Page 32 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

We’re back in the car twenty minutes later with several bags in tow, much to Blondie’s protestations.

She nearly keeled over when she saw what the total for her new wardrobe came to, but promptly shut up when I reminded her of my family’s net worth and that what I spent today was just a drop in the Navarro fortune.

Her lips had pursed at that—maybe she didn’t like the reminder of just how vast the class difference is between us—but when I asked if she would consider it a gesture of good will that I’ll hold up my side of our bargain, the tension in her shoulders had eased, and she didn’t fight me anymore on the matter.

It was at that moment that I knew our truce had officially begun.

We don’t speak much as we speed down the I-95 back toward Newport, aside from a brief conversation about our plans for the weekend, and confirming that we’ll have our first official outing on Monday.

Blondie and I both agree we should start small with a coffee date at Izzy’s to test the waters and get those in our immediate vicinity accustomed to seeing us together.

Considering my reputation for keeping my life girlfriend-free, a steady build up to a relationship will seem more legit than going big on the first date.

Plus, this way, we can see just how well the rumor mill on campus really churns.

It’s nearly four o’clock by the time I turn onto Blondie’s road. Pulling up to the curb in front of her house again, I put the car in park, and push the button to cut the engine.

“You know,” I begin as she reaches for the passenger door handle.

When she turns to look at me, I notice her gaze lacks the aggression it held this morning.

Well, shit. I’d call that progress. “Your performance back there with that sales consultant was pretty impressive. I’m guessing that means I don’t have to worry about you convincingly selling your part of our little arrangement. ”

She shrugs one shoulder. “As long as I get paid, I’ll sell whatever you want.”

“Okay, in that case, there’s just one thing left to discuss.” She gives me a cautious look, and I suck in a sharp lungful of air, hoping this won’t result in the testicle-chopping I envisioned when I first pulled up to her house. I blow out a breath. “I need you to kiss me.”

The hostility from earlier abruptly returns, circling Blondie like storm clouds. “I’m sorry, did you not hear what I said before about ground rules?”

“Yeah, yeah. No fucking, I got it. But”—her eyes narrow slightly—“do you really think anyone will believe we’re together if no one ever sees us kiss? Or hug? Or hold hands?”

Her face pales a little at that. Clearly, she didn’t consider that a fake relationship would still entail some level of PDA.

To be fair, I did try to warn her. We agreed to no sex, but as I already stated, we’ll have to touch sometimes if we’re going to stand any chance of making this whole thing believable.

“I get that you hate my guts, but come on,” I say. “There’s a logical person inside you somewhere that must know I’m right. And before you accuse me of just using this as an excuse to fuck you again, I promise that’s not what I’m doing. I really have no interest in you that way.”

That last part isn’t entirely true—Damian Jr. is definitely interested in her physically. But she doesn’t need to know that.

“We’ll keep it to a minimum,” I continue when she doesn’t respond, “and if it’ll make you more comfortable, we can even come up with some kind of signal, or a code word, or something prior to any physical contact to make sure we’re both on the same page about it.”

Her eyes scan my face, narrowing further. “But we aren’t in public right now, so why do you need me to kiss you?”

I huff out a laugh. “I’m not asking you to shove your tongue down my throat, Dornan…though I won’t protest if you do. Just a peck, so I can be certain our chemistry is solid before we go public. You wouldn’t buy a car without taking it out for a spin, would you?”

She sneers. “Please don’t compare me to a piece of machinery.”

“Considering how much I love cars, you should really take it as a compliment.”

Blondie rolls those beautiful eyes again, but says nothing—no witty jab, no retort of any kind. An uncharacteristic muteness consumes her as she nibbles on her bottom lip.

“Okay,” she whispers after a loaded pause.

My eyes widen. “Okay?”

I wait, searching her face for a definitive go-ahead, and it’s only when she nods at me that I lean over the center console and sweep my hand across the back of her neck, gently pulling her face closer.

A sharp breath punches from her lungs at my touch, but she doesn’t jerk away or say anything to deter me.

She just watches me with those stunning eyes as I close the remaining distance between us.

When our lips meet, it’s familiar, but not because we did this only last week; the haze of alcohol has wiped that night from my memory.

Instead, the graze of her mouth against mine brings me back to junior year, to when we hooked up in the library in January.

Back then, I was so focused on winning the bet with Mason that I didn’t take the time to fully appreciate my time with Blondie.

I had spent days with her there, flirting and enjoying her pretty smile, pretending to need help with math, and when I finally got her to fuck me, despite how hot and reckless that hook-up had been, all that had mattered was getting off and ticking a box.

Whereas now…well, now, this feels weirdly weighted, and not just because of how much is depending on us selling this image of us as a couple, but because this is the first time I’m kissing a girl without the intention of trying to get her into bed.

I’ve never kissed a woman just to kiss them—it’s always been a precursor to sex.

The necessary foreplay. But with Blondie, sex is off the table, so this…

this kiss that will lead absolutely nowhere… is just that. A kiss.

And it’s nice, soothing almost, sparking something warm deep in my belly.

There’s arousal there, sure, but this is different.

Comforting. If I was someone else, someone who didn’t feel the need to always push people away, I might be swayed to want this on a more permanent basis—this closeness with another person.

Not necessarily with Blondie, but just the closeness of intimacy in general.

And I don’t mean the intimacy of sex, but the intimacy that comes from affection just for the sake of affection.

But the reality is, I’m not someone else, and because I can’t trust that life won’t fuck me sideways, I don’t want this.

I can’t. Not ever. That’s why I make it a point—my prime directive, like I’m a goddamn robot—to always keep everyone around me at arm’s length.

So no one—not friends, not family, and especially not a dangerous temptation like Blondie—has the power to bring my world crumbling down again.

But if that’s how I feel—and it is—then why can’t I prevent myself from deepening the kiss or running my fingers over Blondie’s soft hair? And why the fuck doesn’t she push me away?

The tip of her tongue brushes mine, and when she moans into my mouth, I am instantly hard.

Too far. This is going to only end one way if I don’t put a stop to it now, and while part of me is eager to be inside her again—to remind myself what it feels like—I can’t.

Too much is on the line, and I need to be the sane one, for both of us.

Breaking the kiss, I lean away, and reposition myself in my seat, my heart thudding against my rib cage. Blondie does the same, her soft, panting breaths filling the space between us. I don’t think either of us intended for that to happen, but I am relieved to see I’m not the only one affected.

“Well?” She swallows loudly, adjusting her glasses. She’s nervous again. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, her gaze hazy. It takes everything in me to stop myself from leaning over and resuming our kiss.

This is a business agreement only, Damian. Keep it professional.

“It was…adequate,” I manage, hoping she doesn’t notice that my voice is hoarse.

Her left eye twitches. “Adequate?”

“I mean, I’d rate it up there with being kissed by my abuela?—”

“You are such an asshole.”

She pushes open the passenger door, and then slams it behind her, glowering at me through the window before walking to the trunk. Suppressing a laugh, I climb out of the car as well to help her with her bags.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I adore my abuela.”

Blondie’s cheeks flare dangerously hot, and her brow dips into a deep, angry vee.

“God, I’m joking, Dornan,” I say, nudging her shoulder. “You really do need to relax.”

Ignoring me, she glares down at the bags, her temper on the verge of boiling over. “Am I to assume these clothes were my payment for this month?”

I open my mouth to say something, but think better of it since she may actually kill me, then fish my phone out of my pocket and tap open my cash app.

After typing in her name, number, and the amount I want to transfer, I hit send and wait.

Her own phone beeps a few seconds later, and when she sees the notification, her face goes slack.

“I—This is?—”

I grin at the startled look on her face.

One perk of being a billionaire is having access to higher sending limits than the normal people of Earth.

“You said you wanted to be paid upfront, yeah? Well, there’s your fifteen grand for September, plus a little bonus for a job well done today.

As for the clothes…well, a lot of jobs have uniforms, right? Consider those yours.”

Scooping up the bulk of the bags, I brush past her, and stride up the stairs of her porch, then deposit them on the wooden boards just beside the front door.

Blondie follows behind me holding the rest, her steps languid, that stricken expression still ruling her features.

Though the thought occurs to me, I don’t ask her how she’ll explain all the new clothes to her parents, or her aunt, or whoever it is she lives with because, honestly, I don’t really care so long as whatever lie she spins doesn’t jeopardize our agreement.

Anything done on Blondie’s personal time is her problem.

“Remember, Monday,” I remind her, patting her on the shoulder like one might pat the head of a snarling dog before retracing my steps down the stairs. Blondie just nods, her eyes unfocused.

Once back at my car, I shut the trunk, and I’m about to climb into the driver’s seat when I find my gaze straying back toward the house.

Blondie remains on her porch, looking…well, kind of shell-shocked, actually, her eyes glued to the phone clutched in her hand.

It dawns on me that the twenty thousand dollars I just sent her is probably the most money she’s ever seen at one time.

That puts things into an uncomfortable perspective, so I steer away from that thought, redirecting my mind to another.

“Hey, Dornan,” I call, and her head jerks up at the sound of my voice, her glasses slipping an inch or so down her nose. “About that kiss…”

I draw out the suspense for a moment, relishing the conflicted expression on her face. She looks like she’s not sure if she should be worried I’m about to insult her again, or if she’s secretly hoping I’ll ask her to pick up where we left off. To her possible dismay (and mine), I do neither.

“It was good,” I say instead.

And with that, I climb back into my car, turn on the ignition, and drive.