Page 62 of The Most Perfect Wrong

I thought I just did.

“I do want to… I’m just tired, so I’d like to be on the bottom. Feel that strong body over mine,” I add, coaxing him. Brad may know how to pull my strings, but I’ve learned a few tricks myself. I turn toward him, my hands gliding over his chest and stomach.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, a bit softer now. “You know I don’t want it unless you’re into it. I want to make sure you feel good. That turns me on.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I say, grinding against him, playing up my desire.

A few minutes in, he rolls me on top of him, and I’m beyond annoyed. I play along, half-heartedly, then finally shift to my back, reaching for him in ways that’ll keep him happy so I can lie here and zone out. Brad pushes into me, but my thoughts drift to Ryan again and our conversation at the bar. He really listened—heard me, saw me. Brad doesn’t see me, and he sure as shit doesn’t hear me.

My eyes fix on the ceiling fan, and I count each click as it spins around and around, anything to distract me from Brad’s rhythm, which feels more like a drill than passion.

“Baby,” Brads voice snaps me to the present. “Where are you? I feel like I’m fucking a starfish.”

If I tell him I spaced out, he’ll be offended—I might as well tell him I fell asleep.

“I’m here, babe,” I say, trying to sound convincing. “Just focused… I’m almost there. Don’t stop, or I’ll lose it.”

That satisfies him. He keeps going, and I make all the sounds he wants to hear, gasping and moaning as if I’m caught up in the moment. “Oh God,” I cry, “I’m going to come.” But I’m not. I tip my head back, pretending to orgasm—something I’ve never done—until now.

Ryan’s words echo in my mind:Don’t be a puppet.The irony isn’t lost on me—I feel like a marionette, with Brad pulling every string, performing a part I didn’t audition for. I act like this is everything I want, that he’s everything I need. But every day, I’m realizing more and more that he’s not. This isn’t what I want—I’m not happy.

Later, I lie in bed, my mind racing as silent tears fall down my cheeks. And for the second time this week, I cry myself to sleep.

Chapter 20

RYAN

“No, no, no, no! Hold on to the damn ball!” I shout at the TV, while Leo groans in frustration beside me. “What was that?” I ask, shooting him a look.

“They’re playing like shit,” Leo mutters.

It’s Sunday night football—Bears vs. Rams—and the Bears are getting their asses kicked. It’s halftime, and we can only hope for a better second half.

Vivian comes down after putting their daughter, Isla, to bed. “Who’s winning?” she asks, standing behind the couch. She tips Leo’s head back to give him a kiss.

“The Rams,” I answer with a sigh.

“Mmm,” Leo responds to her kiss. “How’d she go down, babe?”

“Pretty easily tonight. Had to readGuess How Much I Love Youthree times, though. She’s obsessed.” Vivian’s hands move to Leo’s shoulders, kneading them gently.

“That’s my girl. She knows what she wants and doesn’t take no for an answer—just like her mum. Come sit, babe.” Leo pats the seat next to him.

“I can’t. I’ve got some work to look over before tomorrow. But you two enjoy the game. Ryan, can I get you anything? I stocked the bathrooms with everything I could think of, but if I missed something, just let me know.”

“I will, Vivian. Thank you, again,” I reply.

She leans down, whispering something in Leo’s ear that makes him grin.

“Oh, I won’t, babe.”

She kisses his cheek before heading up the stairs.

I watch her go, a pang of sadness gripping my chest, as I remember how Beth and I used to be like them. I look over at Leo. “You two seem really happy.”

He glances at me, nodding. “We are, mate. Happiest I’ve ever been.” He pauses, his expression thoughtful. “I’m sorry about you and Beth. How are you feeling about your decision?”

“I mean, it’s real shitty. But I know it was the right thing to do for me. And Beth’s going to be okay. She’s always been strong and independent.”

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