Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“You think?” Bennett asks. “You don’t think it’s a bit much?”
“You think she should be a bit meaner to him? Like I am to you?” I hook my finger into his belt and pull him down onto the sofa with me.
“It just felt a bit forced. A bit fake. You think she’s after his money?” he asks.
“I mean, that’s part of the package, I suppose. But is saying that she’s using him for his money any worse than saying he’s using her because she gives a good blow job?”
“Is that what she told you? That he likes the way she gives head?”
“Of course not. I’m just talking in hypotheticals. It’s too simplistic to say someone’s only with that person for the money. It’s a package. On both sides.” I shrug. “Except you. I’m just using you for your big dick, in case you didn’t know already.”
“I did know that,” he says. “But seriously. Something didn’t feel off to you?”
I’ve never seen Bennett agitated like he is now. I don’t understand how his mate’s girlfriend could be the person to cause such agitation.
“She’s gorgeous,” I say, holding up my thumb. “She’s clearly into him.” I extend a finger. “They clearly have sexual chemistry—we were all subjected to the evidence of that.” I extend a third finger.
“But do you think they laugh?” he asks. “Like we do?”
Something tugs in my chest at the way he’s holding us up as the bar for what a happy couple should look like.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe. If it works for both of them, what does it matter? If she’ll give him what he wants, who cares if she enjoys his money?”
“It just makes me itch.”
“He’s probably going to be richer than most of the women he dates. Doesn’t mean that’s all they see in him. If you’re friends with him, he must have some redeeming qualities other than his money.”
Bennett’s lost in thought and I lay my head on his shoulder. “You’re protective of him. I get it.”
“I’ve seen users before. Hangers-on. Sycophants.” He spits out the words with the venom of someone who’s been used. Or had a mother who was.
“They’re everywhere,” I agree, threading my fingers through his. “But what can you do? If you tell him you think his girlfriend’s using him, you’re going to lose a friend.”
“Sometimes I fantasize about revenge on those people who only came around when my mother was riding high. They weren’t there when she got dropped by a director for putting on ten pounds or when she missed the Oscar nomination for Homecoming.”
I love that he’s so protective and caring about his mother, but sad that he’s so eaten up by this. “Fame. Money. It attracts the worst of the world.”
He grunts in response.
“But all beautiful things in this world attract darkness. That’s the way life is.”
“Maybe. But Hollywood is full of the worst of humanity. You know even her agent of thirty years dropped her when she got sick?”
I curl into him, burrowing into his neck. He still feels the sting all these years later.
“Is it awful that sometimes I think it’s better that she died young? Because aging as an actress never goes well. Your career nosedives and no one wants to know you.”
“Did you ever want to go into acting?”
He shakes his head. “She never pushed me in that direction, either. And she never made me walk the red carpet. I never did photoshoots with her—you know, like some stars love to have their entire family in Vanity Fair? There was none of that.”
“Sounds like she was as protective of you as you are of her, even now.”
He sighs. “As much as she could be in that environment.”
I pause, waiting for him to say what he wasn’t protected from, but he doesn’t elaborate. “What do you mean, as much as she could be?”
He shakes his head and takes a breath, his chest expanding under me, his warmth multiplying. I press a kiss to his pectoral muscle, over his shirt. “Nothing specific, but her fame did impact me. She couldn’t help it. Kids at school wanted to be my friend because of who my mom was. And then they didn’t want to be my friend because of who my mom was.”
“That’s horrible,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter. I have real people around me now.” He brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses the inside of my wrist, then pulls me onto his lap. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“I did,” I say, but when I meet his eye, I know it’s not just me that catches the hesitancy in my voice.
“But?” he asks.
I shrug. “You say you’ve known all these guys since business school and you’re close with them all. Even Leo?”
He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to read between the lines of what I’m saying. “Yeah. Especially Leo.” His stare carries an edge of warning.