[chapter eight]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please. ;-)
**
~Jeffy's POV~
"Ew. No."
"This one?"
"Better, but still not … "
"You aren't going to be one of those clients, are you? The kind that don't like anything?"
Jasmine's eyes search mine, and I know she's teasing me but I still feel bad for not picking anything out so far.
Maybe because I'm thinking more about how good her perfume smells and how cute she looks in the skirt she's wearing today.
My god, I really am back in high school.
"I'll be good." I say, cowed.
"God, I hope not." She mutters, and I look up quickly. She winks playfully and pulls out another set of sketches.
She's not flirting with you, Gordon. Get a grip.
The insistent ringing of her cell phone interrupts my stupid thoughts and she shrugs apologetically as she pulls it out and flips the phone open.
"This is Jasmine." She says in a very businesswomanlike voice, and I promise to myself not to eavesdrop. That promise quickly disintegrates as I hear Jasmine say …
"Que la baise vous signifient-elles, vous ne peut-elle pas le trouver? Alex, ainsi m'aident Dieu, si vous n'obtenez pas ces billets, je donnera un coup de pied votre âne … Non, non, je ne m'inquiète pas que le Scout a été allé toute la journée … Je ne fais pas le dîner, d'autant plus que c'est le tour de Jon. Je serai plus en retard à la maison … Je suis avec Gordon. Ouais, il est chaud. Nous sommes doin 'il en ce moment. Sur son sofa. Au revoir Alex."
Okay, I caught "goodbye" and "Gordon" in there. The rest … not so much.
"Sorry about that. Where were we?" Jasmine says, as I continue to just look at her.
She speaks French. Talk about sexy.
"That was Alex. Bonehead." She mutters in explanation, flipping open pages again.
"What did you say about me?" I can't resist asking.
"That you and I were doin' it on your couch." Jasmine says seriously, jotting something down in her notebook.
Whoa.
"Okay then." I say instead, and Jasmine looks up at me, giving me a smile that makes my stomach twist into knots.
"You're picturing it now, aren't you?" She challenges me.
"No, no, no."
Yes, yes, yes.
"Jeff?"
"Yeah?"
"You're blushing."
Damn.
"Where's the weirdest place you've ever had sex?" She asks out of the blue.
I wonder how wide my eyes are right now.
So much for professionalism.
"What?"
"You heard me." She smiles teasingly. "Where?"
"Um, I really like this design." I say, pointing to a random sheet of paper in front of her.
She nods knowingly and turns back to her work. After a few seconds of silence, I break the quiet.
"You like asking me weird stuff, don't you? You like embarrassing me, don't you?"
"Yeah." She says happily with a grin.
"Why?"
"Keeps you on your toes. Makes you blush all cute like. Reminds you not to be a goody goody."
"Why do you have a problem with goody goody me?"
"I don't. But you do."
"How do you know?"
"It's written on your face."
"What is?" I ask.
"The fact you aren't comfortable in your own skin. The fact you are just a scared little boy who doesn't know what he likes, now that he's away from the evil controlling force of his life. The fact there is a wildchild buried really, really deep inside, just dying to get out."
I don't know what's scarier - the fact she just said all that to me, a total stranger who is supposed to be working for me …
Or the fact she's right.