12. Into You

CHAPTER 12

INTO YOU

ARIANA GRANDE

I check the mirror one last time, questioning myself and the makeup. I don't normally wear makeup beyond a little base powder or something with SPF and my standard black eyeliner. This morning, though, I woke up and pulled out my bag of random cosmetics, and went to town. Okay, that's a bit of an overstatement, but it's more makeup than I wore yesterday. Most of it hides the bags under my eyes from this fucking hangover.

Glittery eyeshadows in an array of purples and pinks coat my eyes before I line them in black, as always, with a swipe at the end. My dark burgundy lips make me worry for a second if I'm overdoing it with the makeup. Then I see the all-black clothes in the mirror and laugh. I'm too much of a 90s goth reject to overdo it with the makeup.

Wash that off your face. What are you, Satan's whore? That's a whore's color. What kind of man finds a fat clown like you attractive?

I slam the lipstick down on the counter, snapping the bracelet around my wrist while I try to block out my mother's voice from my head. When it passes, I grab a few necessities and shove them into the backpack I've loaded with my tablet and anything else I might need today.

My phone buzzes on its charger, and I dart across the room and grab it.

James

Be there in five

"I still can't believe I tried to have sex with you in the bathroom," I mumble to my phone, laughing. I was unprofessional and drunk; he was there and willing. That's all. But I can't stop thinking about it—I even dreamt about it.

Lexi

Great, I'll be right down!

I study myself in the mirror again and groan. If there's nothing between us, why am I wearing makeup? I finish packing everything up in my backpack and glance at the jacket hanging off the back of my couch. If he doesn't like me, why would he let me borrow his jacket? I should bring it downstairs and give it back to him. Instead, I slip it on, letting the smell of whiskey and spice pull me into a daydream. The one I had in the shower after Dani left this morning. The daydream where his fingers don't stop and…

James

Parked across the street

Really hope you're hungry Might have overdone it.

I stare at the winky face. Is he flirting? Was it weird that a guy would use a winking emoji? I nearly convinced myself that booze was the root cause of everything we said last night. The good and the bad. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe he meant what he said in the parking lot. Or, it's just an emoji.

"Okay, you fucking weirdo." I mumble to the empty room. "Enough overthinking for now!"

Professional. I'm going to keep it professional today. The smell of his cologne hits me again, and my heart flutters as the butterflies wake up and start their antics again.

D

Have fun today… I miss you at the office already!! I may need you to help me bury Kennedy in the desert somewhere.

You'll be fine today!

But you two looked SOOOO fucking CUTE together last night!!!

I sling my bag over my shoulder and scoop up my keys before running down three flights of stairs. I fly out the main door of the building, spotting him right away. He's leaning with his foot against a blue Jeep that looks like it's both well-used and well-loved. He doesn't see me as he laughs at his phone with a cup of coffee in his other hand.

I stop and stare. With so much happening, I never stopped to check him out beyond his face. Which is a little weird, because he looked—and felt up—every inch of my body while we danced. I bite back the wicked smile, remembering how he felt when I moved against him. Based on what I felt, I bet he looks phenomenal naked.

He's dressed down today, a t-shirt instead of a button-down and no vest. I can't stop staring at how tight the shirt is around his chest and biceps; it shows me he hasn't missed arm day in a long time. Not bulging, body builder muscles, but just that right, thick, sexy as fuck appeal. He's got a tiny waist, so the bottom half of his shirt is baggy and so are the shorts that hang off his hips. I get a little jealous momentarily, wondering if he's smaller than me. Fucker even has the audacity to have nice legs. Rude.

I don't want a relationship. But I sure as hell wouldn't complain if this guy broke my back a few times. What did Dani say? We could mutually relieve stress?

I watch his tongue slide over his lips and realize I have no idea what he tastes like. We didn't kiss. I mean, he kissed my neck, and we had a few near kisses. We were so busy trying to get into each other's pants it never happened. Now, as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, I'm regretting?—

PROFESSIONAL! I let out a slow breath and collect myself again before I head toward him.

"Hey, good morning." His smile is bright as he spots me. He reaches into the Jeep and hands me a giant iced coffee milk tea with boba and I forget how words work the second our fingers touch. "I, uhm, I went to the shop by your office and asked the kid what you usually order."

"Oh," is the only thing my brain and mouth can agree on saying.

His scruff is a little thicker today, perfectly framing those pretty, full lips I'm trying not to stare at. He's wearing sunglasses and a backward baseball hat, which still looks good, but I secretly wish I could see his eyes again and that soft, fluffy hair with its slight curl to it.

"I've got some Tylenol in my bag if you need it today. I'm sure I will."

"Are you saying I'm a hungover mess, Mr. Barton?"

He smiles and pushes his sunglasses up his brow, and they stay there, defying gravity. His steel-blue eyes are breathtakingly gorgeous in the bright morning sun and just as distracting as they were yesterday in the boba shop. Forget words—I don't even remember how to stand anymore.

"Hell no. Definitely not saying that." He stares too long before remembering something. "Oh, and I brought you a little something for breakfast. Okay, several little somethings. They're in the Jeep."

I smile back, and he darts around the car, holding the door open for me. He even offers to take my bag. It's warm this morning, so I shrug off his jacket and he puts it in the back.

"Oh, uhm, I didn't even know guys still did that. Thanks."

"If they don't, they should. Hopefully, they made the coffee how you like it, foods in the center console."

I open the bag, and the scent of butter and chocolate hits me hard. "Holy shit! Is that like six chocolate croissants?! What's the deal with you and pastries?"

"I didn't think flowers would be your thing, at least not yet, since I have no idea which ones you like. And the bakery by my house is pretty amazing." He smirks, and I'm wondering if he's still drunk because he's giving off some severely cocky vibes that he didn't have last night. "So, which ones do you like? Flowers, I mean. For tomorrow?"

He doesn't give me time to react before he jogs back to the other side. I sit there, drooling at the bag of croissants, while trying to think of flower names, any flowers. Flowers, breakfast, holding the door open—who is this guy?

Honey, maybe you should lay off the sweets. No one wants a pig for a wife.

I take a deep breath, quieting the voice again. I hate days like today when it's louder than usual.

He climbs in and starts the drive, and I glance at the GPS on his phone. "Are we going to be late? I should have just said we could take the metro."

"Don't worry. It's not that kind of convention. No one will even notice if we walk in a little late. Hair and makeup professionals don't really worry about things like that, and half of them are hung over from a big party the sponsors hosted last night."

"Ugh, I know the feeling. Wait! Hair and makeup? Fuck! God, they're going to see me and think I'm a fucking idiot." I dig through my bag, looking for anything I can find to clean my face. Out of nowhere, there's a hand on mine, and my eyes meet the soft blues that keep making my heart skip. "How do you know so much about hair and makeup convent—? Never mind, you're a photographer."

"It's fine."

"I get that you're trying to be nice or whatever, but no." I'm blushing so hard I wish I could find a rock to hide under. "My makeup is on par with a toddler who broke into the drawer of markers and glitter and wanted to play dress up. I'm too old for this anyhow. I?—"

"No, I mean it. I think…I mean…what I'm trying to say is…" He licks his lips and pulls his bottom lip through his teeth slowly as he thinks. He can't stop looking at my mouth. Is it because I have clown makeup or there's chocolate on my face?

Fuck. Does he want to kiss me?

"Angel, you're…stunning."

I stare at him. A strange feeling fills my stomach and makes my head spin. Stunning. Not pretty, not beautiful, not even just adorable. Last night he said I looked amazing, and today I get stunning. Me?

"I…we should probably go…the light's… uhm, green," I barely even hear myself think the words, let alone say them. He nods and goes back to paying attention to traffic while my brain continues to slosh around. I mean, how often does a hot-as-hell man in this city tell someone like me they're stunning?

Never. It's never.

And he called me Angel. He's also called me Alexis a few times now, and I hate that name, but when he says it, it sounds so…different. I have got to get my head back in the game. Even if I did like him—or he liked me—I don't do relationships.

We drive away from the city's high-rise buildings and down the freeway, heading toward Long Beach. If traffic cooperates, the drive isn't horrible. But the traffic is rarely cooperative in L.A.—except for weekend mornings before ten. I watched the GPS moving closer and closer to the river of red we're headed for. The roaring wind from the topless Jeep provides a serene escape from conversation. Once we hit that wall of cars, though, all we'll have is time to talk.

It's so much easier at a club or out with friends, where everything becomes a distraction and loud music makes it hard to talk.

My mind drifts back to last night. The feel of his mouth on my neck and the way he held me. We shed our awkwardness, even if for only a few stolen moments. I giggle to myself, thinking about how that moan and the high-pitched whimper that followed went to my bones. Most guys I've been with don't make a lot of noise, or if they do, it's nothing but terrible attempts at dirty talk.

"I'm sorry if that was too forward earlier. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he finally says as the Jeep slows and we join the long line of commuters clogging the roads. We should be fifteen minutes away. Instead, we're going to be another forty-five at least.

"Oh, no, it's, uhm, fine. Really."

"Look, I know we've been doing a hell of a job starting on some weird footing, but I just wanted to tell you that I'm really excited to work with you."

My stomach lurches, and I wonder if this is the part where we return to promises of professionalism. The part where he tells me the alcohol did all the talking last night. I drop the remaining half of the croissant I'm working on back into the bag and roll the top down on it. I don't need croissants anyhow. Or cute guys complimenting me.

"Sam showed me some of your work yesterday—before you and I met—it was spectacular. Some of the best layouts I've seen in a while. You've got a real eye for it."

"Thanks, you take really good photos." I'm staring out the windshield when I say it, and already wish I could take it back. That was so insincere. From what I saw while loading his images yesterday, his work isn't good; it's gorgeous.

"No, my work is borderline stock photography. Or, well, at least it has been for the last few months." He turns and looks at me, and my heart quickens. I hope we can go back to pretending there's something between us—even if only for a few more minutes. "This sounds kind of weird, but I'm psyched to be doing this project. To make something and be inspired again with someone like you."

I nod, and we fall into silence again, this time much less comfortable. Someone like me? The rumble of a large truck lurching next to us on the way to the port draws my attention out the window to the sea of cars and semi-trucks.

"Have you always wanted to be a photographer?" I blurt out, desperate to fill the silence.

"Kind of? I've done a lot of stuff—painting, writing, pottery, sculpting. Photography is the quickest one to make money with, so it kind of supports the others. Or, well, supported." His brow furrows, and the grip on the steering wheel tightens. "I've become a part-time handyman, too. Which, honestly, sucks. Gotta make ends meet somehow here in California, huh?"

"Handyman? That seems like a leap, but I'll keep that in mind," I laugh nervously. You would think that as a designer, I'd have art hobbies, but I don't. "I took a photography course once, and I just sat there confused and eventually gave up. I don't think I could paint a stick figure. People always think I can draw."

"You get that, too? People automatically assuming you can illustrate, edit a video, and build a website? Yeah, I've seen a little of that. So, what about you? Was this pursuing a dream, or are you one of the many who came here to work in film and then realized how hard that is to get into?"

I don't enjoy telling people about me or my life; it's led to too many people trying to trauma bond with me. Who I am in private differs drastically from who I am in public. I'm outgoing and fun, and I never miss out on a party, unless they get a glimpse of the real me. Then they learn I'd rather be in a secluded place with a book. That I'm hiding in plain sight from someone who knows exactly which buttons to push to send me into a tailspin.

So, I find a safe answer.

"I thought about film, but it wasn't a priority. We came out here for school and better jobs—to start a new life. I think if I had gone into the film industry, it would still have been as a creative, behind the camera role."

"We?" It isn't accusatory, like he thinks I'm hiding a secret husband or something. I wonder if Sam or Dani gave him a heads-up about my mother—or stepfather.

"My sister and I. We moved out here together after we turned eighteen."

"Nice. It's better than coming here and not knowing anyone." He tips his coffee cup all the way back, trying to get the last drop, and I notice a scar on his wrist near a small tattoo. I want to ask him about it, but then I'd have to open up about my life. "I could teach you some photography tricks."

"Yeah, that would be cool."

"Excellent!" He grins like that is the best answer he's ever heard. There's a pause, then he asks, "Where are you from? You said you moved here, but you never said where from, and you don't strike me as a California girl."

"I'm that obvious?"

"I'm asking too many questions, huh?"

Yes.

"No, but should I work on my vocal fry to blend in better? Wait, I don't have some kind of telltale accent or drawl, do I?"

"No, nothing like that," he laughs, glancing over at me before turning his attention back to traffic. "It sounds cliché as hell, but you're just different."

My therapists used to tell me I need to get closer to people and let people meet the real me. But why should I when they'll just leave? If they don't leave because of who I am or who my parents are, I'll push them away because it's better for everyone. So I just let them all think I'm allowing them in on my secrets and keep my disguise on.

"Because I'm still desperately clinging onto my high school goth phase? Or is it the hair?"

"No, and I love the hair." His brow furrows as he thinks. "It's like you're two different people, but not for any superficial California reasons. The person I met at Sam's office and the one from last night outside the club are two very different women. Like two different sides of the same shy coin."

I stare at him while he drives, my mouth hanging open. Has he already cracked my code? Is he a mind reader or some shit? How did he do that?

"Oh, I'm not shy." I watch him intently, hoping he believes me. "Yesterday was just a bizarre day. Between Sam's project shuffling and Kennedy being, well, Kennedy, it stressed me out a little. Last night was just a build-up of tension and alcohol. I'm not usually like that."

I'm talking too fast and I can't help it, that's my nervous tell. When someone gets too close to me, to who I'm trying to hide away, I talk faster to try to throw them off. Or to get out of the situation faster.

"Mmm, are you sure? Shy usually has a keen eye for spotting other shy people."

"Wait, you're saying you're shy?"

"Angel, you have no idea."

"You didn't show it last night. Especially in the bathroom." I turn in my seat, bringing my leg up so I can face him better. If I'm going to throw him off the scent of my secret self, I need to rely heavier on the public act. "Oh, and from what I heard—and felt—while we were dancing, you sure didn't seem shy. More like a man who had a pretty damn good idea of how to get what he wanted."

I watch the red creep up his neck as he looks out his window, trying to avoid looking at me. He's blushing so hard right now, and all I can do is giggle. Not only does he make noise, he blushes. Fuck. He could be fun in bed. The guys who blush like this are usually the ones who will bend over backwards to please a woman. Sometimes literally. I should wear shorts next time I'm in his Jeep—or, as crazy as it sounds, maybe a skirt. I wonder what he'd do to me right now if I let him.

"So, what's your excuse for not being shy last night, huh?" I let the last word drip off my lips in a whine, giving it a hint of sexual tone.

His laugh is nervous, and his grip on the wheel tightens again. He shifts in his seat, and I'm pretty sure that little noise I made worked and has him turned on. He takes deep a breath, trying to collect himself, and that's when I catch it. He's a mess. This isn't an act for him. He is a nervous wreck. The more I come on to him, the deeper into his own head he goes. Interesting.

"I didn't mean to?—"

"I was distracted," he blurts out, his knuckles still white as he stares holes into the car in front of us. "Last night, I was…distracted."

"I thought you said you weren't into the bubbly blond with big tits." I smirk, remembering Kennedy wrapped around him. I guess I'm still jealous about that. I mean, she got to kiss him before I did.

"I'm not," he laughs and shakes his head. He's struggling to find an excuse, and I'm worried I'm tanking this conversation. "It was… blonde is so… boring."

"Boring? I should tell her that when I see her again. Blonde is boring."

"When there's a spell-binding woman I'm desperate to impress instead, blonde is, well, overdone. I've never really been into the blonde craze. Pretty sure I'm screwing this up, though. Again. Anyhow, I like pink hair. And brown eyes. Tattoos."

I feel the warmth of my skin, and I'm pretty sure my red face matches his. That wasn't what I was expecting.

"I have trouble keeping my mouth shut, so something stupid eventually falls out of it—like it's doing right now. You can tell me to shut the fuck up. It won't be the first time a woman has when I'm trying to compliment her."

"At least you're self-aware." My voice is soft and strange-sounding to me.

He laughs. I was right; he has a charming smile that sends my butterflies fluttering.

"Not sure if Sam warned you, but I'm not really a people person. Dani's been trying to get me to go out with the group for a while now. I'd just rather stay home and, uhm, work."

" Work? That didn't sound very convincing."

"I work, a bit." He chuckles. "I do the editing and developing at home when I get gigs. When I can't get gigs, I get so stoned I don't have to think about it. It's easier."

"I get that. I like the solitude and being able to hide in the back of the office."

"See?" He grins. "Shy can spot shy."

"Yeah, but that's just work! I can't be shy. I like going out and partying with Dani and some other people. I got you to dance with me. I'm pretty sure I was leading the charge to the bathroom last night, no less. How is that shy?"

He glares at me over the top of his sunglasses, and I have to look away. Is it possible to have eyes that are too pretty? This isn't happening. Is it?

"When you go out, do you spend the next three days trying like hell to avoid all human contact? Is today's huge conference full of people making anxiety creep around the edges of your well-trained facade? Wouldn't you rather be anywhere today but stuck with all those people in that building?"

My jaw drops, and I laugh a little louder than I mean to. "Oh, whatever, fine, I'm an occasional introvert, but I don't think I mind today at all. I've got the right company for it."

"So we're both going to be a hot mess today, huh?" He laughs deeply, and his eyes wrinkle a little. "I'll make sure to keep the next few days as people free as possible—for both of us."

"It's fine, I'm prepared." I dig through my bag and pull out a small pouch of edibles. "I'm also kind enough to share with a guy who prefers to stay home alone and get baked."

"Fuck, you're also brilliant."