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“Why are you pushing this?”
My hands fly up, and I stomp away, needing space between us. “Why are you acting like I haven’t been begging you for this? I am tired of feeling like a dirty little whore!”
He’s off the bed no sooner than the words escape me. His fingers latch onto my face, bringing it close to his. Blue eyes radiate frustration and anger. “Don’t do that. Don’t cheapen yourself or us.”
I jerk from his grasp and restore the distance between us. “I’m not. You do that. Every single time you pretend not to notice me if someone is around. When you refuse to acknowledge me in front of people we both love. I deserve better than that.”
He drops back onto the bed, head falling into his hands. “I know you do. I just need…”
“What? Time? I’ve given you time, Liam.” I’ve given him so much time. This thing between us isn’t new. We’ve been sneaking around for years. We’ve been exclusive for months. No one can convince me I’m being unreasonable.
“Lily, I know it’s not fair to you. These are my issues, but you knew them going into this. It’s not something new.”
He’s right. His issues were a glaring red flag the day we met. I can’t believe it was over two years ago. So much has changed since then.
****
“Easy, little girl,” my brother’s girlfriend whispered, catching me staring at my brother’s band’s manager. “He’s way too old for you.”
My eyes rolled hard. I hadn’t been covert with my blatant ogling, but why would I? I was an adult, capable of making my own decisions. I loved her so much; she was the sister I never had, but she knew nothing about my taste or experience with men. She knew the girl that set the frogs free in biology and squealed for joy when she and my brother finally fucking got together. That girl was very much part of me. But there was also the side she knew little about.
She didn’t know the girl who believed in sexual freedom. The girl who wasn’t afraid to explore who she was and what she wanted without apology. I figured out pretty quickly it wasn’t the boys I grew up with.
Age had always been just a number to me, and I preferred my men to be older. It was a preference, and I was an old soul… or a new-age hippie. Whatever you wanted to call it.
Maybe it was simply what I was used to. My dad was almost twenty years older than his wife. Then, my mom, since their divorce, only seemed to date older men.
Standing under the bougainvillea-covered pergola, I watched from a few feet away as women flirted with him and didn’t bother hiding my smile when he appeared uninterested and annoyed. They weren’t brazen; all too professional—determined to maintain their image in case a camera appeared—to throw themselves at him, though, maybe it’s because they had no clue who he was, but at any soiree thrown by my father, people assumed everyone was someone. They had no idea he had no pull in Hollywood whatsoever unless you counted my brother.
A slinky, petite blond with more plastic than a toy factory sidled up to him, tracing a long, red nail across his chest. He looked at it like he might rip it off, but she didn’t notice.
I used the opportunity to save him from the needy blond and approached them.
“Oh, Aliana, how lovely to see you.” Her tone was as saccharine as the rest of her. The woman couldn’t stand me. She made that quite clear over the last couple of years. She saw me as the competition. I wasn’t.
“I believe your date is looking for you, Greta,” I told her with a smile.
Her eyes flared with venom, but she did a decent job maintaining her façade as she looked around the deck for the man in question. “I suppose I should go. It was nice to meet you…” She waited for him to give her his name, but his lips remained plastered into a tight line. Her humph of frustration echoed as she spun, stomping her strappy heels on the limestone as she marched away.
He stared down at me, the scowl still in place, but his eyes swirled with amusement. They were like multifaceted blue gems with gorgeous striations that created so much more dimension than most thought of when considering simple blue eyes. I was fascinated, but I kept my composure. Drooling on his shoe would not happen. “You took a little too much pleasure in embarrassing her, don’t you think?”
“Greta is relentless. She becomes a succubus if she believes she smells money or her big break. She wouldn’t walk away until someone forced her, and it didn’t look like you were getting there on your own.”
“I’m well acquainted with her type. It’s called being polite.” His chest rumbled, irritated at my comment.
“Rolling your eyes and trying to ignore her was not polite.” My brow popped, challenging him to argue.
“Aren’t you a little young to be flirting with grown men?” He changed the subject, nodding toward the man I was speaking with before coming to him. I’m sure his goal was to embarrass me. Perhaps run me off, but all he’s accomplished is letting me know he was watching me, too.
My head fell along with my mouth as laughter erupted. “Jealous?”
He vibrated. It was a low growl that could’ve been mistaken for disgust had he not raked over me once more, and that’s when I knew two things. He was definitely attracted to me, and he was disgusted with himself for it. Though, if not for his telling eyes, his next words might’ve made me question it. “Why would I be jealous? I don’t know you. Besides, you’re a child. I only entertain women.”
It wasn’t an answer but an avoidance, and I smiled wider. Teasing. “What a coincidence!” I smirked and lifted the non-alcoholic cocktail to my lips, meeting his stony gaze with my devious one, making sure I enunciated each word. “I only fuck men.”
His nostrils flared as heat spread across his chiseled cheekbones. His demeanor went through a rapid cycle of irritation to arrogance with a lick of intimidation. “Sweetheart, anyone you might fuck would still be a boy. Come tell me about men when you find someone whose balls have dropped.”
This poor, poor man. I supposed those words would turn away some girls my age, but I wasn’t most. And maybe I should’ve felt bad for waiting until his mouth was filled with the amber liquid swirling in his glass to reply, but I didn’t. “My last boyfriend was thirty. I wonder if his balls have dropped yet?” I tapped my chin, pretending to consider the question.
