“Just say the word,” he said, wanting to assure her he’d never force anything on her.
Her laughter surprised him. “Yeah, well therein lies the problem. My will to just say the word may not be strong enough to fight the urge to just give in.”
He smiled, loosening his hold around her waist. “I’ll try to behave,” he whispered, pecking her one last time.
“As for keeping anything a secret,” she said, squeezing his hand. “That’s entirely up to you. You’re the one on blast all the time. If the press sees us doing anything like . . .” She smiled timidly.
“Like this?” he said, taking advantage of the moment to feed his now insatiable craving for her, and kissed her just under her ear. “Or this?” he whispered against her neck, licking it softly because he loved feeling her shiver like she was doing already.
Giggling nervously and a bit breathlessly, she pulled away. “Or just this,” she said, lifting their enlaced fingers. “You know it’ll be all over the tabloids.”
“In case you haven’t picked up on this yet, I’ve never given a shit what the tabloids have to say about me.” He winced playfully. “Kind of why my last publicist bowed out of his job.”
She lifted a brow, and he was relieved that her mood had now taken a positive turn because she, too, smirked playfully. “I heard you fired him.”
Felix shrugged. “Minor details. My point is I don’t care what they say if they see us together; I just don’t want you feeling uncomfortable. So for the sake of them not turning your life into a circus just yet, maybe we should keep this under the radar—for now.” He gave her a warning look. “Because once you decide”—he squeezed her hand—“if you do give me a chance and you’re in this all the way, then I want everyone to know, especially Grayson.”
Oh yeah. He knew there’d be no way he’d hold off too long without at least mentioning it. Given her playful mood just moments ago, he expected her to laugh, at the very least smile; instead that seemed to wipe the playfulness from her eyes.
“You’re right,” she agreed too quickly and too seriously. “It probably is best if we’re as discreet as possible.”
She smiled, bringing an end to their fateful time in that stairwell. They started up the stairs to the door at the second floor hand in hand, but once they reached the top, she dropped his hand. Before she could open the door, Felix reached for her hand again and tugged at it. She turned back and he kissed her one last time—deeply. “I’ll be dying to be alone with you again,” he whispered against her lips.
The relief was instant. Seeing the twinkle in her eyes chased away the concern in them, making Felix feel a little better. But something gnawed at him even more now. She hadn’t even tried to mask the fact that the mere mention of making sure Grayson knew about them had changed her mood considerably.
That Grayson discussion he thought could wait was going to happen a lot sooner now. The need to know exactly what her feelings were for the prick had just spiked tenfold. He’d get to it the very next time he got her alone again.
~*~
Ella
As late as Ella already was, she knew Carmen could handle the one o’clock class alone for a little longer. She headed straight to the ladies’ room, her heart hammering in her chest. This wasn’t really happening, was it? Felix Sanchez was asking her to consider a relationship with him? Everyone had noticed and mentioned Felix’s interest in her, even Grayson. Now Felix himself was declaring his feelings for her—feelings he couldn’t even explain. All Ella could think was why her?
The moment she closed the door to the bathroom stall, her mom’s words came to her.
La suerte de la fea, la bonita la desea.
Ella hadn’t thought of the saying in years. Ironically, Carmen, who’d taken offense to the saying when Ella had first translated it to her years ago, had been the one to bring it up just last week. Technically, the saying translated as “the fate of the ugly girl, the pretty girl desires.” But that’s not how her mom had meant it when she’d used the saying to point something out to Ella.
She’d never considered herself ugly, nor had she ever been insecure about her looks, but she hardly considered herself to be stunning, and she liked things that way at that age. Though she admitted even now she preferred blending in rather than standing out. Ella hadn’t even worn makeup at fifteen, and she hadn’t plucked her brows nor did she possess the talent to do fancy things to her hair like some of other girly-girls in high school. They obviously spent hours on their looks while Ella spent most of her time around her brother and her also non-girly-girlfriend Carmen, mastering their skateboarding skills and running amuck at the park.
So when boys—cute boys—began to show an interest in her, she was at a loss. The other prettier girly-girls made no secret that they were just as much at a loss as she was. Her mother’s theory was that she appealed to boys for more than just her looks. There wasn’t a snooty or difficult bone in her body. More than anything she was easy to talk to, and boys, no matter how cute and experienced she might think them, appreciated that.
Her mother often raved about being the luckiest mom on earth to have had a daughter who hadn’t gone through those awful teen years. Of course, her mom was likely biased, but she did tell Ella she had one of the most pleasant and likeable personalities of anyone she’d ever known. One thing her mother always said she was sure of was that Ella had gotten one of her best qualities from her late grandmother—her dad’s mom, the woman her mother called the personification of grace under fire.