Page 23 of The Pucking Grump

“Was he the only person you’ve been with?” he murmurs. His voice is a rumble rolling over my skin like a heavy blanket.

I’m thrown off balance. “What?”

“Your ex. Bran, Ben, whatever. Was he the only guy to touch you?”

“Y . . .yes.” My lips sputter the word without contacting my brain. But I don’t care. For this moment, I’m going to give up torturing him. I’m going to give up my autonomy, if it means being touched by him the way I want.

“I used to listen to your songs. You’d go on and on about him and how good he made you feel.”

I swallow, my face getting warmer. I don’t know what Blake is getting at, but the last thing I want to admit is that most of those songs were a lie. Ben had not made me feel anything close to the emotions I wrote about. I remember the pangs of guilt I had when I came across a comment a fan made, talking about how I was living the dream.

But with Blake . . .

Yes, I can’t stand him. And I’m well aware that he can’t stand me, either. But even his looking at me makes my blood burn with need.

I can’t imagine what being with him would feel like. On the other hand, I also can’t imagine what it would feel like telling him I haven’t even had an orgasm with Ben.

I don’t think I can bear watching his face process that information.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Blake says. We’re inches apart, and my body is tingling from the nearness, but he’s still not touching me.

“What?” I breathe. The faster we can get the conversation out of the way, the sooner I can have his hands on me.

“I’m not interested in screwing you. Not if it means I’m going to end up in one of your sappy love songs the moment you’re out of here. I’m not going to be another lie you tell to your followers.”

I take a step back, genuinely shocked.

But it’s not just shock I feel flooding my veins.

It’s hurt.

I was sure that nothing Blake said could dissuade me from standing my ground. I was wrong.

I take another step back, reaching for the towel. Blake’s fiery gaze is on me as I wrap myself in it. I see the hint of victory in his eyes, followed closely by an emotion that resembles remorse.

I don’t wait to find out for sure. Shouldering past him, I head back into the cabin.

Maybe it’s time I start to deal with the fact that I have overstayed my welcome.

8

THE PRICE OF FAME

“Well, now you’ve really messed up.”

I resent Ken’s cavalier tone as soon as he utters those words. I also despise this, having to call him and narrate my problems barely an hour after I hung up on my friends.

In this moment, I’m not a very happy camper.

“I didn’t tell you any of this so you could point out my failures.” It’s only been two minutes since I called him, but I’m starting to wonder if I would have been better served by Alex or Reggie. Still, I know Ken is the right one for this job. Alex and Reggie have adopted the annoying habit of blatantly stating they hope I settle down already every time I mention a girl. Ken is the only friend I have who won’t throw this back in my face.

I couldn’t be too careful, though. So, when I hit him up for advice, I left out a lot of details. Starting with the fact that the “townie girl” I just spoke about is actually the woman that has turned the country upside down since she ran from her wedding.

“Let me get this straight,” Ken rumbles, amusement in his voice. “You meet a nice girl in town, and she wants to rock your world. You turn her down. Understandably, she’s hurt. And now you’re wondering how to apologize?”

Maybe I embellished the story too damn much, and now it makes no sense. Still, I’m ready to take whatever crappy advice Ken has to offer.

Because I genuinely don’t know what to do.

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