Maggie Norris and Luke Vaudest come with attitudes of stone-cold, rude, sarcastic snakes. Every single time the pair have clashed, it has never ended up being a good thing. The two are more than fine with never crossing paths, again.
Until Maggie d...
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"Don't judge yourself by what others did to you." — C. Kennedy
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Chapter 11 <—————————————>
Maggie
My phone blared, again, for the umpteenth time today. Between Luke's car, and the attempt at not bashing his head in, I hadn't found any time to check it.
Luke, who was as comfortable as ever in his lawn chair, turned his head to me.
Despite it being January, the idiot was having the time of his life watching me toy with his car. It was obnoxious how casual everything was for him.
I couldn't lie, though, the man was more than physically appealing. I wouldn't say 'attractive', due to the fact that if he ever found out, he'd take it and run with it.
Flawless, fair skin was inked up with tattoos that stopped right at the beginning of his neck. His dirty-blonde hair that came closer to brown than blonde was always tousled into messy strands atop his head. From that, he managed to pull the 'just woken up' hairstyle off well.
His long legs brought him to 6'4", and it went well with beautifully toned arms, as well as all else that was hidden under his black hoodie, right now. Under a Roman nose, with a crook right in the middle, was a pair of pink, plump lips, all lined around high cheekbones, and a clean-shaven, razor-sharp jawline.
And, above it all, there was a set of dark blue eyes that resembled such a dusky, gloomy storm, that if you weren't careful, you'd get lost in it. Even though it'd been nearly two years since I slept with him, I did remember some distinct things, such as that, as well as something else.
Despite the perfect, deliciously carved v-line, the dangerously appealing back muscles, and the tattoos...there were scars. I'd been drunk, but I was sure of it. One that ran diagonally down his left arm, and another that stretched horizontally across the right side of his throat.
I hadn't asked him about it, even after we'd both sobered up. He didn't ask about the ones along my stomach, so I didn't dig into his, either. It wasn't either of our business.
With the scars, though, he was deadly good looking. Physically. Emotionally, he ruined all types of attraction for me.
Looks didn't mean a thing if you were a little bitch.
And, that he surely was. It'd been a week ever since I started working for him. Every single day tested my ability to stay sane, but I'd managed.
