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"He needs to buy it. He'll rat us out. He's not above that."
Maybe. Maybe not. "It's up to you. Tell me enough we seem like a real couple. Or keep it to yourself and give him room to doubt."
"Is that really why you want to know? For our ruse?"
"No. I'm curious. But I am right and you know it."
Chapter Ten
Cassie
I am right and you know it.
He is. That's the annoying thing.
As my boyfriend, the boyfriend working closely with me post-Frederick, and as a songwriter in direct competition with Frederick and the woman he fucked behind my back, of course, Damon would know all about my ex.
Women always tell men the last guy was nothing compared to you.
That's not totally true. Some of the sex was great. But a lot of it was really, completely terrible.
I just—
I don't want to share. Not with anyone. And especially not with him.
He's on his best behavior with Daphne upstairs, but I know better than to believe it. I can't trust him with my secrets, and he'll never trust me with his.
But he is right.
We're supposed to be in love and that means we're supposed to trust each other.
So, I guess I'll have to fake it.
I wish it was an over-the-top erotic story. I could share that with Damon a lot more easily.
But telling him I was so desperate to reconnect with my boyfriend that I invited someone else into our bed?
Ugh.
Why does everything require so much intimacy? I want a fake boyfriend and a real songwriting partner who need less from me.
But I begged him to do this.
And it's all for this job, a job that asks me to dig deep every time I pick up a pen. (Not that I know any other way to write).
This is what I want. I need to get the fuck over my hesitation. I need to trust him.
For real.
And soon.
I take a deep breath and let out a steady exhale. "This stays between us. Everything we share here stays between us?"
"Of course."
"Really. I don't want you to tell Daphne."
"You didn't?"
"I didn't." I could barely admit it to myself. I couldn't say it out loud. I couldn't hear the words in my voice. Even in my head, it sounds desperate and impossible. I thought a threesome would fix our relationship.
It was more than that. I thought he wanted a different kind of person. And I thought I was that kind of person. Someone open-minded and creative. An artist. And artists experiment with all sorts of things.
Whoever heard of the prudish artist?
But it wasn't me. It's not me.
It's not that I'm completely vanilla. There are things I like. Normal enough things, sure, but I like some of them beyond a normal amount.
Just not in a way that was exciting enough for my ex.
And not in a way that compares to Damon's history. The guy has so many notches his bedpost is a nub.
"The first meeting is Friday." It's obvious I'm trying to change the subject, but I need to nail down the details first. In case I pass out from embarrassment. "I think we both have enough to start on our own. Then we can meet back here next week. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. We'll see how it goes."
"Just text first this time," he teases.
My cheeks flush. "Close your door this time." It doesn't feel like a barb. It feels as scary as the rest of this. I was watching. I wanted to watch. I wanted to be there, with him, being watched.
It almost seemed like it was about me.
And I wanted that. Not from him, exactly, but from someone. I want someone to want me that much.
Maybe Frederick did once, but by the end…
Shit. I should get into it, but I'm still not ready. I don't care how obvious it is I'm trying to delay. I'm sticking with it. "We should post some more pictures. Tease people."
"Whatever you want to do, Cass. I trust your instincts."
That's something. It's not a lot, but it's something.
My eyes go to his broad chest. The Latin quote on the right. The long line of his torso. The low waist of his navy swim trunks.
When did he get such muscular thighs? He wasn't this buff the last time I saw him. He certainly wasn't this fucking yummy.
It's really not fair for someone so difficult to be so sexy.
But this isn't a road I can take. I'm not going to fuck him to distract him from the sad story about my ex-boyfriend.
He notices my hesitation, but he doesn't poke me the way he usually does. He stays soft. Gentle even. "If I know the details, I can use them," Damon says.
"How would you do that?"
"Your ex… he can't feel good about losing you."
I scoff. He obviously doesn't care about losing me. He threw me away.
