Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“If you’d like to.” I don’t expect him to reach across the table and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes and hands linger on the exposed part of my neck. The tips of his fingers trail down my skin slowly, with purpose. I feel the heat race through me, the desire creeping slowly down my chest and lower … and lower. He confuses me when I’m near him. I can’t think of anything but what I want him to do to me and that’s a dangerous thing.
I’m mesmerized by the way he looks at me. The steel gray seems softer, the harsh lines of his jaw less intimidating, more vulnerable. Maybe my poetic mind is getting the best of me.
“I think if I do,” he finally answers, leaning back in the chair he’s claimed as a throne, “I’d like to get it to go.”
Nodding vigorously, I make it obvious that I agree and then feel foolish as he lets out a rough laugh. The bells jingle again in the doorway just as he leans across the table for a kiss.
Anxiety shoots through me, and I pull back just as his scorching hot lips touch mine. My back hits the hard plastic of the chair and my eyes whip over to an old man in a tweed suit. His white hair looks ruffled from the wind, but he doesn’t seem to care. His light blue eyes gaze through horn-rimmed glasses and up at the menu behind me.
I’m slightly relieved that it wasn’t anyone who would recognize us, but that doesn’t last long. My heart drops when I see the expression on his face.
It’s more than disappointment; this is something else.
“I don’t know ...” I say but trail off, clearing my throat. I’m still trying to catch my breath and explain when Mason speaks before I can continue.
“If you’re with me,” he says and the tone Mason gives me is authoritative as his eyes pierce me, pinning me to my seat and stealing my excuses from the tip of my tongue, “then you’re with me.” He finishes his thought and I can’t look away, I can’t shake off this guilt.
“You know I prefer discretion,” I say and the excuse leaves me in a single breath.
He rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket. The hold he has on me is finally broken although he doesn’t look at me as he walks past me and up to the counter. I stare at the door, wondering if I should just leave. My body feels hot and I don’t think I can do this. I still don’t even know what this is.
It’s definitely not “just sex.” Going out on dates and coffee meetups aren’t in the fuck buddy handbook. Not according to Sue, anyway.
My body stands on its own. Although my legs feel wobbly, my body weak and my head clouded with frustration and confusion, something inside me pushes me forward. It’s only four steps, four strides toward him, all the while my heart beats faster.
“I don’t know what this is.” My voice comes out strong, clear and full of a confidence I don’t possess.
A shaky breath comes and goes as he faces me, his shoulders squared, to give me his full attention. I try to come up with the right words. “I don’t know what I want.” The words are so true. “I am not with anyone. I’m alone and that’s—” I stop midsentence.
I almost say that’s how I want it. I almost lie to both him and myself.
From the corner of my eye, I notice the barista who looks away casually as if she wasn’t listening. My cheeks flame with embarrassment.
“If you want me to leave you alone, it’s done.” His statement lacks both conviction and emotion.
“I want you,” I whisper, my eyes pleading with his. “I just don’t,” I say then swallow and force my eyes to meet his. “I don’t want people to know.”
I feel like an asshole. “I’m not ashamed of you … I’m ashamed of me …” Oh God, even I cringe at my words. It’s the truth, but it’s so shitty of me. I swallow thickly, searching Mason’s face for something. For understanding or anger. For something, anything. Instead there’s a coldness that greets me and it hurts. “I don’t mean it to come out in a way that is offensive. I’ve just been thinking a lot about it since the other night and I don’t want my family to find out.” My voice breaks at the last statement and that’s when the barista decides to set down Mason’s coffee.
“It’s because of your husband?” he finally asks me and I don’t waste a second to answer yes. The word is barely a breath. It’s more than just publicity and articles that paint me however they want. It all cuts deeper than that.