Page 97 of Mr. Aster
“I can’t,” he said, cupping one of my breasts with his hand. “That’s where my parents are staying.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked with more annoyance than I wanted him to hear. “You think your parents have stayed here all week?”
“No, they haven’t,” he affirmed.
“Oh,” I said, confused.
“Jim filled me in on the flight home a little since I haven’t communicated with my father. Once my parents learned we were in Mexico, they went to San Francisco.”
“I can’t understand why my parents went there, too. What the hell is going on?” I said, flustered and not in the mood for this bullshit.
All the good vibes that filled the atmosphere of this winery were being slowly diminished by my shitty mood. I guess I found one reason for not having a real relationship with this man. All the nasty feelings I previously had about him were very present, but this time, they were directed toward his parents. I hated when people brought out the worst in me, and now I was in some stupid shitty mood, ready to go up on defense against these people. They weren’t only insulting my home, the winery, and my parents, but their sights were surely set on me.
“I’m not sure why your parents are there,” Sebastian said, still drunk and lazy in thought after enjoying himself moments ago. “Hey,” he sat up and propped himself up on his elbow. “Are you okay?”
I looked over at him, agitated that he seemed unphased about things while I was suddenly stressed and pissed about everything. I didn’t live like this and didn’t want to start down this road.
“I’m actually not,” I said, annoyed with myself. “It isn’t good that I’m worrying about shit the way I am.”
“No, it’s not,” he confirmed. “Everything will be fine. Just act like we’re still fake dating, and it’ll make things easier. We’ll get through it, and fuck it if my parents disapprove.”
“Fuck it if they don’t approve, eh?” I said.
“Yeah, who gives a shit? Fake the whole thing, just like we planned on doing before. We decided to see where this could go between you and me.”
“That’s the problem,” I answered, laying back into my pillows and pulling the sheets over my chest. “That whole faking it thing?”
“Yeah,” he said with a sympathetic smile, and looking impossibly handsome, “fake it and fuck it.”
“Cute,” I said with an eye roll. “Well, Iwasjust faking it withyou.”
“Huh?”
“That last orgasm? It was all fake,” I said, surprised I’d just admitted that to myself andhim.
“Shit, am I already off my game? Lost my charm and everything?”
“No, it’s what this stress is doing to me. I’m not like this normally, and I don’t want to be like this now. I had to fake it because ofme.” I covered my face with both of my hands. “And who admits that to the man they just had sex with?” I growled into my hands, then pulled my shit together, “I’m sorry, I’m just too in my head. I’m trying to plan for the eventual meet-up with both our parents, and because ofthat, I’m not even able to enjoy two rounds of amazing sex with you.”
He smiled at me while I looked at him with eyes begging for mercy. “Stop worrying about it. You weren’t worried before,” he said in a low, very controlled voice.
“You’re right, I wasn’t worried before. So why am I worried now?” I softly laughed and poked him in the dark patch of hair that neatly covered the center of his chest. “You’re the one who should be worried, not me.”
“Exactly, and I’m not,” he said, amused.
I turned on my side, feeling a bit better after admitting I had just faked an orgasm during sex with the most amazing man I’d ever slept with, and I propped my hand up to lean on it while I faced him. “Most men would leave me here to die in shame for admitting that I faked it during sex.”
“Well, I’m not most men, gorgeous,” he said, reaching for my face and running his hand on my jawline. “I understand this can be stressful for you. I’m only sorry that it is, and I wish I could take it all away like you took the darkness of life away for me.”
“It’s not your job to take it away,” I smiled at him. “It’s my job to find a way to manage it. I just hate that I’m worked up. It’s so unlike me.”
“The fear of my parents can make anyone act unlike themselves,” he smirked. “They have a way of doing that, you know?”
“Well, being afraid of people is unlike me, too,” I confirmed.
“I can attest to that. You always proved ready for combat when it came to me. I think that side of you might rear its head the moment my parents act up with you, so I look forward to seeing it,” he smiled.
“I don’t,” I said. “I will never back down from someone insulting me, but that doesn’t mean I like being nasty with people.”
