Page 28 of Charlie Sunshine
I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing, but he seems unconcerned. He kisses the side of my face, his breath hot. “So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, running his hand through my hair. Unfortunately, he catches his fingers in a knot and has to struggle to get free. He draws back a little, and for a second I think he’s going to make a joke. Misha totally would. Instead, he frowns. “I don’t think you’ve even brushed your hair today.”
“Goodness, what a silly ninny I am,” I say mildly. “I hope my underwear is on the right way round.”
He chuckles and pulls me close, sliding his hands down my back to cup my arse. His cock is a steel bar against my very soft one, and I twist slightly so he can’t tell how soft I am. My hip brushes against his dick, and he groans before seizing my hair and dragging my head back so he can kiss my neck. For a second, my cock wants to stir. Maybe it’s muscle memory, because my neck has always been a hot spot for me. But nothing happens, and abruptly I’ve had enough and shove him off me.
He falls back panting and then groans when he sees my face. “What the fuck, Charlie? Not again.”
“I can’t,” I say. “I don’t feel so good at the moment.”
“Whendoyou feel good?” he says curtly, marching over to his case. He opens it and starts rifling through it until he finds a shirt and a pair of trousers. He strips off his clothes to get changed. “You know something, I think you’re a bit of a fucking cock tease.”
“What?” I can hear the disbelief in my voice, but he just nods curtly.
“You get me all worked up and then switch it off like a fucking tap. You like the control. You just don’t like doing anything after you have it.”
I shake my head. “I’d stick to banking, Harry. It’ll go much better than a career in psychology.”
“Well, what am I supposed to think? You’re gorgeous and as cold as ice. You’re a massive prick tease.”
“I think you’re supposed to consider the fact that I have a condition that occasionally makes me feel shitty,” I say softly. “And as my boyfriend, it would be nice if you could try to understand it.”
I tried to talk to him about the epilepsy when we first started to see each other. He assured me that he understood, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he was lying. I ignored it because at the time I’d been blinded by his good looks and confidence. I hadn’t realised there was nothing else to him.
He shakes his head, pushing his feet into shoes. “That’s just an excuse.”
I stare at him in amazement. “Are youactuallystanding there and saying that I made up epilepsy to get out of sex? What a wonderful idea. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? It’s so much more original than claiming I’ve got a headache.”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” He glares at me. “I hate it when you’re like this.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m not keen on it either,” I say coldly. I take a deep breath. I hate the end of relationships, and I’m guilty of always trying to see the best in people and hanging on for longer than I should. But even I can see when I’m being gaslit. “I think we should finish,” I say.
He gapes at me. “What? Why?”
“Because we’re not suited at all. I think that when we met, you just saw my looks and really that was all you were interested in. The fact that my appearance comes with a health condition actually repulses you.” He opens his mouth as if he might argue, and I hold my hand up. “I know that expression on your face, Harry. I’ve seen it before. It’s usually there on my date’s face when I come out of a turn and they’re leaning over me watching me like I’m an alien. You hate the epilepsy. It doesn’t fit your image.”
For a second he looks like he’s going to deny it, but then he decides on honesty. “It’s there all the time,” he mutters. “If you’re not having aseizure, you’re doing stuff to prevent another one happening. So no drinking or the gym. No staying out late in clubs where I can show you off. It’s like being middle aged before my time.”
I flinch. I’ve heard this a few times before. “That’s just the way it is,” I say steadily. “And you knew it. I wasalwaysupfront about having epilepsy, and my health has to come before your desire for me to wear skinny jeans and a tight shirt and hang all over you in clubs.”
“Oh, don’t sound so sanctimonious,” he says defensively. “It isn’t just me. Most blokes would struggle with something like this.”
“Actually, not most blokes,” I correct. “I’ve known a few who haven’t.”
“Oh, like Misha?” He sneers. “Perfect Misha. I bet he’s so good with you.”
“Actually, he is,” I say calmly. I stare at him. “Oh my God,” I say in dawning realisation. “This is about him.”
“What’s about him?”
“Me and you.” I shake my head. “I should have seen it, the way you were always grabbing me whenever he was near. You just wanted to get one over on him.”
He laughs, but there’s a look on his face that shows me I’m half right. “Your imagination is very appropriate for someone who works with romance novels.”
“Don’t knock them,” I advise him. “They’re immensely useful in helping to recognise a dickhead.” I bite my lip. “I just don’t know why you picked me to make a point with Misha. We’re friends, and he’s never been bothered by anyone I’ve dated in the past. In fact, he’s still friends with a couple of my exes.”
“Oh, really?” he says silkily. “Come off it, Charlie.” I stare at him, and he smiles. “You have no idea, do you?” He laughs. “Oh, that’s priceless. The two of you are so blind.”
I narrow my eyes. “I know you’re trying for enigmatic but you’ve just ended up with twatty.”
