Page 62 of The Fangirl and the Grump

“What?” I ask, turning my head to look at her. “I don’t think she’d do that.”

“You’re right,” she says. “We both got drunk, then she asked me about Bram. She said she thinks he likes me, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why not?” I ask, reaching out to smooth her hair back from her face.

“I’m too young for him,” she says with pouty lips.

“Don’t start with that. He’s the same age as Trace, and you’re the same age as me. And Trace and I got past the whole age difference thing.”

“But Trace has always seen you as awoman,” she says, her voice taking on a definite whining quality. “Bram sees me differently.”

“Why do you think that?”

“He texts me all the time to check in on me. To make sure I’m okay and don’t need anything. Like I’m a child, not an adult. Like he’s myfather, or something.”

“Maybe he just wants to be yourdaddy,” I say with a chuckle, and Pressley’s frown flips into a wide grin.

“Shut up. He does not,” she says with a laugh, her arm swinging out to smack mine.

When she completely misses, we both start laughing. Then she says, “Don’t tease me. I read a lot of romance books, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I have a not-so-deeply buried daddy kink.”

“Well, then you should go for it.”

“I don’t think so,” she says, her smile dropping once more.

“Why not?”

“I think Willow might have a thing for him. I think that’s why she brought it up. Testing the waters, you know? They’re a ‘brother’s best friend’ trope in the making.”

“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “Trust me when I say this, Pressley. They love each other like siblings. That’s all. If Willow brought it up, she’s either trying to get intel for him or sussing out your feelings, herself, because she cares about him and doesn’t want him to get hurt.”

“I would never hurt him,” she says, then drops her mouth open in a wide yawn. “If anyone is getting hurt, it would be me.”

Her head drops to the armrest of the couch with that, and within seconds, her breathing turns deep and even. I consider waking her up and taking her to bed, but quickly discard it. Drunk Pressley is impossible to wake. I know. I’ve tried.

So instead, I push myself up and pull her legs up onto the couch. Once I have her situated in a semi-comfortable position––the best I can do by myself––I pull a blanket from the closet and drape it over her.

I watch her sleep for a moment, then sigh as I turn and make my way to my room. Tonight didn’t turn out quite like I expected. I thought Trace would be warming my bed, holding me close while we slept.

But that’s okay. We’ll have other nights together. We have just under a month until I’m expected to check out and head back to Seattle.

But to what?

My time here was supposed to help me figure out what I want for my life, but so far, all I’ve figured out is how to make Trace Bardin give me all the orgasms.

And I refuse to even acknowledge how the thought of leaving this place, leavinghim, makes me feel.

No. We made the rules for a reason.

I need to start abiding by them.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Trace

It’s the end of the month and a slow Wednesday morning, so I decide to kill time by updating the books of my rental properties and setting up payments for the cleaning crews instead of waiting until the weekend.

As I record all the payments I’ve received this week, I see a payment from Keegan for the upcoming month. I stare at the screen, realizing this is the last payment I’ll get from her because in a month, she’ll leave.

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