Christian Parkinson's playboy lifestyle has taken an interesting turn when he met the sharp and witty Kylie Preston. She has something in her that other women lack - the guts to call him on his bullshit.
She's not the type he dates but Christian fin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Kylie
Christian reaches for my hand but I subtly pressed it down the car window, pretending I was busy with the view which is streetlights and deserted road because it's past two o'clock in the morning. We left Audrey and Vren's wedding reception – I nagged him to call it a night because I was tired, but mainly because of my mood going sour when some of his old friends in a form of plunging neckline, mile-long legs and heels hovered around.
My arms tucked moodily across my chest as I recall every single one of them.
Christian's hand clasped around my knee, snapping me out of my train of thought.
I gritted my teeth and surreptitiously scoot further to the car door, again, pretending the cool glass was far more interesting. The distance slid his hand off my knee.
"Buttercup, is everything okay? You're awfully quiet." He finally asks.
"Yes," I monotoned.
I felt his gaze on me, lingering because of the red stoplight. "Okay. Why am I not allowed to touch you though?"
I kept my eyes up ahead. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Oh, and can you drop me to my apartment?"
"But I thought you're staying at my place." There was a hint of adorable disappointment in his voice that made me want to give in.
I shake my head more to myself. "I'm just tired. And I miss my bed."
"But you've hardly slept over at my apartment this week. You know how little we snuggled? Ten."
My head snapped toward him. "I think that's a lot."
"Not to me," he reasons out, gazing briefly at me with pleading blue eyes.
I ignored him. "You can snuggle with those expensive skinny chicks," I murmured under my breath.
"Buttercup? Are you saying something?" His hand made another attempt to cover mine.
I dodged it. "I said to my apartment, please."
"Seriously, Kylie, why am I not allowed to hold your hand? You've been dodging me."
"I'm just a little tired." I flopped against the passenger seat.
"All the more reason I hold your hand," he grumbles.
I sighed in relief when we finally neared my apartment.
"Can I come up?" He eases the car into the parking lot.
"No. I'm just going to throw myself to my bed and that's that," I answered, knowing "coming up" meant "sleeping over."
He turns off the engine, turning his full attention to me. "Kylie—"
"I'll talk to you tomorrow." I push the car door open and clambered out.
