Playing It Safe(11)

Turning into one of the far rooms of the gallery, which is almost like an alcove that only a few people can fit in at a time, I finally spot Alex.

Alone.

Just me and him in this tiny space.

He’s dressed impeccably, as usual, in a pinstripe suit and a light blue dress shirt that perfectly accentuates his eyes. He’s not wearing a tie again, but that’s good for me because I get to look at his throat while his Adam’s apple bobs up and down while he talks. I know I’m being ridiculous, but something as insignificant as that is so very sexy to me in a really hot guy.

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” I ask him before bringing the glass to my lips to take another sip. “Are you hiding or something?”

He smiles and ever so smoothly brings his line of vision down my body and back up again, but not before lingering a moment too long on “the boys.”

I knew it! Alex is a tits man, and I feel so vindicated it’s not even funny. In my head I’m doing the Running Man to the tune of Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It” and giving myself a pat on the back.

“Why would I be hiding?” he asks.

“I don’t know, why would you be hiding?”

“Why do you care if I’m hiding or not?”

“Why do you answer every question with another question?”

Alex takes a step forward, and there he goes again crowding my personal space, but I’m standing my ground this time. He raises an eyebrow at my stance and says, “Maybe I like getting you all worked up.”

The double meaning in that is so not lost on me, and just like that, we went from zero to sixty in no time at all.

“Maybe?” I ask innocently while gazing up at him.

“Now look who’s answering with questions.”

His masculine chuckle resonates through me, making my toes curl while he takes the upper hand again. I seriously cannot keep up with this much longer. I’m either going to throw him against the wall and rub myself all over him like a slutty cat on a scratching post, or I’m going to douse myself with a bucket of ice-cold water.

“For your information, I’m not hiding … at least not from you,” he explains. “Just like the quiet sometimes.”

“Huh. Always figured you for the type that was into parties and shit.”

“That would imply you’re thinking about me,” he says without missing a beat.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He takes a step forward and moves to my side to leave, but not before ducking his head closer so that I feel his warm breath fan across my ear. “That’s a good question. Are you ready for the answer?”

And then he’s gone, disappearing behind me back into the gallery’s exhibit, while I ponder what just happened, kind of pissed off that the son of a bitch just answered me with another goddamn question. Even worse though, I’m so incredibly hot for him right now over his toying with me that I don’t know what to do with myself!

Frustrated in more ways than one, I turn on my heel and blend in with the crowd that has accumulated since I’ve been competing in the Flirting Olympics with Alex. Standing off to one side while I stare out in space with my now-empty champagne flute in hand, I feel a nudge on my side and turn around to see Lisette and Sarah looking worried.

“What’s the matter?” I ask quickly.

They turn to look at each other and then back at me while they debate who is going to be the sacrificial lamb who tells me whatever the hell the problem is.

“Guys, someone speak up and soon.”

“Sarah has something to tell you,” Lisette throws out.

Sarah gives her the stink eye before turning her attention back to me. “Okay, well … see … there’s this woman who’s going off on the catering manager, saying something about this not being what she ordered for the event. He called us over and said he doesn’t get paid enough to deal with brats—his words, not mine. Anyway, he’s threatening to pull his staff if someone doesn’t get that lady away from him.”

I’m already walking with them over to the catering manager, who is stationed in the back of the building, as she’s finishing the explanation. I swing the door open to the warehouse portion of the gallery, which is where the catering staff has all of their prep stuff set up and where they replenish hors d’oeuvre and drink trays. Joey, the catering manager, who is the nicest guy, by the way, is probably freaking out over having to deal with some random woman complaining about the order. This, for the record, is news to me. Lisette and I only deal with Alex or Sarah at the gallery, so this mystery lady is about to get a f*cking earful by yours truly in about two seconds.

The mystery woman’s back is to me as she’s going off on Joey, something about how he’s inept and clueless and that she demands to speak to whomever is in charge.

I tap her on the shoulder and announce, “You’re looking for me?”

The woman swings her torso around, causing her pin-straight brown hair to whip behind her and almost slap me in the face.

You have got to be kidding me. Marisa, a.k.a. Miss Teen USA, is the bitch on wheels?

Her face goes through a myriad of looks while scrutinizing me before settling on recognition. Took her long enough to recognize me. Call me crazy, but I love a good smackdown. And a tip for all of you playing along at home: never ever let it show that they’re getting a rise out of you. The key to a good smackdown is to kill them with kindness. Unless, of course, they cross the line, and then all bets are off.