I know I should be away by now, I should leave and not waste time striking up any conversation with him-after all, that’s what I want the most-to be away from him or anything here as well but I’ve never been one to let someone have the last word.
I’ve made a vow to never allow that to happen again. And though it may sound childish to abide by that in a situation like this, I still couldn’t help it. Something about him nudges that part of me. A competitive, albeit childish part as well.
If he thought his flirty ways would sway me, then he’s gravely mistaken. I refuse to be swayed by it. So, I straightened my spine, and pushed my hair over my shoulder-leveling my stern gaze with his. “I’ve seen men like you.” I started.
His eyes dilated, as he feigned a look of surprise, his lips parted. “Oh, really now?” He’s mocking me, I just know it. It’s obvious from the tilt of the corner of his lips in amusement.
I didn’t allow it to get to me, even though I was internally a ticking bomb because he’s getting on my last nerves. I don’t get how he’s finding amusement in my actions, in any of it. How is it amusing please?
He got on his feet, rounded the center table, then stopped by the exit of the living room-opposite where I am, leaning on it while crossing his arms-the mug still in his hand. Then, he slowly arched a brow, his lips dancing in amusement. “And what kind of man am I exactly, Isabella?” The way my name rolled of his lips…it had my stomach in flips.
I try to not let it get to me, because there’s no reason it should but it’s like my body automatically reacts to the way he calls my name. It’ a ridiculous feeling, I know. Which is why I try not to focus on it.
I jutted my chin, putting on a blank expression so he wouldn’t see the way I react to him calling my name. My stupid body and stomach that was in knots. I didn’t hesitate to respond. “A playboy.” Whoever he is, he has this flirty attitude and the looks of a playboy. I have no doubt he is one.
“Am I now?” His lips parted in surprise, but even then, mirth danced in his orbs. He’s taking everything a joke. How can I not be annoyed?
“Of course you are.” His attitude wouldn’t stop me from laying out the facts here. I tilted my head to the side slightly, then carried on. “A billionaire that has slept with half the girls in America–“
“-I don’t think that’s healthy.” He cut me off, raising a finger, his expression contorting into that of disgust. “That would be awful amount of women.”
I ignored him, “-has every girl at your feet whom you use and discard like used shirts–“
“-that’s a pretty jerky move, and I’m not that bad.” Yet again, he cut me off to chirp in his inline comments. His face sported a serious look, “Come on, give me some credit here.”
And yet again, I ignored him. “-And you think you can get any woman you want just because you’re rich.” This time around he didn’t cut me off. I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, that wouldn’t work me. You won’t have me in your bed–“
“-you slept on it.” He pointed out. “For the whole night.”
I closed my eyes, then took a deep breath so as to not lose my calm because I’m so close to going nuts because of this man. How does he have a response for everything please? While I’m trying to calm myself, his voice came yet again.
I peeled my eyes open, pinning my glare on him as my hands curled by the side. It’s enough that I’m beating myself up for being unable to remember whether something did happen between us or not-his silence isn’t helping one bit. I prefer his silence though to the words he uttered next.
“-though you can’t remember whether you did sleep with me or not.” He kissed his teeth, his expression still serious. “Between us, don’t you think that makes you the player? I mean, how can you forget last night? Even if you’ve forgotten what happened here, then you do remember you claimed me in public right?” He touched the spot where his heart is, “If you’ve forgotten, it will hurt me here. So, tell me, Isabella, how will you take responsibility of me?”
“Responsibility?” I repeated, trying to make sense of what he just said. Which responsibility is he talking about again?
He nodded, pressing his lips together. “Yes, responsibility of me.” A few curls of his hair fell on his forehead, framing it and giving him an even younger look. “You made my heart race, and you have to take responsibility of it.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks the moment those words escapes his lips, and I found myself grasping at words to respond. “You kissed me back as well.” That was the only thing that came to my mind.
He held my gaze for a few seconds, not saying a word. His face suddenly broke into a slow smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded in response to what I said. “I did.” He admitted. “So, should I take responsibility of you, Isabella? Would you allow me to?”
His words, his looks, his smile…fuck. It all makes my stomach be in knots. I hate how he has this effect on me, and I hate even more how I am easily swayed by it. He knew what he was doing judging from the amused expression he sported, and that annoyed me. So, in a desperate attempt to rid my head of those thoughts so he wouldn’t see past me, I was quick to wipe off any trace of smile or embarrassment from my face.
“No one asked you to.” I mumbled, then looked away, blowing out breaths to calm my racing heart. “I’m leaving.” I decided there’s no point standing there and listening to him anymore. So, I turned around, making my way out. Or more like storming my way out.
His voice suddenly came again, much to my displeasure. “That’s not the way out.” His tone was calm, and composed.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.