The Fakers

7: Liam

Gemma looked amazing. She had changed out of her suit and into a structured gray sheath dress, and she walked into the room like she owned the place. Her dark hair was twisted into an updo, showcasing her emerald teardrop earrings and, even more importantly, her face. The emeralds really brought out the color of her eyes, but I decided not to comment on her beauty until she was less annoyed by my presence... which, by the sound of her phone conversation, wasn't going to happen any time soon.

While Gemma was angrily talking to her dad, who had kindly invited me to dinner in his place, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to have sex with her. As the meal went on and the ice queen began to thaw (bless you, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti), I realized that not only did I want to sleep with Gemma, I actually enjoyed conversing with her, too. Crazy, right?

In my experience, the more I talked to a girl, the less I liked her. Granted, the type of girl I was usually attracted to (thin, big boobs, a pretty face, knew how to party, enjoyed the limelight) didn't have much to talk about outside of her current fad diet and celebrity gossip.

It was different with Gemma. I hung onto her every word, and the more I talked to her, the more I liked her. Hell, I didn't even mind when she talked at me rather than to me, because even when she was criticizing me or chewing me out, everything she said was spot on. I was entitled, and I didn't think about the consequences of my actions. However, she was wrong about one thing: that I couldn't be better.

I could be.

I would be - for her.

I didn't even try to seduce Gemma after dinner, which was a monumental achievement for me. I mean, I couldn't remember the last Friday night that Vlad the Impaler wasn't living up to his namesake, especially after getting a Brazilian wax. 

Okay, okay, maybe I tried to seduce her a little when I ignored her outstretched hand and went in for a kiss. We were standing outside of the restaurant waiting for our respective cars, and while I had accepted that I wasn't going home with her, I would not accept a goodbye handshake. I leaned in slowly enough for Gemma to react this time, which she did by turning her face, but I could have sworn I saw hesitation in her eyes. Nevertheless, I kissed her on the cheek like a gentleman and bid her good night.

I, however, would not be having a good night. Not only I was sexually frustrated for the second night in a row, I was now worried that the red bumps that had surfaced after my Brazilian weren't ingrown hairs, but something more nefarious that required antibiotics.

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I know this was super short (sorry!), but the next chapter will really dive deeper into Gemma's POV. Also, please leave a comment and press that star button if you're enjoying The Fakers!