Page 59 of Riley

“Hey,” I said. I glanced at him as he leaned in toward me.

My heart raced, because I wanted nothing more than to give in and lean into him.

To kiss him like he had tried to kiss me.

But instead, I evaded him, making a beeline for the counter, and ordering a pumpkin spice latte immediately.

Eric didn’t seem too bothered by my actions, instead just shrugging and he ordered himself a flat white latte.

When we’d placed our orders and had our drinks—which Ericinsistedhe purchase for us, much to my disdain—there was no turning back.

“Something on your mind, Cinderella?” he drawled, and took a sip of his coffee.

“I just...” I said as I watched the muscles in his forearm tense and flex as he did so, and it only reminded me of the previous night, watching all of his muscles flex as he came.

Beautifully, I might add, but still.

I licked my lips, glancing away from him and sipping my own drink.

How the hell am I going to get through this?

I knew what I wanted to say, and a part of me figured I should just get out with it.

I saw you online, XxPrinceAyricxX.

I know what you do.

I think it might be in our best interest if we just...

But for some reason when I looked at him, that’s not what I said. Instead, I said, “It’s just this wedding, I guess. We’re close to the big day and things are just getting more stressful.”

Eric reached out, setting his hand over top of mine. Instinctively, I wanted to pull back, but found it difficult to do so. Like my hand itself was made of iron.

I looked down to where he touched me, running his thumb along my knuckles.

“I mean, I get it. Weddings are a giant pain in the ass.”

I scoffed at his remark. “Weddings are a time of love and joy,” I said.

Eric let out a dark chuckle. “For some, sure.”

“It’s just... there are so many details. Things to get absolutely right,” I grumbled.

“Isn’t that like, the maid of honor’s job or something?” Eric asked, raising a brow.

I pulled my hand back, all too aware that his touch was giving me goosebumps and causing my cock to twitch.

“Not everyone has a maid of honor, you know.” I wrinkled my nose.

“I’m assuming the bride?—”

“Giselle,” I corrected.

“I’m assuming Giselle has, like, a ton of bridesmaids. I’m sure they have all the important shit taken care of. All you have to do is hold the rings, plan the party, and look pretty in a suit.”

I pursed my lips as I sipped my coffee. This conversation was leaning farther away from what I wished.

Or perhaps, it wasn’t, if I was being truthful.

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