Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Rejection.
Rejection, after that kind of teaser…
I get a wave of sick panic, open mouthed as I stare at him.
“What?”
“Ten-hour timer. Proposal over.”
“Proposal over? You can’t be serious. I don’t give a stuff about ten hours. I’d do this through the whole fucking weekend, and then take it all over again, no problem.”
With you. That’s the part I leave out.
I’d take it all over again with you.
“Yet another thing we have in common.” He smirks. “I would too. Gladly.”
I sit up and shrug. “So why the hell are you calling time out?”
“Discipline. Common sense. Respect.”
He seems so calm, yet I’m anything but. A pair of opposites on different sides of the scale.
I don’t know why I feel so hurt, but I do. It’s like I’ve been stabbed in the ribs.
The guy across the room is still the smiling Reuben, eyes full of lust, but his self-control makes me shiver.
I’m not in control. I’m a mess who feels like I’ve ripped myself open and shown him my soul. I feel so exposed, unsure, and invested but fucking terrified. With butterflies. Swarms upon swarms of fucking butterflies.
I don’t know when I last felt like this…
Yes, I do. I’m feeding myself bullshit.
Kian.
That’s the last time I felt like this. When things were crazy good with Kian.
When I was in love.
I could hurl all over the carpet as I drag myself up and grab my underwear. I’m terrified of some unknown force at play here. A ghost in the room I don’t want to face.
I pushed for him.
I playacted.
I wanted it to be real.
“Are you ok, Tiffany?” Reuben asks me.
The walls of Creamgirl come straight back up. I shoot him a cheeky smile.
“Yeah, sure. It was fun. Hopefully you’ll book me again, User 5639.”
He steps closer as I’m trying to pull my jeans up. My legs are fucking quaking.
“No, Tiffany. Are you actually ok?”
I can’t tell him the truth.
No. I already feel like my heart’s been cracked open, thanks for asking.
I’m terrified of losing something I never even had in the first place. It’s only been ten fucking hours and I’m a pathetic mess.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, because that’s no lie. I will be fine, once I’m out of here and back onto familiar turf.
I throw on my hoodie and it’s a relief to be hidden. Covered and safe.
“Why are you racing?” he asks. “Don’t you want to shower before you go? You’re quite a mess.”
More than you’ll ever know.
I laugh. “Nah, I’ll shower at home, thanks,” is all I can say.
He’s staring at me as I get my boots. His eyes are burning me as I tighten the laces.
“Anyway, why are you racing?” I ask him. “You’re the one who called time out.”
“I’m not calling time out. I adhered to the end of the proposal.”
FUCK THE FUCKING PROPOSAL!
I want to scream it in his face, even though it’s ridiculous. I’ve been doing proposals for four years, and I’ve had fantasies and infatuations, and morning after syndrome to the max, but I’ve never felt like this before. It’s so fucking stupid, it’s embarrassing.
“You’re really ok with this?” he pushes, and I could groan at his round after round of bastard questions, but I take a breath and flash another smile.
“Yeah, of course I am. It’s only a proposal,” I laugh. “We’re cool.”
He nods, smiling back at me.
“Excellent.”
“Excellent?”
I’m so busted up that I can’t make sense of things – both inside and out. I’ll need a long, hot bath and a bottle of vodka when I get home, never mind a bastard shower.
“Yes, excellent,” he says. “That’s the reassurance we both need.”
I pull a face. “I don’t get it. What reassurance?”
His hands are tender as he takes mine.
“The reassurance that we can both handle a proposal without falling into the abyss of insanity.”
Ah, ok. The penny drops. I get it now.
He wanted to know if I could stop. If he could stop. If we could stop, with no crazy repercussions.
Thank fuck I didn’t blurt out a load of emotional crap that would have busted my fat ass.
That knowledge makes it a lot easier for Creamgirl to take back the reins. I shrug as though it’s nothing and give his strong hands a squeeze before letting go.
“Yeah, don’t worry about that, Santa. We had a good gig, and now it’s over.”
He looks me up and down. “Unfortunately so. Until next time.”
“There’s going to be a next time, then?”
A zap of horny delight shoots up my spine at the thought. And now I’m grinning like a love-struck twat.
Fuck sake.
“Of course,” he says, “And I’ll offer a better rate next time.”
I wave the idea aside. “Nah, stick to a quid an hour. It’s fun.”
With that, Reuben grabs his wallet from the dresser and pulls out a ten-pound note. I try to wave that aside too, but he won’t have it.