possible.”
He’s going to tie me to his bed posts? My traitorous clit pulses sharply at the imagery. But, still, in my white-hot rage, I stay the course. “You’re not gonna do any of that,” I spit out. “And you wanna know why? Because I don’t fuck assholes.”
Reed’s eyes are on fire, his indignation from a moment ago now replaced by white-hot lust. “Come inside and play me the goddamned fucking song, Georgie, so I can fuck your brains out, for both our benefits. We don’t have all night and I’m losing my fucking mind over you. Not to mention my fucking patience, too.”
I scoff. “I’m not going inside with you. And I’m not going to play my stepsister’s music for you, either, because you don’t deserve to hear it.”
He sighs and looks at his watch. “Can we fast-forward this part, please? Unfortunately, I’m flying commercial and can’t delay my flight.”
I look down at my phone. “My Uber is one minute away. The longest minute of my life.”
“Cancel it,” he commands. “For the love of fuck, you’ve come this far. Use your head, Georgina. The chess game is over. I said yes to listening to a song.” He sighs. “Fine. If you cancel the Uber and come inside right now, I’ll listen to two songs.”
“Oh, you’re begging me now? Negotiating against yourself? How delicious. Well, beg all you want, Mr. Big Shit. The answer is still no. Because no matter how great Alessandra is—and trust me, she is great—you’re going to say she sucks, just to push my buttons. That’s clear to me now. You’re a Defcon one level button-pusher, Reed Rivers. I realize that now. And I’m not willing to play your stupid game of chess.”
He drags a palm over his stubbled face, looking tormented. “Sweetheart, stop acting like a bratty little child. You’re out of control. I’ll listen and give my honest opinion, good or bad. I promise, I’m fully capable of separating business and pleasure. Because I’m an adult.”
Rage rises inside me again at his obvious implication: that I’m not.
“If your stepsister is a fit, then I’ll say so. Of course, I will. Because that would benefit me.” He smirks. “Although, in the interest of transparency, I should probably admit pushing your buttons is rapidly becoming my new favorite game.”
I let out a primal shriek of rage that makes Reed laugh, which only pisses me off more. “Stop being so goddamned condescending!” I shout. “This isn’t a joke. This is my stepsister’s life. Her dream. And you’re making a mockery of it. Plus, you’ve repeatedly impugned my character!”
Reed’s eyebrows shoot up at my dramatic last comment, and, I must admit, I think maybe my word choice and intonation were both a little over-the-top. But, whatever. I’m so fucking angry, I press on, letting myself feel whatever I feel and say whatever angry, babbling, bizarre thing pops into my head. “You’re not the only ‘adult’ who can separate business and pleasure, Reed. Yes, I went to that event with Alessandra’s demo in my pocket. That was the business side of things for me. And, yes, I planned to give it to you, if the opportunity fell into my lap. And, yes, maybe I flirted with you a little more aggressively than I normally would have, at first, simply because I was so shocked and excited when I realized I’d caught your eye. But guess what is also the truth? The pleasure part of this equation for me. Namely that, by the time I served you that tenth drink, I wanted you, Reed. I wanted to come home with you, and let you do literally anything you wanted to me, for no other reason than I wanted to experience the pleasure of it.”
“Liar,” Reed says. But before I can smack him, he adds, “You knew you wanted to fuck me by the third drink.”
I know he’s trying to calm me down with humor. But it’s too late for that. The man basically called me a whore. There’s no coming back from that. “Maybe even the first,” I say. “But now? Congratulations. I wouldn’t fuck you if you paid me.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
I grit my teeth. “It was a figure of speech. I meant I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth. Is that clear enough for you?”
He sighs. “Okay, it’s time for you to stop acting like the hotheaded, impetuous twenty-one-year-old you are, and come inside. It’s cold out here, and I’m hard as a rock