Page 43 of Peaches

Two week since I have moved in with the Adonis that is Brett Beckett, and my writing has completely gone to crap.

I’m trying not to get frustrated. I’m telling myself it isn’t another writer’s block, but between the lies I’m convincing myself concerning the man I’d really like to be sleeping with - as in intimacy, fornication, all things inter and course combined, not just hearing him snore across the room - and the lies I’mhearingin my head about the words that just can’t seem to start flowing again, I’ve about lost my damn mind.

Letting out an irritated sigh, my head falls into my hands at the kitchen counter, and I debate closing the computer in front of me all together. Perhaps it’s better if I go for a walk. A trip to see Marie, so we can have one of our chats now that she’s used to calling me Grace instead of Kimberly and it feels like I’m hiding a lot less than I actually am. We’ve met regularly for one of our little talks at least once a day since I’ve been here, and I’ve foolishly skipped todays because of this damn writer’s block still stumping my lust infused mind.

Well, feeling like I’msort ofhiding less, is the more tangible truth.

Brett was upfront with them about the name thing, kind of. At least, eventually, you could say, after he crushed my infatuated heart that night a week back and made me moan names I never thought I would, all in the lust filled stage ofself-gratifyingpleasure.

Later, I found out he told Marie and Grant, The General, he hadn’t been seeing Kimberly for six months (lie), and thatwemet through work and developed a friendship that blossomed into more before he moved here, (another lie, except for the work part), and that when you know you know, (that one could possibly be true, just not about me, I’m guessing), and he knew we’d only been together four months, (lie number three), but he couldn’t wait to ask me, (what might that be), to be his wife, (geez, this man and his lies), and the sooner the better.

He explained further that he was concerned and stressed that it would look like we were rushing it, a fact that he is embarrassed to say he felt slightly worried how it would be perceived, and stupidly, for lack of a better word, (especially when he told me Marie rolled her eyes), lied about my name. Something he is entirely ashamed of now, and hopes both Marie and Grant understand and accept me for who I really am.

If I even know myself anymore, after all this back and forth.

Marie was more compassionate, slightly even empathetic. Grant, yeah - not so much!

General Grant, as I have decided to call him. At least in my head, that is. I am sure his predecessor was welcomed and perceived the same down here in the south back in 1864.

But, even through all of that, I still get the impression that Brett is not being one hundred percent honest about something that I just can’t put my finger on. Why? Because now that it’s out in the open that he broke up with his ex, why continue the fake arrangement? It all just doesn’t make sense. But between the lies I’m living, and the novel I’m struggling to write, I’m letting myself continue here like it’s not all sorts of extremely odd I stay with him because… well, I guess because a girl can dream, right?

Shoulder biting, back scratching, knee wobbling, toe curling dreams! And if the appetizing taste I’ve had is anything that resembles the main course, hot fucking damn!

But still, this man does remember this is fake, right?

Something I guess I should remind myself of as well. As in, Cinderella turns back into little Ol’ me, Grace Olivia Presley, before this ever goes too far and I eventually wake from this totally unbelievable dream that, if I’m truthful, I’d totally take as reality if given the chance.

Yeah, fat chance!

Because. It. Isn’t. Real!

Just like the words I’m lying to myself that Ihaveto finish this book aren’t real. And I’d be better off if I admit both harsh truths to myself now and stop living in La La Land.

Besides, there is the matter of Archie. And something tells me I might be moving home, whether I like it or not, in the very foreseeable future after this escapade is over. I also get the sneaky suspicion my mother’s hiding something from me, as well. A fact that’s been cemented in my brain due to the fact that she’s been dodging my calls for some time now.

What’s up with the people in my life hiding crap from me. The only one that I feel is completely up front and honest is Archie, and I haven’t seen or spoken to my brother in almost six months.

And there is no way Archie and my mom can move here. That would uproot my brother and throw him into a state that isn’t fair to inflict. Plus, to say him, my mother, and myself would clash horribly with Brett’s world is a damn understatement.

I release a heavy sigh, that makes me think of one damn thing, and then sigh louder in annoyance.

But, as I’m immersed in my inner turmoil at the kitchen counter, I’m jolted from my thoughts as the door leading off the side of the house through the kitchen opens, and I quickly hear the screen slam back on its hinge. I roll my eyes with my head still in my hands, because if there is one thing I don’t need right now when the words aren’t flowing, it’s another distraction.

A dangerous distraction that always seems to enter itself these last few weeks right when I don’t need it to and make every single thought, except one, drain immediately and completely from my brain.

That one thought that screams the loudest?

I want Brett Beckett!

More than he will ever know!

I want him at night. I want him during the day. In the morning. In the shower. At breakfast, at dinner with his family present. Hell, I want him right now in the late afternoon on top of this damn kitchen counter but I. Can’t. Have. Him!

And what’s more, I would rather die than admit that to him for as long as this stupid arrangement is going on between us. He’ll move on. His type always does. But if I admit just how much he’s getting tometo him, thus making my feelings all that more real, I’ll be the one left devastated trying to pick up pieces of myself I used to know long before he came crashing into my world and threw everything in it upside down.

I’ll be looking at myself like a stranger, foreign in my own body, when right now if I hold on to my restraint, I can keep some sliver of my dignity and prevent the whole inevitable “out of body” experience later when we both stop playing pretend.

Another harsh truth to swallow is the fact that I’m one hundred percent sure I’ll never get the chance to tell him how I feel, because after we are done here, I turn back into little missno one from nowhereand he goes back to being exactly who he’ll always be. A business eliteprincewho would be so much better off with someone of his stature, from his world, that knows when to speak, when to shut up and how to walk, talk and act the part, by his side.

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