Page 82 of Resist

“You’re my sexy panda,” he said, chuckling as he pulled back.

My anguish returned and I shoved him. “I was rubbing it off,” I grouched.

“Hey! I was kidding. It’s just makeup.”

I ignored him. “Do you mind giving me some privacy, please?”

“Actually, yes, I do.”

“Lucas, get out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to be in here, with you.”

“BUT WHY?” I yelled, turning to face him. “Why would you want to be with me when you can have any pretty young thing that you like? I mean, look at me.Reallylook at me.” I pointed to my chin. “I have a fucking beard, Lucas. Hair is growing where it shouldn’t. And look at this,” I said, grabbing at my cheeks. “Skin is sagging where it’s never sagged before. And look here.” I stepped right up to his face and jabbed a finger at the corner of my eye. “Those flaps of skin are wrinkles.Lotsof wrinkles. And in here.” I flicked my shag of Beetlejuice hair. “Those silvery streaks are grey hairs. Aren’t they fab? All of this is a sign of ‘old’ age. OLD. Too old for you.” I walked back to the mirror and picked up the face washer.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you done?”

I didn’t answer.

“Fine. Have a shower, get dressed, get ready. Put on whatever makeup you think you need. I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

“Lucas, I just want to—”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“What?”

“Eggs. How do you want to eat them?”

His eyebrow rose as he waited for my answer. I wanted to say ‘thrown at your damn, annoying, sexy head’, but I didn’t. I just said, “Fried” … like my brain.

After I’d showered, dressed, and put on my makeup, I found Lucas in the kitchenette, shirtless and wearing a pair of low riding jeans, a frying pan in his hands, his hips rolling to the tune he was singing in his head.

I stopped to admire the view because it certainly was lovely.

“Happy now?” he asked when he looked up to find me standing there.

I smiled, bit my lip, and nodded.

“Want your eggs now?”

I nodded again and sidled up behind him, sliding my hands around his sides and settling them on his pecs. “I’m sorry for being bitchy before. I just … I’m not used to this.”

He turned in my arms to face me. “It’s okay. I’m not used to this either.”

Sincerity blazed in his eyes, so I diverted my gaze.

“But I want you to know something,” he said, stretching his head into my line of sight. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on: at night, during the day, while you eat molluscs, and in the morning after a night of my cock inside you.”

I cracked up laughing. “While I eat molluscs?”

“Especially while you eat molluscs.” He turned back around and flipped my eggs. “What shoes are you wearing?”

I pointed my toe and presented a simple nude court.