© Copyright 2012
All work is property of Leah Crichton, any duplication or reproduction of all or part of the work without explicit permission by the author is illegal.
When he stood, Alexa noticed he was well dressed. He wore dark jeans and a white v-neck covered with a black vest. The same large motorcycle boots she’d seen the day before covered his feet and chrome dogtags hung loosely from his neck. She must have been ogling him because he gave her a wink.
“Like what you see, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Alexa said. “And then you open your mouth.” Holy crap! Did she just say that out loud?
He surprised her by rewarding her smart mouth with a smile of his own. “Touche. Where to, boss?”
Boss? Well that was a welcome change. “We can start out here. I just need to get us some paper and pens.”
Sawyer made a sweeping motion with his arm. “Ladies first.”
Alexa rolled her shoulders and rose from the chair. She felt more confident than she had since she first met Sawyer West although she was unsure why. Maybe it was that smile. She sensed that perhaps to witness it was a rare event like seeing a comet or a shooting star. It shone like one.
As she walked bravery seized her and she threw a look behind her. “Sawyer, maybe you're not so bad.”
“Maybe you're right,” he said, “then again, maybe you're not.”
As she left the room to gather the supplies they needed, she saw him reach down to where his helmet sat, retrieving something from inside it. When she got back, the mystery object was in his hands. He was virtually reclined in the chair, boots on the table twisting and flipping a Rubic's Cube.
He turned the sides around with incredible speed. Even more impressive, he wasn't looking at the colors.
“What's with the cube?”
Sawyer didn't miss a beat, continuing to manipulate the squares. “I play with it. It helps me think and keeps my mind off of smoking.”
“Gross. You smoke.”
“Sugar, I'm famous. Smoking is honestly one of the better choices I can make.”
She set the paper down on the table in front of them, fascinated by his hands. “Famous?”
She hadn't had a chance to finish her google search on his band. Exactly how big were they?
“Yup,” he echoed.
“What's that like?”
Sawyer looked at his work. All the colors matched with the exception of two squares. He cursed and looked up at her. “It pays well.”
“Why haven't I heard of you before, then?” she said. She tried to keep it as a question and not an accusation. But how famous was he? She made a mental note to Skype with Rachel later, she'd be able to confirm or deny his claims.
“Well apparently, you live under a rock,” he supplied.
“Or I don't listen to your kind of music,” she said in defense. “There's always that.”
