me?” I try to imitate his voice with a low pitch but fail when my voice cracks. The corner of his lip lifts the tiniest bit and I mentally fist pump in the air.
What if jerks are my kink? Well, at least it explains your unhealthy obsession with Mr. Darcy.
“If you talk to me like that in front of anyone again—” “Let me guess. You’ll fire me. It’s a bit predictable for my taste but I respect it since you’re the man in charge.” He stares at me like he can’t believe I spoke to him the way I did. Honestly, me neither. And I can’t exactly blame a bottle of wine for this level of bravery and stupidity.
“You better have a massive dick to back up that attitude or else people will be mighty disappointed.” “Care to bring out a ruler and test your theory?” “I left my magnifying glass at home, so maybe tomorrow.” I’m pretty sure the angel on my shoulder has left the building. Something shifts between us. His eyes darken as they assess me. I’m not sure if he wants to choke me, fire me, or fuck me into submission. “Are you always this impossible?” “I don’t know. Are you always this much of an asshole?” One second he’s scowling at me and the next his lips are slamming into mine.
I’m not sure what the hell happened, but I lock our kiss away in the never think about again if I value my life file, located in the darkest corner of my brain. Right next to the stupid shit I did while drunk and dick pics categories.
the flood of attraction. He’s the Devil, Zahra. Well, that explains why Eve fell for his tricks. If the Devil looked half as good as Rowan, I’d eat the damn apple, too. Screw the consequences.
“Take a breath. I’m not in the mood to call an ambulance when you pass out and crack your head open.” “How dare I consider for a second that you would catch me before that happens.” “That requires caring and I’m fresh out of fucks to give.”
Zahra: I just wanted to say… 1. Thank you for helping me because I can’t draw to save my life. 2. Is there some way I can repay you? She wants to repay me? That can’t be the true reason she was interested in texting me. Zahra: I’m broke with real money so I’m not sure if you accept Monopoly bills as currency? I officially need to find out what kind of woodland fairies raised this woman because there’s no way she’s a product of the real world.
I perk up. “You’ve been reading up on me.” “I tend to research my investments.” I know his intention wasn’t to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside but my heart leaps in my chest anyway. We aren’t an investment, my feminist brain calls out. But the big grumpy man spends his time researching me, the hopeless romantic calls out in rebuttal.
Me: Does anyone tell you that you’re ridiculous? Zahra: Of course. Ridiculously Amazing happens to be my middle name. Me: I’m half convinced that you’re crazy. The next message pops up before I have a chance to breathe. Zahra: Half convinced? I need to step up my game because I don’t half-ass anything.
“You don’t want me to help you with that problem?” “Take a man out to dinner first.” “Does my pussy count?” “Fuck.”
