I pull my hand from my boxes, stepping into my bathroom to wash my hand quickly so that I don’t miss another moment of Greer on her bed.
When I step back, she’s on her side, watching me with the phone against her ear.
Even with the distance between us, her eyes stare right into my soul. That look, the one of pure happiness, is the only look I want to see in her eyes from this moment on.
The thing is, I don’t deserve a woman like Greer.
And she sure as hell deserves more than I can give her.
I’m just too selfish to give her up now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GREER
It’s been a whole week since Simon and I had phone sex.
There’s no way to sugarcoat it, and there’s no way we can avoid talking about it either. Not for much longer anyway.
Luckily for me, I don’t work for him today. I still have to go over there later for Grey’s party, but if there’s one thing Simon and I are good at, it’s avoiding any serious conversation and acting like everything is normal. I bet we avoid this one for a whole month.
My phone buzzes in my purse, so I pull it out, seeing a scheduling text from a client. I grab my planner next to switch their appointment.
Work and Grey are the two reasons Simon and I haven’t talked about the other night. We’ve both been so busy, and it’s nice, but we can’t avoid it forever. I would text him, but it’s definitely a conversation that should happen face-to-face. At the same time, if I look him in the eyes when we talk about what we did or any part of his body I saw him stroke or touch that night, I’m not so sure I can keep the lust out of my eyes. And if he kisses me one more time and then apologizes, I very well might be the next feature of women who snap. Okay, okay, so that’s a bit extreme. But I’d probably have to quit, and that would be devastating.
I’m attracted to Simon. There’s no denying it. And as much as I would love to say that I have self-control, if he touched me again, despite the war in my brain, I would give in. It’s been so long since a man has made me feel the way he did, and that was only over the phone. It was my own hands. I can’t imagine the pleasure that would come from him actually touching me.
Hell, from him speaking to me the way he did. He’s so quiet and reserved and grumpy. That last one alone hadn’t hinted at the control he’d want in the bedroom.
That’s right, baby. Give yourself more pressure. Imagine my cock pumping in and out of you.
I uncross and cross my legs just thinking about his voice through the phone.
I follow that with a deep breath and focus back on my work schedule.
For the next thirty minutes, I alternate between thinking of Simon naked and filling my early mornings with appointments so I can mentally prepare for next week.
After I glanced at the clock for what I can only guess as the fiftieth time in fifteen minutes, I pack up my backpack and then take a shower in the back to get ready. I’ll get to Grey’s party early, but one of us needs to make the effort to discuss what’s happening with us. I guess that someone is going to be me.
I take my time walking home, slowing my steps as Simon’s house comes into view.
As I near his driveway, I see there’s already a car outside.
Who’s here this early? The party doesn’t start for another hour. That was supposed to give me plenty of time to pull Simon aside and talk about the other night. Talk about today. We didn’t really go into details on how we’re going to play this whole fake dating thing. How do we act? I understand fake dating, but Grey will be there. What is too much? What isn’t enough? God, I just hope it’s someone dropping off cupcakes or something and I still have my chance.
I’ve made it up one step when Simon comes rushing out.
“Hey, baby,” he says, his eyes going wide as he scoops me into a hug. His warm breath hits my ear just as one of the football camp moms comes into view behind him. “She read the invite wrong and showed up early,” he whispers into my ear.
I kiss Simon’s cheek and hug him back. “You could have texted me a heads up.”
He doesn’t reply, but he does turn to face the mom behind us, his hand slinking across my lower back to hold me close.
A few things cross my mind in this moment, but the ones I focus on are: is this what Simon would act like if he were really dating someone? Would he greet them like this? Would he hold them against his body possessively the way he is with me right now?
“I’m so sorry,” she says and points behind her. “I had Marcus read me the card, and he said noon instead of one, and I just went with it. We’re typically early people, but this is a new record for us.”
“It’s not a problem,” Simons assures her. “Marcy—right?”
