Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
"No." Well, maybe. "You do love a clever woman."
"Oh my god, Damon, you didn't say anything stupid when I had my first girlfriend. You wait until now?" She shoots me a look I don't expect from her—disappointment.
It's played up, yeah. It's covered in an over-the-top annoyance. But it's there too.
She expected better of me. Maybe for the first time in years.
Somewhere deep down, she wants to trust me again. Or at least to find me tolerable.
Truth be told, I forgot about Cassie's girlfriend. I forgot about the months she spent pinning rainbow flags on everything she owned.
I was already drinking too much to notice then.
So, yeah, I didn't make a big deal of it, but I did say some stupid shit to some friends about wanting to watch Cassie with her girlfriend.
Because even though I do understand the appeal of that common male fantasy, I don't share it.
I want her all for myself.
Ahem.
This is not the right wardrobe for these thoughts. There's nowhere to hide my interest in a fucking swimsuit.
"You're right. It's stupid. You wouldn't have a threesome," I say.
Instantly, her cheeks flush, her eyes turn down, her chest caves. She's embarrassed.
"No fucking way," I say.
"No, what?"
"You had a threesome?"
"Like you haven't had a threesome." She shrugs as if she's not bothered by the revelation, but she doesn't sell it. "Like you think they're a big deal."
"I haven't," I say.
Surprise spreads over her expression. "Really?"
I nod.
"But you sleep with a new girl every three days?"
"Sure, my relationships only last three days." Not in a row, but yeah, it's pretty rare I see anyone more than three times. I might as well wear the label of slut. Or womanizer even. The truth is sadder; neither of us is sober enough to connect to another human, much less savor the sensation. "But I only have a new one every—"
"Four days?"
Right. That's who I am. The alcoholic party boy. And I can't explain why it isn't true anymore. "Please. Five."
She laughs that easy you're so ridiculous laugh. The way she laughed at me a long time ago. "I guess, if we really are boyfriend and girlfriend, we need to get our stories straight."
"Oh, we've had a threesome?" I ask.
"Absolutely not." Her voice is firm. Hurt even.
I almost come back with sass, but something stops me. I don't want to hurt her. I want to listen, understand. "What happened?"
"Huh?"
"Something happened," I say. "Something that still bothers you."
"Damon, let's not."
"Not what?" I ask.
"Pretend like we're confidants." Her voice stays firm. "You hate me. I hate you. We have great hate sex, as far as anyone else knows. The rest, we can keep private."
"No."
Her brow furrows. "What do you mean, no?"
I mean, I'm still thinking about our kiss. I want to kiss her again. I want to take her to my bed and kiss her forever. And I mean kiss. Yeah, I want to fuck her—now—but I want to kiss her more. There's something wrong with me. But there's a logic too. "You begged me to do this."
She nods, sure.
"I'm doing it right."
Cassie stares back at me.
"We're in love, as far as anyone else knows."
"We're pretending."
Of course, we're pretending, but—"The best lies are based on the truth."
"Right. The story we're selling is true."
"And, as your boyfriend, I'd be there to listen when you're hurt."
"What's true about that?"
"Whatever this is, it's still bothering you. You would have told me about it."
"But that isn't true." She stares into my eyes. "I don't trust you."
"You trust me enough to ask me to do this."
"I didn't have another option," she says.
"Even so," I say.
She fights a frown.
"Did it happen with Frederick?" I ask.
"What's the difference?"
"It might help our ruse."
"How?" she asks.
"We can use it to fuck with him," I say.
She swallows hard. She wants to fuck with him. She wants the job first, but she wants to hurt him too.
I get it. I want to hurt him. I hate him for hurting her.
I'm not sure where I get off, hating the bastard for hurting my frenemy, but, hey, I'm not supposed to get off anyway.
"We don't need to trade sexual histories," I say. "It's not like you have that kind of time."
She laughs at the joke, but her shoulders stay rigid. "Right. It would take four years to hear about every person you've fucked."
It's not as many as she assumes, but it's not like I keep count either. "You know I slept around. You know it didn't mean a lot to me. That's what makes it special, that we're together now. Because it finally means something."
"That's the story?" she asks.
It would be true, too. It is true. That kiss meant something. But I can't say that, so I say, "Exactly."
"And you know I'm bisexual and I don't sleep around."
"And something happened with your ex."
"Yeah," she says. "But—"
"I want this job, too, Cass, but I don't care what it does to Frederick." That's a bluff, but she believes it. "I don't care if he really buys it."