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He was being daft, however.
There was nothingtothink of him.
He’d done what he had to do, and in this at least, he’d been convincing.
“That you’re a footballer, trying to act like I’m your girlfriend,” she said softly, reassuringly. She even sat down with him. Knees almost touching his, hand near his elbow on the table. And she was rewarded with one fewer hand on his face.
“Yeah. But how would you want to be my fake girlfriend if I’m like that?”
“Well, mostly because there isn’t anything wrong with roasting. Unless roasting means you put your penis in my ear. Then I suppose I might have objections about having pretend sex with you.”
He gave her a withering look. “Your earhole is safe from my cock. It’s just another word for fucking. That I wish I hadn’t said. Because now it looks like I have no idea how to treat soft little beans like you, who are probably used to gentle progression toward being seduced in a suite full of candles and rose petals.”
“Alfie, I don’t think I’ve ever been seduced in my entire life.”
“All right. But you have had the slow progression.”
“I guess. I don’t really need it, though.”
“So what do you need, then?”
“Just wanting someone so much it feels like I might burst if I don’t have them hard and fast and probably up against a fucking wall. And knowing that they want to have me in exactly the same way.”
The words were out before she could stop them.
And they were bad, she knew they were bad.
She’d said things abouthaving, andwalls. So it wasn’t a surprise when his face seemed to drop about three feet. Or that he couldn’t seem to say anything, for a second. He just sat there, mouth open, with no words coming out. While she frantically googledhow do you take words backin her head.
And came up with nothing, obviously.
She just had to ride it out. To wait, until her confessing that she wanted to be done hard faded. Which it did. It did. He recovered, eventually. “Right, well,” he said. “Good to know. Excellentinformation to have. For when we’re pretending to be an item.” Then he dusted off his hands and stood, and she realized.
All that was left now was doing just that.
For months and months.
In public.
While dressed in the sexy clothes his assistant had brought.
Text Messages, January 2014
Daisy 12:03 p.m.
Hey Alfie, so I’m going to need your collar size.
Grumpy Bastard 1:27 p.m.
Who is this and how do you have my number?
Daisy 1:28 p.m.
It’s me, the assistant you hired.
Grumpy Bastard 5:10 p.m.
Then why are you asking me for my personal information? I’m onto you, you’re one of them scammers trying to get my bank details.
