Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
I swallow hard. “Listen, Auggie, I feel like things could get confusing and messy, if we don’t talk about something. I think we should agree to hold off on doing anything physical together, unless we’re on-camera. Boners and orgasms are a finite thing, on a daily basis. We can’t afford to waste a single one of either.”
Auggie covers his crotch with his hand again. But it’s too late. I know he’s still hard under there. Turned on. Feeling every bit as swept away in this moment as I am.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “I hope you know I wasn’t assuming we’d ever—”
“No, I didn’t think you were. I’m feeling the impulse to kiss you, if I’m being honest. But I think that’s a bad idea. It’d be confusing. And a waste of sexual energy. Also, I really, really love kissing. When it’s good, it’s my kryptonite. So if our kissing went well, I don’t think it’d end there. In fact, I know it wouldn’t. And . . .” Fuck. I’m rambling. Saying way too much.
As I smash my lips together, Auggie leans all the way back onto the couch and spreads his thighs, thereby causing the steel rod of his hard-on to stick straight up behind his sweats toward the ceiling. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m so fucking turned on by you, Charlotte. I’m going fucking crazy.” He rubs his eyes and exhales. “Honestly, this is a special kind torture. Seeing you naked. Fooling around with you during shows. Hanging out like we do. Laughing so much. And yet, I’m not allowed to kiss or fuck or eat you.”
I exhale. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not saying I’m entitled to do any of that stuff. I’m just telling you that’s all I want to do. I’m obsessed.” He turns his head and grins. “So fucking obsessed, it physically hurts.”
My heart is hammering. “I’m right there with you. But we have to be smart, Auggie. We really do.”
“I know. There’s a lot on the line.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, both of us looking mightily disappointed that we’re handling this with such maturity.
“We need to keep our eye on the prize,” I say, but I’m saying it more for my own sake, than for Auggie’s. “When we’ve got all the money we need, then we can kiss and bang till our heart’s content. In fact, let’s have ourselves a kiss-and-bang-a-thon for ten days straight, once we’ve crossed the finish line. But not until then.”
He takes a long, deep breath. “Talk about incentive.”
“Something to look forward to, for sure.”
“Absolutely.”
I bite my lower lip. “When and if we get to the bang-a-thon portion of our program, it’d have to be a no-strings-attached sort of thing. I’m still applying for jobs, every day, and my ultimate goal is to unload the condo, as soon as I can.”
“Yep. No strings attached. Agreed.” He winks. “Fingers crossed we make all the money we need in record speed, so we can get to the bang-a-thon portion of our program, sooner rather than later.”
“Also, so we don’t get killed or maimed.”
“That, too. But mostly so we can get to the bang-a-thon as soon as possible.”
We both laugh.
“Hey, you wanna know a secret?” Auggie says softly.
“You’re secretly a penis puppeteer to pay your way through school?”
“Another one.”
“You’ve got a massive cock?”
“Another one. You’ll never guess, so I’ll just tell you.” He grins adorably, his blue eyes sparkling. “When you called me an aged-out boy bander that time? You were closer to the mark than you could possibly know.”
I gasp and swat his broad shoulder. “Augustus Vaughn, you were in a boy band?”
“No, no.” He laughs. “Not a real one. A fake one. In middle school.”
“Tell. Me. Everything.”
“I was in this volunteering club at school. On weekends, we’d do all sorts of different things. Pick up trash. Play with dogs at the pound.” He flashes me snarky side-eye. “Visit old people at nursing homes and put on shows for them.” When I cackle and squeal, Auggie laughs heartily. “Can you guess what my friends and I did for audiences at old folks homes?”
“Tell me.”
“We performed a lip-synching, dancing rendition of our favorite NSYNC song: ‘No Strings Attached.’”
I lose it. I leap up and scream. Jump around the room and pull at my hair. But when that bit of hysteria is over, I rush to Auggie’s laptop, find the song on YouTube, blare it at top volume, and demand a private performance.
Laughing, Auggie shakes his head. And no matter how much I beg and plead, how fiercely I try to coax, cajole, and otherwise persuade and convince, Auggie Vaughn refuses to be my own personal boy bander.
“Boooo,” I yell, flopping back onto the couch. “I had *NSYNC on my tweener walls, for fuck’s sake! Don’t you realize this would be a tweener dream come true for me?”