Page 16

Lilly

If I could scream until my lungs gave out, I would. But I don’t have the strength to do that.

Pacing back and forth across Greyson’s carpeted floor, no doubt wearing a path into it, I take deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. But it doesn’t seem to help. It’s like my mind is a clock that keeps ticking, waiting for that moment it finally explodes.

Extending my arm, my fingers trace the spot where Kyle gripped me with his hand, leaving red fingerprints across my soft skin. And all I wanted to do was scrub my skin until it was red and raw to get rid of the marks.

Never in all the years we were together did he ever act like that, especially manhandling me the way he did. Fuck, he wasn’t even rough when we had sex. And I can’t quite believe he gripped my arm hard enough to leave marks. He knew he was hurting me too, I told him that. Yet, he made no move to let go of me, not until Callie punched him.

For someone who claims to love me, and wants me b ack…why didn't he listen when I told him he was hurting me?

“Jesus, Lil-Bug,” Greyson speaks for the first time in half hour. “You’re gonna destroy my carpet if you keep on pacing like you’re trying to win a marathon.”

Halting in my step, I spin and face him, giving him a questioning look as a laugh escapes me. “Lil-Bug?”

“I remember the story you told me about the moth, and your broken arm,” he points toward my arm. “Thought the name was fitting for you.”

“You’re an idiot,” I shake my head, but I can’t help smiling. “Also, a moth is an insect, not a bug.”

“Lil-insect just doesn’t have a ring to it.” He winks.

I snort out a laughter as I spin on my heel again, and when my eyes land on his desk, I gasp. “Holy fuck,” walking closer, my eyes widen. “Is that a Diablo 1902 typewriter?”

Coming to a stop before it, I lean down slightly to get a better look. Wow, it’s gorgeous. And it looks to be in perfect condition, given there’s only a few minor scratches across the glossed black frame.

“I actually saw it at the thrift store last week.” Greyson confesses.

“You what?” I spin to look at him.

He shrugs, glancing at it. “It looked cool, and for five dollars I thought fuck it and bought it.”

Five dollars?

Did I hear that correctly?

“Five Dollars?” I repeat, glancing between him and the typewriter. “As in five separate dollar bills?”

“Uh, yeah,” he looks at me weirdly. “Although I paid with a twenty, I got some other things too.”

My mouth falls open as I blink at him. “Greyson, do you know how much this is worth?”

“Uh, no?”

“Thousands, hundreds of thousands.”

Last year there was a sage green framed body Diablo 1902 that sold at auction for almost one hundred grand, and Greyson has this one—that he paid five dollars for—sitting on his desk, no doubt collecting dust.

And I’m fucking jealous.

Do you think he’ll notice if I steal it?

Hearing rustling behind me, I spin to see Greyson standing from the bed, phone in hand as he walks toward the desk where I am. He looks at the typewriter before typing something into his phone and then gasps. “Holy fuck!” Turning his phone screen toward me, he shows me the article he’s on. “This same one,” he points to the typewriter. “But in green, sold at auction last year for almost one hundred grand!”

“I know.” I can’t help but smile at the way he looks completely amazed by this little piece of information.

He shifts through multiple articles on his phone, and I stand there admiring the gorgeous typewriter. My fingers reach out, tapping away at some of the keys, and a satisfied sigh escapes my lips when they press down smoothly. I thought with it being old that the keys would be stiff and impossible to press down. But it’s the opposite. It feels like it’s brand new and has never been used before, and it’s clear that whoever owned this before giving it to the thrift store had taken ca re of it like it was their baby.

“Have you got any blank paper?” I ask, leaning to look at him.

“Uh…” He opens the top drawer of his desk and fumbles around, bringing out a stack of papers, handing them to me. “Are these okay?”

“Sure.” I nod, grabbing them from his hand and place one into the top.

Please have ink, please have ink.

Pressing the “L” key, a satisfying clink echoes in the room. Peering down, I grin once I realize it does have ink. My fingers continue typing letters, and a content sigh escapes me after each clink.

“You’re writing your name?” Greyson chuckles from beside me.

“I’ll write yours too if you feel left out.” I grin as I finish typing my last name.

“Uh, no!” He swiftly bumps his hips with mine, moving me along slightly. “I want to type my name.”

“So demanding.” I roll my eyes playfully.

He looks at me and smirks. “I’ve never used one of these before.” He confesses as he starts typing his name, pressing down on the keys harder than I did.

I smile as I watch him, and my mind circles back to earlier when he told Kyle we were dating. “I can’t believe you told Kyle we were dating.” I laugh, leaning my hip against his desk.

“He’s a dick,” Greyson shrugs, typing in the last few letters of his surname. “Plus, what’s the harm in that?” He peers at me. “If he believes we’re dating…if anyone believes we’re dating.”

I freeze, twisting slightly to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, lifting his fingers from the typewr iter and takes a couple steps back. “Would it be so bad if people believed we are dating?”

“Uh, no…I guess not?” I mumble, picking at the skin on my nails.

“Look,” he takes another step backward. “You need a fake boyfriend to get that fucker to realize you’ve moved on, and I need…a tutor.”

Taking the halo off my head, feeling like it’s giving me a headache, I place it on his desk and lean against it with my hands either side of me, palms flat against the cold wood, and my legs crossed at the ankles.

Pondering his words, I tap my nails against the wood. Before I originally blurted out to Kyle that Greyson and I were dating, I hadn’t thought about fake dating someone before. Plus, there’s so many pros and cons that come along with fake dating. If I agree to do this, we’ll need to set some rules, some boundaries...how would it even work?

Pursing my lips, I tilt my head to the side. “Wait, a tutor?”

“Yes.”

“But we don’t have any of the same lectures.” That I'm aware of anyway.

“I know,” he says as he begins pacing the room, treading the same path I did moments before. “I don’t want you to tutor me in academics.”

Blinking, I straighten my back and lean off the desk “I’m confused…”

If he doesn’t want me to tutor him in academics, then what?

“I want you to tutor me in…” He takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling and scratches the top of his head. “I want— fuck!” He hisses, cutting himself off and shaking his head.

“Hey.” I say, taking a step toward him.

He stop s pacing once we’re toe to toe and looks down at me. It’s clear he’s nervous, but there’s also something else shimmering in his eyes that I can’t decipher. Shaking his head again, he pushes off with his foot and starts pacing again.

I stand and watch him, unsure of what to do, or say. I could hear him breathing heavily, and as I go to take a step forward to comfort him, he speaks, and it makes me freeze mid step.

“I want you to tutor me in sex.”