Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
When midnight strikes, Leila yawns and says she hasn’t been out this late in years. I take the hint as her dancing slows, and she ignores her last drink. It’s time to go home.
I drop her off, not expecting an invite in, and I don’t get one.
“Goodnight, Spencer.”
“Goodnight, Leila.”
I get in my car and pull away, feeling frustrated, but this is for the best.
After all, Leila and I are only pretending to date. This isn’t the real thing.
Chapter Seven – Leila
“Oh, Spencer,” I moan as I run my hands up and down his muscular arms. He balances himself above me, looking down at me with his perfect eyes, his long hair falling next to his cheeks. “Please, I need you.”
“I’m all yours, baby. Take me …”
He presses into me slowly so I can get used to his massive member. I spread my legs wide, wanting to take all of him.
“Oh, yes, Spencer, yes …”
My eyes shoot open, and I sit up in bed, my heart pounding. What the hell was that?
My body is damp with a cold sweat. I throw off my blanket, sitting up in the tank top and shorts I wear to bed.
That was insane. I did not just have an intense sex dream about Spencer. It’s not possible.
I cover my face with my hands. I shouldn’t have enjoyed it that much. When we danced together last night at the club, I could feel how big he was, and that must’ve triggered the dream in my brain.
I’ll never know how realistic it was because Spencer and I are only pretending to date. We can’t cross that line. I won’t let it happen. My heart tends to fall too hard too fast, and Spencer could never feel that way about me, so keeping my distance is safer.
Though last night, while we danced, I knew Spencer was about to kiss me. He got caught up in the moment, that’s all, but I almost let it happen.
A part of me wishes I had.
I climb out of bed and walk into the tiny bathroom in my apartment, splashing some cold water on my face. It does nothing to calm my pounding heart or the flashes of that sexy dream still playing behind my eyes.
Shiloh whines from the couch, ready for his morning walk, but I can’t do anything until I get Spencer off my mind.
A cold shower does the trick. Once I get out and towel myself off, I feel much better. I slip into jean shorts and a new tank top, ready to manage the day. Shiloh gets a quick walk in front of my apartment so he can do his business, and I clean up after him before heading back inside.
“We’ll go for a long walk after breakfast,” I promise him. I’ve been seriously neglecting our mother/doggy time lately. Work got busy after those pictures surfaced, plus cameras keep flashing everywhere I go. I try to stick to my apartment as much as I can.
Back in my measly kitchen, which has a minuscule stove, a fridge barely taller than I am, and nothing in the form of storage, I start to prepare breakfast. I’m in the mood for something light, so I scramble a few eggs and throw some bacon in the microwave. I know microwaved bacon is terrible compared to the well-prepared kind, but I do what I can in this apartment of mine, and on a limited budget. It’s almost time to go grocery shopping, and I don’t have much to spare after rent and utilities. It’s going to be another week of simple meals like this breakfast and probably some skipped lunches.
Hopefully, working with Spencer will continue to be lucrative, and I will get more commissions that will go toward savings and three meals a day.
I pour Shiloh’s kibble into his bowl while my own food cooks. He never goes without. I would easily feed my dog every day and starve myself. No question about it.
I sit on my lumpy, thrift store couch with my breakfast and work laptop. When Shiloh finishes his own breakfast, he joins me with his head right next to my leg. Normally he’d be on my lap, but it’s occupied by the computer.
There are twelve new emails since yesterday afternoon with folks asking for consults. Most of these lead nowhere, with people just curious about me because of the pictures with Spencer, but I think I might get a couple of clients out of it. My boss back home is already impressed with the booming business. Maybe I should’ve fake-dated a celebrity six months ago.
I yawn as I reply to an email about a consult on a bathroom remodel. The photos attached show a bathroom suite that’s almost the size of my entire apartment.
I’d love to live like that. Maybe someday I’ll have the luxury. For now, Shiloh and I are happy where we are. Even with the leaky faucet.