Page 72 of Aim Assist

A busy week of work with a side of sexy romance.

I have his number. He has mine.

He's never texted me except on that first day, picking me up from the airport.

He never once made it sound like he wanted to see me again.

I definitely didn't put my feelings out there.

So why—

Why—

Am I crying over this? Over casual, string-free sex in elevators and on the beach and in movie theaters and every damn place with a horizontal surface we could find?

This is not how romance books are made. This is not the love of a century.

It's just sex.

Maybe if I tell myself that a thousand more times, I'll believe it.

Amy

Two months later…

My stream's never been more popular. It's at the point that I'm considering hiring a manager for my dog grooming business. It's bringing in plenty of money, but the extra cash from being one of the most popular streamers? Yeah. It's… nice.

It's a lot of bills of nice.

Enough that I'm seriously considering buying a house instead of renting, and learning a bit more about stocks. It's what Liam did with all his winnings from his pro gamer days; he invested.

And invested.

And invested some more.

Stocks and real estate. Now, he's wealthy.

He hasn't come out and said so, exactly, but I've seen how the guy spends. He never has to worry about a single dime.

All the ads for the game haven't come out yet, and none of my viewers talk about that week anymore. I'm not desperate enough to bring it up and find out what Liam's fucking username is, even if I might regret how often I got sidetracked the day he tried to tell me.

I could google and find out. It was heavily marketed, after all.

But again, I'm not desperate.

It was a summer fling. That's all.

And if I went on a couple lame dates, well, it happens.

Sure, they were cute.

And nice.

And successful.

But they weren't Liam.

Which, of course, isn't exactly a criterion for dating. Because he's nothing more than a fling of my past.

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