Page 73 of Dead Pretty

What you see is what you get. A bitch most days. And a hollow carcass for the rest.

“How come you don’t wear makeup?” His question jolts me back to the now.

My brow furrows. I don’t know why, but his words irk me. I sit taller in my seat. “Should I? Is wearing makeup a requirement for women?”

Why am I being so bitchy all of a sudden?

Because you are a bitch, remember?

He gives me a confused look. “No …” he says slowly, probably wondering where my snit has come from. “It isn’t a requirement, merely an observation. Most women wear it, right? You don’t. I simply wondered why.” He gives a small lift of his gentle shoulders.

“Do you like your women to wear makeup?” Part of me already knows the answer to this question. Because if he did, he wouldn’t be sitting here with me right now. So, why I’m asking, I have no clue.

“My women?” He laughs. It’s loud and bright. It loosens up the tightness in my chest. “Do you mean, like a harem? Don’t have one of them, sadly.”

I roll my eyes, batting away his humor. “I meant, women you’re attracted to.”

“Ah. Well, I’m attracted to you.”

“And I don’t wear makeup.”

“Guess you have your answer then.”

Fuck. Walked into that one, didn’t I?

I hate that my insides warm up like a mug of cocoa.

Ignoring his words, I rest my chin in my hand and look directly at him. “So, to make you dislike me, I need to start wearing makeup?” I grin.

Another laugh. “Honestly, nothing could make me dislike you at this point, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl?

He called me pretty girl.

Cue my melting heart.

Stop. Don’t get distracted by silly pet names, Audrey.

Focus.

“You sure about that?” I push.

“Well, I’m never wholly sure about anything. But, yeah, I’m almost sure that nothing could stop me from liking you.”

I tilt my head to the side, thinking. “What about smelly feet?”

“What about them?”

“Well, what if I have stinky-ass feet?”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Then, it’s a moot point.”

Argh! Stop being so damn cute, man.