Page 58 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

When I turn around to say goodnight, I half expect to find her already at the front door.

Part of me is even preparing to find said door slammed without so much as a thank you.

What I do not expect is Blondie’s face hovering within an inch of mine as she steadies herself with her hands on my shoulders.

“It annoys me to admit this,” she whispers, her breath hot on my cheeks, “but I’m attracted to you.

Like really attracted to you. My body”—she inches forward, and I have to literally plead with Jesus to keep my eyes from dipping down to her cleavage, which is dangerously close to my lips—“is very fond of your body. And I think you’re attracted to me, too. ”

The huge lump in my throat is only outmatched by the hardening bulge in my pants.

“Anyone with eyes and common sense would be attracted to you, Dornan,” I say, my voice thick. “I have both.”

“Well, then…” She leans deeper into my space, her knee nudging between my legs. “We should do something about that.”

This is wrong. She’s drunk, my conscience scolds me. Put a stop to this right now, asshole.

Laying my hands on Blondie’s shoulders, I gently push her back. “If you’re trying to tell me you want to be my real girlfriend now, that’s not part of the deal?—”

I barely get that last word out before Blondie laughs. Scratch that—laugh isn’t a strong enough word. This is a full-on, evil, “I have a plot to end the world, and now, you will die, Mr. Bond” cackle.

“That’s the last thing I want,” she wheezes, giddy with amusement.

What do you know? Hits to the ego are effective boner killers, too.

My lips purse. “Then what do you want?”

I don’t know why I ask. I don’t know why I don’t just herd her inside and then leave this night in my rear-view mirror, where it belongs.

Talking to Blondie while she’s in this state is like trying to have a conversation with an actual monkey.

Sure, we understand each other a little, but it’s mostly hand gestures (often crude ones) and throwing verbal shit.

“To change the rules,” she answers, her tongue darting out to lick across her bottom lip, which she now pulls between her front teeth just to torture me.

I force my attention up, meeting her gaze. “The rules?” I parrot, confused. “What rules?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of our agreement. We’re in the unique position of sharing a mutual attraction while also despising each other.

Which means ,” she continues, surprisingly eloquent now for someone who just downed an unhealthy amount of jungle juice, “we don’t have to worry about anyone ‘catching the feels.’ There’s no chance of me falling for you, and well, you’re just completely incapable of feelings at all, so, yeah. No problemo.”

No problemo? More like no comprendo.

“Dornan, I don’t really know where you’re going with this. I think you might have to spell it out for me?—”

“I want to put sex on the table,” she blurts out.

“I…what?” is all I can manage. I’m sure my expression is equally articulate.

“Sex,” she repeats, louder this time, like the problem before was her volume.

“I want to have it. With you. Again. For the third time. We already had it twice.” She holds up two fingers.

“Now, I’d like to have it thrice. Then maybe some more times after that.

” All her fingers are upright now, and she waggles them at me with a mischievous grin.

A weaker man would give in to temptation. A weaker man wouldn’t hesitate to take what she’s offering, no questions asked. And not because any guy would be an idiot to turn down no-strings-attached sex, but because Blondie is a fucking catch. She’s smart, sexy as hell, funnier than she realizes…

And that is exactly why I can’t do this.

“I…don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say carefully, inching back to put some space between us.

Her expression grows stormy. “Tell me you don’t want to fuck me.”

My cock twitches, but I stand firm. “That’s irrelevant.”

“No, it’s not,” she protests, stepping off the stair so we’re on even ground again, and her words are suddenly so clear and sharp that, if it wasn’t for the alcohol smell on her breath, I would wonder if she was just pretending to be drunk before.

She takes another step closer. “Let’s be real for a minute—I know what I said about no sex, but in practice, it isn’t working.

We’re both horny as shit, and this is a perfect solution to a mutual problem. A workplace perk, if you will.”

My jaw clenches as the arousal I’ve been fighting abruptly dies at her words. Workplace perk? Is she being serious right now? My dick is not a grab-and-go breakfast bar or a dental plan.

For a guy who’s seen more ass than a public toilet, I’m surprisingly scandalized by the idea.

Anger bubbles under my skin, and I can feel the flush of heat overtaking me like a bad sunburn until I realize that I’m not just angry, I’m furious .

It pisses me off that she would suggest this, throwing a wrench into what has been, thus far, an otherwise successful arrangement.

It makes me absolutely incensed to think that, if I say no, she might get her jollies somewhere else, with some other guy who isn’t me.

Above all, I’m positively livid that she would reduce herself to something as unfeeling as being my fuck buddy when she deserves so much more.

It takes me a moment too long to process the thought that just steamrolled through my head. I have no idea where that came from. And what the fuck did I even mean by ‘she deserves so much more’? More what? Surely not?—

My stomach drops. Oh, no. No, no, no. It can’t be.

Fuck.

“I wouldn’t want more if that’s what you’re worried about,” Blondie says in what is easily the most ironic, cruel twist of the evening.

Because I like her. I like Blondie. I can see that now. And not in a platonic, fake girlfriend kind of way, but in a I-want-to-kiss-every-inch-of-your-body-until-you-come kind of way.

In a if-I-let-myself-get-close-to-you-like-that-again-I-might-actually-fall-for-you kind of way.

How could I have allowed this to happen?

For fuck’s sake, I have actively pushed away every woman I’ve ever slept with, especially since starting at Conwick, to avoid this very outcome, and I sure as shit didn’t go into this fake relationship looking for a real girlfriend.

But then, I’ve never let myself get close to someone like I have with Blondie.

And despite trying our best to keep things professional (or as professional as a fake relationship can be), I’ve come to know her on a level I’ve never known anyone before.

I know her…and now, thanks to Ronnie, I can truly see her.

“Are you listening to me?” Blondie asks, and I jerk out of my thoughts, swallowing hard.

My hands curl into fists, as if that will somehow quell the hurricane of emotions thrashing inside me. “You’re drunk,” I whisper, finding it difficult to speak. “You won’t feel this way in the morning.”

Will I ? Or is what I’m feeling now just a weird blip? A momentary lapse in sanity?

One glance at those stunning green eyes and I know the answer.

If this is a blip, a lapse in sanity, then the last two months have made me completely deranged.

Because I don’t just like Blondie, I really like her.

How could I not? She’s gorgeous, has a fiery temper, and is smarter than I’ll ever be, genius or not.

Shit, I think I’ve liked her for a while now, and I just haven’t had the balls to admit it…

or the sense to accept it. Or the courage.

Because liking Blondie means embracing the very real possibility that I might eventually lose her, and that is a reality I’m not ready to face.

It’s easier to never have her at all than to open myself back up to that kind of pain.

But explaining that to Blondie would require telling her about my past, and I don’t think I’m ready for that either. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe not ever.

“You honestly think this will just go away overnight? If that’s the case, then why did I kiss you?” she challenges, taking a step into my personal space again. When I don’t respond, she lets out an irritated whine. “Seriously, I only drank as much as I did tonight so I could work up the nerve to?—”

“Ask me to be friends with benefits?” I spit, the words sour on my tongue.

If she was anyone else, I would’ve had no trouble saying yes. Getting laid was never my problem. The feelings behind it were always the impossible part.

And those feelings, however problematic, are exactly why I have to say no.

It would be wrong to do otherwise, and not just because she’s drunk, and I’m literally paying her to be around me, but because I’d be taking advantage of a situation she doesn’t even want to be in but needs to be in to help her mom. Her sick mom.

Sick…just like Jamie was.

Blondie snorts, pulling me out of that unwelcome thought. “I mean, we’re hardly friends, Damian.”

There it is. The real crux of this little feelings dilemma. Blondie might want to fuck me, but she sure as hell doesn’t like me, and honestly, I doubt she ever will. Not after what I’ve done to her. Not after how I treated her…

And I just don’t know if I can put myself through that.

“I think,” I begin, my voice low but unwavering. Firm. “For the sake of our agreement, we should keep things professional…and stick to the rules as they are.”

Blondie must hear the finality in my tone because she doesn’t argue, though the daggers she shoots at me from those lovely eyes cut through me just as easily as any words.

With a delicate sniff, she takes a step back, widening that berth between us once more, then she lifts her hand to the neckline of her costume… and starts to unzip it.

“What are you doing?” I nearly shout, keeping my eyes locked on her face so I don’t ogle her. Despite my efforts, I’m all too aware of her black lace panties and bra and all that skin, which is now exposed to the elements.

“Returning your costume,” she answers simply, “and reminding you what you’re missing out on.”

She steps out of the outfit, picks it up off the ground, and hurls it at me before storming up the porch stairs and slamming the front door behind her.

I glance at the bundle of fleece in my hands, then over at the spot where Blondie last stood, unable to find the strength in my legs to move. Well, I guess I was right about one thing when I woke up this morning.

Blondie is definitely going to kill me.