Girl In Pieces by Jordan Bell Page A

straight to my knees. His grip was solid and unmoving. An image flashed through my mind, being on my back, hands pressed into the mattress, that grip holding me down. I felt a memory that hadn’t yet happened race down my body and I shivered without meaning to. He noticed, because the accountant burst into a grin that made me a bit weak.
    “You must be her,” he said.
    “I must be,” I answered, shaking as he pulled out my chair and scooted me in. “Kat. I mean, Katrina, but no one calls me that but my mother and my brother when he’s annoyed with me.”
    Clark Kent laughed as he took his seat. “Thomas Tennyson. Just Thomas, for now. Maybe Sir later.”
    He winked
    Sir . Shit.
    “Tennyson?” I asked, clawing at normal, boring, vanilla thoughts before I turned into butter. “Like the writer?”
    “The same, though I doubt there’s any relation. I’m a terrible writer, just ask every publisher I’ve ever submitted to.”
    He laughed with white, picket-straight teeth and pink mouth. Wide lips. Kissable lips. I blinked when I realized he’d asked me a question and I’d missed it. He ducked to meet my eyes and repeated because I’d apparently gone stupid.
    “Have you read him?”
    “Just a little. In college.” I shook my head to clear it. “Good stuff, though.”
    “You’re educated then? That’s good. I’ve got a boring academic streak in me I’m afraid, and I get bored easily with those who aren’t.”
    He dismissed all the ignorant girls in the world with a flick of his wrist and dove right into his menu. All at once I felt turned on (in my knees! How did my knees know?) and insecure. His certainty made me feel a little off, but maybe I was projecting. I wondered if he’d find me too ignorant. Too… something . I badly wanted him to find me intriguing.
    “So, you’re a writer?”
    Thomas didn’t look up, but I noticed his mouth shrug with some unpleasant thought. “Not a paid one. Writing is an art. Not everyone appreciates art.”
    “You’re not kidding about that. My graphic design work doesn’t quite pay the rent anymore.”
    I couldn’t decipher what he saw when he looked at me. Did I turn him on? If I did, he didn’t show it. When he looked down without saying anything, my anxiety made my thoughts spin erratically.  
    “I wore purple,” I said suddenly. “Like you asked. It’s actually my favorite color, too.”
    Thomas looked up from his menu again and nodded. “You did. So far so good.”
    “So far so good?”
    “I mean, so far you’ve done well. You were a little late though.”
    Shit. Was that disappointment I heard? I squirmed in my chair.
    The menu, and my stomach, called to me. I picked it up. Then immediately put it back down.
    “You should know I’ve barely done any of this before. I don’t know how to do anything right. Yet. But I’m a fast learner.”
    “I gathered from the tone of your email.” He smiled. “That’s ok. I actually prefer to train a girl to my specifications rather than break them of someone else’s. Don’t worry about your talents yet. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourself to me.”
    My skin electrified slowly from my fingertips to my elbows. I put my hands in my lap, then on the table, then in my lap. I wondered how many girls had come before me. I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to talk to me. I could imagine kissing him a lot, but it didn’t feel like those were the thoughts he was entertaining. He seemed more excited by the striped bass on the specials menu than he did about taking me home and tying me up.
    His Clark Kent look felt so incongruous with his firm words and strong grip. He had a very confident voice and knew what he liked, which felt like there wasn’t enough room at the table for me.
    And he seemed too young to know what he wanted with such absolution.
    It’s because he’s not Josh , I thought as I willed myself to look at the menu again. I was starving, hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a week. You