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26
OLIVIER
Drew comes out of my workout room while I’m cracking open a Pellegrino in the kitchen. He’s shirtless, in the gym shorts I got for him yesterday afternoon, and sweaty, his muscles all bulging and glowing. I’m glad I didn’t take him up on his invitation to work out with him. He would have gotten nothing done—I’d have been all over him.
He’s mouthwateringly attractive. I want him with every heartbeat. It’s getting out of control. No one’s ever had their hooks in me like this, and I sincerely hope he can’t see how obsessed I am. I’m trying to keep things cool. Casual. But I’m a caged animal around him, and it’s amazing I’m not growling and snapping at him to set me free.
He’s told me what he needs today. A workout, a fuck, a nap and a meal before he takes up his post at the door. And he knows my plans, too.
I’m officially proposing to Elodie tonight at a trendy restaurant, and it’s up in the air whether she’s coming home with me or if I’m going home with her, or we part ways. She’s waiting on instructions from her father, and we’ll do what he says, which I assume will be decided in conference with my own father who has yet to reach out to me.
It’s been nearly a month since I saw my parents last, and I’ve never gone this long without speaking with my dad. Every time I think about it, I get a sick feeling and immediately push the thought from my head. Surely once the engagement is official, I’ll get my family back, because I fucking hate this.
The only good thing that’s come from this whole scandal is Drew, but he’s a total wild card, and if I think about him too hard, I feel sick, too.
“You’d break the internet if I posted a picture of you looking like that right now,” I say. See? Casual.
He gives me half a grin. “There are plenty of pictures of me like this on the internet. Last I checked it’s still running fine.”
He’s talking about his Instagram, and I understand his point, but he’s missing mine. “Maybe you’re targeting the wrong audience.”
He wipes his towel over his face and closes in on me, backing me into the countertop, his hips pinning me in place. “Who should I be targeting?”
Me, I want to tell him. “Dudes,” I say.
He grunts. “Men are pigs. They only want one thing.”
He has a point, especially where I’m concerned. I put my arms around him—and by that, I mean I grab his ass, rubbing my crotch against his to turn my interested dick into a full erection. “You’re right.”
He lets me grind, working himself against me, too, but his hands are on the counter and his face is in my face. “You heard from Elodie?”
“Not yet,” I say.
“I need to know where you’re gonna be tonight,” he says.
“Why?”
“Stupid question.”
“Maybe,” I tease, “but I wanna hear you say it.”
“’Cause you’re mine, Peach. For as long as I want you.”
“What about Saturday?” I ask. That, lest anyone forgets, is my next scheduled sexual performance for the woman who will then have become my official fiancée.
“You’re not fucking her.”
“Drew…” I groan.
“What? You’re not doing it. You don’t want to. You don’t need to—it’s not fucking happening.”
“I do need to.”
“Once you’re engaged, no one can say anything. A deal’s a deal. Her father can’t do shit after tonight.”
“She’ll make my life miserable.”
“Are you?” he asks, running his nose up my cheek. “Miserable?”
