Page 38 of Cinderella Is Faking It

“What are you doing here?” He crossed the room, putting his drink down on the counter.

“I live here,” I replied, blinking, watching him take the champagne flute from my hand and placing it on the counter next.

“Why did you follow me to the kitchen?” Hand splayed out, his fingertips connected with my stomach, pushing me backwards.

“Tabitha thought you might need help with the drinks.” My breath hitched in my throat as my back connected with the fridge. He’d caged me in for the second time tonight and my pulse hiked up faster than it had the first time. “What are you doing exactly?”

“Does it bother you that I’m nine years older than you?”

Nine older than Cordelia. Eleven older than Delilah. Technically. “Like I said, I don’t particularly care how old the people I befriend are.”

His hand slipped in under my oversized shirt, fingertips resting against my abdomen. God, his hand was big, all splayed out over my stomach. “What about the men you’re with?”

“Beck.”

“Tell me to stop.” His hand slid further up, skimming the underside of my ribcage.

“Stop,” I breathed.

Immediately his hand dropped out from under my shirt, and he fell a step back, darkened eyes on me as he jutted his chin as if to saySee?

“I googled you,” I said.

“I figured as much, considering Tabitha’s ‘30 under 30’ research.”

“Your ex was in your own age range, so I just need to know whether you’re going through a midlife crisis trying to hook up with someone younger, whether you are viewing me as a weird challenge because of my name, or whether you’re actually interested inme. And if you are interested in me, whether that’s purely sexual or also emotional.”

“Do you ever stop thinking this much?”

“No.”

“Not even during sex?”

“No.”

“I think we just found your problem, Blondie.”

“If you’re going to tell me to just ‘let it go’, I’ll-”

“No, if you’re overthinking everything, you need to work through your thought process and rationalize.”

“What do you mean?”

“May I?” He raised his hand in the air between us, similar to how he had just touched me. I nodded, and he stepped forward again, his hand above my shirt, fingers dipping into my belly. “What are you thinking?”

“That you haven’t answered my question.”

“I know that you’re too young for me. I wanted to meet you because of your name, but I am genuinely interested in you. Mainly sexual, mixed with some curiosity. What else?”

“That I had a lot of cake.”

“Why are you thinking about cake when I touch you?”

“Because you’re touching my stomach and if you press any harder, I don’t think you’ll have any interest in me at all anymore…”

“I can be careful.” His hand slipped in under my shirt again, but his touch rested much lighter now. “Thoughts?”

“You adjusted your pressure.”

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