June Horner's entire life came crashing down in one night.
After a vengeful ex-boyfriend spread rumours about her, destroying her reputation and making her undesirable by nearly every acting and modelling agency in existence, she was lost for months...
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d e l i c a t e
˜"*°•.˜"*°•.•°*"˜.•°*"˜
his hands around a cold glass make me wanna know that body like it's mine.
.҉ .҉.҉
"I'M SORRY ABOUT my dad," I say, finding Charles by the bar. Everyone had finished their deserts, so the tables had started to clear to make room for the dance floor.
Charles laughs, taking a sip from his glass. "It's okay, he was just being protective," he says, placing his whiskey glass on the countertop of the bar. His fingers gently trail the rim of the glass, his nails running around the intricate detailing around the base of the glass. He's wearing his rings, one on his ring finger, one on his pointer.
"Should he be?" I ask, my eyes trailing from his hands back to his face. "Protective, I mean."
"Are you questioning my intentions?" He asks, leaning against the counte, lips forming into a smirk.
"Only if I need to be," I answer, smiling back. His tongue runs along his bottom teeth as he laughs, I watch as his eyes slowly look me up and down. I recall my conversation with Blue, 'he's just being polite.'
"So, are you excited for the season to begin?" I ask, suddenly feeling the need for a topic change.
"Yeah," he answers, "I hope to beat Max more this year."
I laugh now, amused by his ego. "God does love a tryer."
"Will you be rooting for me?" He asks, tilting his head to the side a little.
"I don't know about that, Mr Ferrari," I teased, poking him in the stomach. I hoped the shock wasn't visible on my face when my finger was met by a wall of abdominal muscles.
"Not even privately?" A smug little grin spreads across his face.
"You want me to think about you in private now?" I put my hand on my heart, dramatically fanning my face.
He laughs, I watch as his shoulders shake with the movement, the muscles in his neck tense. He turns to lean back against the bar, elbows resting on the countertop.
"So, who is your favourite driver?" He asks, eyes darting from me to the dance floor.
"Daniel Ricciardo," the name has let my lips before I have time to think about it. "Sorry, I feel like I answered that too quickly."
Charles laughs, titlting his head back. "Okay, apart from Daniel?"
"Lewis Hamilton."
"What about the younger drivers?" He tilts his head to look at me.
