Page 21 of Old Money

“It’s not so much about the satisfaction,” I say, “but more about the lack of attachment.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Remember what I just told you? Money over everything. For most of the world, I’m a walking, talking dollar sign. I don’t do relationships because there isn’t a great track record of women who are interested in me more than they are my last name or my net worth. Ana, Doug, people like that, make it a little bit easier to walk away because we all know going in that it will never be anything more. I don’t trust anyone. Sex is easier. I don’t know who any of them are. Half the time, I don’t even know their names, whether their husbands are with us or not. Usually, it’s a one-and-done situation.”

She narrows her eyes at me then nods slowly.

“That makes sense, actually,” she says, and I am taken aback. I lean back in the booth again, putting one arm up on the top of the seat. I smile at her.

“Does it?” I ask. She nods as she finishes her glass.

“Yeah,” she says. “You’ve never known unconditional love, so you don’t trust people. It’s easier for you to connect, physically only, to people who are also off-limits.”

I look her up and down, and I cannot fight this stupid smirk on my face.

I just told this girl about my slutty past, and she barely batted an eye.

“You are somethin’ else, Sawyer,” I say.

The ride home is quiet, and as she looks out the window, I feel myself growing uneasy. Is she rethinking what she’s learned about me? Maybe it’s for the best. Help break the attachment now rather than later down the road.

But the thought of her not calling, not needing me, not wanting me around, makes me more anxious than I care to admit.

When we get back to the building, I walk her up to the apartment. She unlocks the door, and as I’m about to say goodnight, she grabs my arm.

“I know you know my name,” she says, “but if you ever decide that’s not a deal-breaker, just know that I’m pretty good at keeping my mouth shut.”

Holy fuck.

If she only knew…

I take a step closer to her so she's backed up against the door. I reach my hand up and stroke her cheek gently, then I lean down and press my lips to her jawline, then again to her neck. I feel my dick as hard as a fucking brick in my pants, and it’s taking all my restraint not to tear this fucking dress off her right now.

“I told you, sweetheart, I’m not fucking you,” I whisper in her ear. “And believe me, it’s not because I don’t want to. But if I did, there would be plenty for that pretty mouth of yours to do besides stay shut.”

I leave one more kiss on her shoulder, then I push her door open and nudge her gently inside before closing it and walking back down to the car with the biggest hard-on I’ve ever fucking had.

SAWYER

Istand against the wall to the entryway of my apartment for a few minutes, trying to replay everything that just happened. For the second time now, I’ve been rejected by Julian Everett. But he does it in a way that somehow still lets me know that he wants me in some capacity. It’s confusing as hell.

I’m not fucking you. And believe me, it’s not because I don’t want to.

What the fuck does that even mean? Is it because I’m too young? Too…vulnerable? Too…what? Available?

I run a hand down my face and force myself to take a cold shower before my brain creates every possible scenario and reason for him not taking me up on my offer.

* * *

The next morning,I’m up early for my shift at the mini-mart. I have a beat-up bike that I occasionally use to get around campus, but the cold air is welcome this morning after a long night of burning loins.

I’ve checked my phone approximately twenty-seven times since he dropped me off about eight hours ago, but I have yet to see his name light up my phone. And after rejection number two, the little bit of pride I have left is all that’s keeping me from texting him first. I round the last corner to the shop but stop dead in my tracks when I see the black Escalade parked right out front. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and keep walking, clearing my throat as I get closer to the car. The door opens, and I hold my breath but quickly blow it out when I see Tyler walking toward me.

“Morning, Sawyer,” he says with a tip of an imaginary hat.

“Morning,” I say with one eyebrow raised. He lifts something from behind his back, and I want to kick myself when I realize it’s my purse.

“Left this in the car last night,” he says. “Boss wanted me to get it to you.”

I smile faintly as I take it.

---