Page 96 of Hopeless
“You scared me!”
“Did you really say I orgasmed you stupid?”
She glances away, biting at her lips, clearly to keep from laughing too. “Well,” she says primly, glancing down to brush at her shorts. “It’s true. You did. And I was sleeping like the dead because of it.”
I go to reach for her, but drop my hand back down on the bed. “I shouldn’t have just walked away after that. I’m just not used to … I haven’t done this before.”
She smiles, turning big, dark eyes up at me. Giving me a flash of how she might look on her knees, staring up at me with a mouth full of my cock.
I shake my head and blink the image away.
“Been engaged? Yeah, me neither.” She waves a hand dismissively through the space between us. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to stick around.”
There’s no trace of hurt in her voice, no thread of a lie. She didn’t expect me to stick around after being intimate with her, and that realization is like a steel-toed boot to the gut.
“Did you have the bad dream?” She carries on like what she just said to me isn’t infuriating.
“Bailey, don’t let men take advantage of you and expect nothing in return,” I grumble.
She leans back a little, taken aback by the abrupt change in my demeanor, no doubt. “Is that what you did, Beau? Take advantage of me? Sure didn’t feel like it. Felt like I asked you for something and you gave it. And then we high-fived and parted ways.”
“We didn’t high-five.”
“If I’d been able to move, I’d have high-fived you.”
“Good god, Bailey.”
“Listen, I know you’re hung up on treating me like a porcelain doll because I’m a virgin, but I think you’re mixing up my expectations with your expectations. What happened tonight was consensual. I don’t feel taken advantage of just because we’re doing this thing for show.”
“I wish you wanted more for yourself.”
She barks out a quiet laugh, and I realize the words are cheap. They make what happened feel cheap.
I reach out and run a palm over her silky, mussed hair. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”
She looks back up at me now, sadness shimmering in her eyes. “I want plenty for myself, Beau. I am single-mindedly making thatmorehappen. It’s why I’m here. It’s you who believes he isn’t more of what I want.” Her hand covers mine. “Youaremore. But I’ve become accustomed to wanting more and not getting it. I don’t let myselfneedmore. That’s a luxury I can’t afford. I just keep moving toward my end goal. But you’d be a fool to think that means I don’t want things for myself.”
Her fingers pat against mine, and she pushes up to standing, turning to walk away like I did to her earlier. I thought I was doing what was best for her.
For me.
I felt cocky and amped up, ready to tease and play games. But now, my feet hurt, and with every step she takes away from me, so does my chest.
“Bailey,” I croak her name in the quiet room, and she stops but doesn’t turn. “Stay.”
It feels like the world stands still for a moment. Like I just poured myself out there and am waiting to be judged. It’s a strange sensation, waiting for another person to choose when I’ve always prided myself on being a person of action. A rational decision-maker.
This isn’t rational, though. I’m operating on instinct, which is something I’ve done before, just not with a woman. Usually, I prepare for women in my life the same way I prepare for anything else. I let myself imagine all the outcomes—the worst outcomes—and then I decide if it’s worth the risk.
I’ve done this exercise with Bailey in my head.
And I think that’s what holds me back.
I won’t let myself think of the worst-case scenario. It hurts too much.
After one moment turns into several, she slowly rises up on her toes and rotates, like she’s trying not to startle me. “Stay?”
I say nothing. I feel laid bare enough right now, hunched over on the edge of my bed, asking her to stay while my feet continue to burn.
