Page 55 of Against The Rules

I thought he wanted to be… more.

Did he just want to prove he could touch me? Go down on me?

I feel cheap.

“I better go,” I say, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible. “I have a lot of work to do on the business you’re paying for.”

I expect him to object, to tell me to stay, to do something. To give me a kiss, or a hug.

“I understand,” is all he says, walking over to his window and staring down at the sparkling, empty pool stretched out on the lawn below.

Royally pissed off now, I scoot from the bed, pulling my crumpled dress down. Regret slices through me, razor sharp. “Have you considered therapy?” I finally ask.

“What?” That, at least, gets his attention.

“Therapy.” I enunciate it slowly, which I know is bitchy, but I can’t quite stop myself. “You said you wanted me to be your girlfriend. Then we… had fun.” I roll my eyes at my terrible choice of words.

“Fun?” he echoes. “What are you—”

“Yeah.” I pick up my shoe and tie it on, feeling dumber by the second but unwilling to back down.

“Me making you come with my mouth was just fun?”

I glare at him, finally getting the second shoe on with an undignified grunt.

A hint of a smile plays around his face, but it just makes me grumpier to see it. “And then as soon as I try to talk to you about why we’re even doing this, you shut down.”

His brow creases, like he’s actually confused.

“Listen. I like you, Tyler.” It spills out before I have a chance to contain it, and I sigh at the admission. “But I don’t want to feel cheap or used after you kiss me. If you want to just… continue our arrangement and take sex out of it—”

“We didn’t have sex,” he objects, gesturing to his very clear hard-on.

I narrow my eyes at him. Tyler sighs, then tilts his head, waiting for me to continue.

“I’m not just going to be some hook-up for you. Booty. Just sex, you know, whatever.” Flustered, I squeeze my eyes shut before finishing. “If you like me, then you can’t just go hot and cold and expect me to be fine with that. Whatever is going on in your head with your family… you need to talk to someone about it. I mean it. Don’t you have a team therapist or something? Don’t use me to work out your self-esteem issues.”

My voice has gotten louder and louder, and when I finish talking, the silence in the room is more deafening than anything.

Hurt crosses over his face and I brace myself, wondering if he’s going to yell at me.

Instead, he nods, the hurt turning to contemplation.

“You’re right.”

“I’m going to go.” Sheepishly, I finish tying the second espadrille to my ankle and give my lost cause of a dress one last perfunctory smooth.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

My hand pauses over the doorknob.

“You deserve better.”

I heave a sigh and turn around, sinking my shoulder blades against the cool door, and give him a sad smile.

“That’s the problem, Ty. I deserve someone who knows that they aren’t the person everyone else says they are. Let me know when you figure that out. In the meantime, I’ll send you proofs and mockups for the business.”

It hurts to say it, and it hurts even more when I walk through the door to more silence.

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