Page 82 of Never Have I Ever
I squint my eyes at her. “This thing we’re doing, these games we’re playing.” I swallow. “You’re not going to fall for me, right?”
I wait for her response. There isn't a flash of emotion on her face. She's frozen, taking in the question until she finally shakes her head.
“No,” she says. “You’re not who I want.” I can’t explain what happens to my chest when those words come out of her mouth, but fuck, that hurt. “And ultimately, I’m probably going to end up with some guy who’s a member of the country club and who owns a hotel.” The corner of her lips raises in a slight smirk. “I just want you to fuck me.”
That’s good, right? She doesn’t want to be with me. She just wants to use me for sex. That’s what this whole thing started off as, anyway, so I should be happy that was her answer. And I am. Fucking ecstatic. That’s why my heart is racing. Probably.
I laugh at her eagerness as her hips keep moving slowly. “Such hostile words for an angel.” My hands drift to her hips, down to her ass, as I grasp it in my hands. “But I’ll happily oblige.”
“You see,” she says, letting out a laugh. “What kind of bad boy says oblige?”
“The kind who went to private school,” I tell her, my lips twitching.
She stills. Her hand tightens on the back of my neck. “What?”
I grin. “I told you. You don’t know me.”
Her eyes scan my face frantically. She even shakes her head, trying to make sense of what I told her. “You went to private school?”
“Yep.”
“You… what?” She’s confused, which I find so cute. The way her brows draw together, creating a little line between them as she frowns.
I choke out a laugh at her face. “I went to Lynch Prep.”
Her frown deepens. “But… that’s in New York. You’re from New York?”
I nod. “I guess we run in the same circles. Who would have thought?” I smirk at her expression.
“I’m so confused right now,” she says with a shake of her head.
“My last name is Livingston,” I tell her. I’m done hiding from her. If she wants to know me, I’ll tell her. There’s no reason for me to keep any of myself from her anymore.
She freezes. “Livingston? As in Emily Livingston. The woman who I had lunch with yesterday. That Livingston?”
“Yep.”
“What? How?”
“My name is Grayson Carter Livingston. I just dropped the last name when I came here. I didn’t want anyone to look at me differently because of who my parents are.”
“Your mother is Emily Livingston. CEO of Livingston Couture,” she says to herself.
“You figure stuff out fast,” I joke.
“Wow,” she says, shaking her head. “You were right.”
“About what?” I ask, running my hands on her skin.
“I really don’t know you. And here I am, rubbing up on you.”
I snort. “Please continue, I don’t mind.”
“I’m serious, Grayson,” she says, lifting herself off my lap and backing away from me.
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you.”
“So, you’re rich?”
