I think if I was on fire, she wouldn’t even notice, which is ironic because it feels like my dick actually is.
Everyone is out at the beach, and we are alone in our room.
She glances over. “How’s the book going?”
I curl my lip in disdain. I glance at the title: EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE
“It’s okay, I guess.”
This book is a load of fucking baloney. The person who wrote this is not emotionally intelligent; they’re just plain fucking stupid.
“What made you buy that book?” she asks.
I fake a smile. I wonder.
She smirks knowingly and goes back to her book. “I like that you’re reading that.”
Shut. Up.
“I’m going to go out tonight,” I say to her.
“Okay.” She turns the page in her book, her eyes glued to the text.
“You going to come?” I ask.
“Hmm.” She scrunches up her nose. “Probably not.”
I frown. “Why? What are you doing?”
“I met some people downstairs last night. They’ve asked me to go to dinner with them.”
I narrow my eyes. “What people?”
I’m on high alert. Some romantic fucker is going to swoop in and steal her off me with pretty words and promises . . . wedding rings.
Not that I have her . . . but still.
“Some guys,” she mutters, uninterested.
“What guys?”
“The ones from Holland.”
Blond fuckers . . . ugh, my blood boils. She likes blonds.
“Suit yourself,” I snap.
She nods as she keeps reading, totally unaffected.
“Why don’t you come over here? I’ll cuddle your back while you read.”
“I’m good.” She rolls over and puts her back to me.
I know you’re fucking good. Good at being a prick-teasing asshole.
With no shame at all, I get up and climb into her bed. I’m allowed to spoon in bed with her; it’s something we’ve always done.
Only now I know how it ends.
I lie with her in my arms and imagine a million ways I could fuck her; I get turned on; she keeps reading her book—god only knows what’s so interesting in it—then I go to the shower and pull my dick alone.
I put my arm around her from behind and pull her close. I inhale her scent and smile into her hair as the world disappears.
She has this calming effect on me. As soon as she’s in my arms, all is well in the world.
She keeps reading . . . and reading . . . and reading.
Does she even know I’m here?
“What could possibly be so interesting in that stupid book?” I huff.
“Everything,” she murmurs, distracted. “I’m just getting to the good bit.”
“I don’t . . .”
“Shh.”
“Did you just shush me?”
“I did, baby. Go to sleep.”
“You’re infuriating, you know that?”
“Shh.”
“I mean . . .”