Page 31 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

My mouth pops open at the implication behind her words, framing a silent gasp.

I’m not sure whether I should be more offended that she thinks I would need to pay for sex or that I would go to such tedious lengths to specifically fuck her , especially when I’ve already had a taste of that particular pie.

I might have done some crazy shit for the sake of my conquests before, but even I can admit this would be excessive.

I narrow my eyes at Blondie, who takes advantage of my shock to double down. “I need some assurances you won’t try any…funny business.”

“Funny business,” I deadpan. “What are you, a 1930s gangster? Just say what you’re really thinking, Dornan.”

Her brows knit together. “There won’t be a repeat of what happened between us last week, got it? As far as you’re concerned, I have a bubble that says ‘Do not touch’ around me at all times.”

“Well, we’ll have to touch sometimes ,” I point out. “To trick the parentals, of course,” I tack on when the scowl on her face deepens. “And the internet. But if it will put your mind at ease, I wasn’t planning on trying to fuck you again. Ever.”

I already learned the hard way what comes from fucking Lexi Dornan, and I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice.

Three times, my memory corrects me, and I silently curse Past Damian’s drunken decisions.

“I don’t really want to relive getting kneed in the junk. Again ,” I add to appease her, because if she can trust anything, it’s Damian Jr.’s need for self-preservation. “Now, come on. We’ve been standing out here a while, and we’re starting to look a little sus.”

Blondie glares at me as she closes the passenger door, her scowl locked firmly in place as she crosses the tarmac to where I wait. “So, the king of manwhores is totally okay with going nine months without sex? Why do I find that so hard to believe?” she asks as we approach the boutique entrance.

An attractive sales associate in the back of the shop catches my eye as we walk through the door, and I grin, flashing her a flirty look that says I’m definitely interested.

“Who said anything about giving up sex?” I ask when the girl smiles back.

“Besides, it wouldn’t be cheating. This is a fake relationship, remember? ”

Blondie follows my gaze and scoffs. “Yeah, a fake one you want your parents to believe. Last I checked, rumors spread around Conwick like herpes. I guarantee that if one of your so-called friends were to see you bringing home someone who wasn’t your girlfriend, all of Newport, including your parents, would eventually catch wind of it.

Are you really going to risk that after going through so much trouble to trick them? ”

I don’t bother telling her I don’t have any friends—not real ones, anyway—or that she’s right about Conwick.

But the university campus is hardly the only place I look when I want to get laid, and there is such a thing as a hotel.

But then…there are the paparazzi and literally anyone with social media to consider, and as soon as word gets out about my new girlfriend, the vultures will start to circle.

It might be harder to get away with than I considered before, and getting caught cheating on my fake girlfriend would not be a good look for either of us.

“I have my ways,” I retort, trying to ignore how lame that comeback sounds or that I’m probably too recognizable for any of those ways to actually work. Especially once the world takes an interest in the fact that Damian Navarro, heir to the Navarro fortune, will be off the market.

“Yeah, well, those ways of yours will cost me this money, and I just…” Her hesitation takes me by surprise, but no matter how hard I try to read her face, I can’t discern her expression.

When she realizes I’m watching her, she gives an assertive shake of her head.

“I can’t let that happen. So, keep it in your pants or I’ll cockblock you so fast you won’t even be able to finish saying Viagra. ”

I press a hand to my chest in mock horror. “Hey, I do not use the pill and you know it.”

“Do I?” she counters, cocking an incredulous brow.

I spend the next hour perched on a sofa outside the changing room, sipping a cucumber and lavender spritz, while Blondie begrudgingly tries on all manner of clothing, to her increasing annoyance and to my unending amusement.

Although I would never say so, she looks great in everything.

She might seem uncomfortable in designer brands (she’s clearly fixating on how much they cost) and—when it comes to styles—figure-hugging dresses… but dios mío, they agree with her.

The only hiccup is that Damian Jr. approves a little too vehemently of many of her outfits, and his judgment tends to impact my own.

Hence, why I am now standing far away from the changing room after Blondie threw a hanger at my head when I tried (unsuccessfully) to convince her to model some lingerie for me.

Oh, well, you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, and the bump on my head was worth the chance of catching even a partial glimpse of those perfect tits again.

“Hi,” a voice says behind me, and I turn to find the sales assistant from earlier beaming up at me. “Sorry, excuse me. This is really awkward, but are you Damian Navarro?”

I resist the urge to point out that I booked this appointment under my name, so she could’ve easily found that answer without having to ask me.

Still, I’m nothing but a gentleman when it comes to a prospective fuck. “I’d have to check my driver’s license, but I’m fairly certain I am,” I say with a suggestive grin, spinning my inner charm dial to max.

Her smile broadens, revealing a set of nice teeth. Teeth which now bite at her plump bottom lip, fully redirecting Damian Jr.’s attention. “I thought so.” Stepping closer, she touches her fingertips lightly to my forearm. “I’m Rosie. If you’re free later, I’d love to give you my numb?—”

“Hello, lover,” a sultry voice interrupts, and I glance past the consultant to find Blondie standing behind her, wearing a red ruched mini dress I picked out.

The fabric fits the contours of her body like a glove, with full-length sleeves that accentuate her slender limbs, and a high neck that works just as well as I knew it would against the delicate bone structure of her face.

Not to mention, the short hem makes her legs look about eight miles long.

Shit, Blondie could be a model, I note, all thought of the other woman before me forgotten. I suddenly doubt Stella McCartney has ever looked so good on anyone.

Strutting past the sales assistant, Blondie slinks to my side, and drapes an arm across my shoulders. “Are you going to introduce me?” she asks with an innocent flutter of her lashes.

Instead of answering, I wonder if she’s somehow gotten drunk off the spritz or if she’s been bodysnatched by an invading alien species. First, the lover comment and now this? The Blondie I know doesn’t have game, which can only mean she’s been possessed.

The lust in the other woman’s eyes dims, her cheeks flushing pink as she casts an uneasy glance between my face and Blondie’s. “Oh, uh, are you his girlfriend or something?”

Blondie lets out a beleaguered sigh. “ Ugh , I wish . He’s just the best.”

She presses a hand to my chest, giving me a loving but very staged smile—the same one she wore in the car earlier that I called her out on for being fake as shit.

I can only smile back, completely clueless but curious to know where she’s going with this, and why she’s acting all coy and seductive…

and when the hell she got so good at it. Even Damian Jr. is convinced.

Looking back at the consultant, she shrugs. “But hey, when they’re gay, they’re gay, you know? The good ones usually are.” She sighs again. “Oh, well. All I can do is be the friend he deserves and love him for who he is.”

I stare at her, gobsmacked, unable to form words or even a coherent thought. There’s a victorious curve to Blondie’s mouth as the sales assistant apologizes and excuses herself.

“Seriously?” I whine.

I watch, forlorn, as the other woman hurries away, and disappears into a room at the other end of the shop without a single backward glance, silently consoling Damian Jr., who mourns the loss of a potential new friend.

Sorry, buddy. Looks like it’s just you, my hand, and some Kleenex for the foreseeable future.

Once she’s gone, Blondie drops the act, rounding on me. “Cockblocked.” She jams a fingertip into my chest. “Don’t think I won’t do this everywhere you go, dickface. I will be the goddamn Ghost of Christmas Past to your Scrooge.”

Frowning, I rub at the spot where she poked me. “First off, are we talking about the Muppets version? Because I love that movie. Second, okay, woman, damn. Point taken. Calm down.”

Blondie crosses her arms, and I instinctively hold up my hands, like I’m that dude in the Jurassic World movies, who actually thinks he can tame bloodthirsty raptors.

Easy, girl.

“Okay, okay, you win,” I tell her. “I won’t jeopardize the arrangement.

Not that I was ever really going to anyway.

” I last all of five seconds under the heat of Blondie’s doubtful glare.

“Fine, I might have, because I’m a guy, and I obviously tend to think with the wrong head, but you’re right.

This is too important to risk, so I’ll behave. I promise.”

Appeased (for the moment), Blondie turns on her heel, and trots back to the changing room while I follow behind like the dutiful fake boyfriend I am.

“That dress is a definite yes, by the way,” I call just as she’s about to close the thick velvet curtain. Our eyes meet, and a blush warms her cheeks, but she averts her gaze, which catches instead on the price tag hanging from the hem. A strangled sound escapes her when she flips it over.

“As long as you’re paying,” she breathes out, eyes round with shock.