Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“One of the advantages of dating a twenty-five-year-old,” he says.
“Apparently.”
So, that’s it. We’re officially “dating” now, and I couldn’t be more thrilled about it.
We make love slowly this time. Languidly, with both of us kissing each other tenderly and whispering words of adoration and excitement into each other’s ears. But even with the difference in tempo this time, our chemistry is still white-hot and undeniable. In fact, even more so, after this wildly romantic night we’ve shared.
When we’re done making love, Grayson pulls me into him tightly, kisses the top of my head, and says, “I don’t want to date anyone but you, Selena.”
“I only want to date you, too,” I admit without hesitation, and then smile as Grayson squeezes me even more tightly. “But, still, I need to take this extra slow, okay? I want to be exclusive with you, but at a snail’s pace.”
He nods. “I can do that. Just as long as I know you’re all mine, and I’m all yours, then I can take this as slow as you need.”
“Thank you. That means the world to me.” I pause. “Andre not only cheated on me. He was emotionally abusive. Not physically, but he threatened it. A lot. I was constantly terrified of him, scared of what he might do, if I pissed him off.”
“Oh, Selena.” He squeezes me and kisses my head. “I’m so sorry you went through that. Nobody should ever have to feel terrified like that. Ever.”
“I’ve been working on myself for years, trying to sort through and heal the traumas of living like that. And I’m proud to say I’ve learned so much about myself and gained a world of confidence about who I am and what I deserve. But I don’t want to use a feel-good relationship with you as a Band-aid for the wounds I still need to heal on my own.”
“Whatever you need, however I can be there for you, I’ll do it. That’s another great thing about dating a twenty-five-year-old. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t even know men like you existed. I would have thought a younger man would be less patient with me.” I run my fingertip down his forearm. “You’re what I’ve been waiting for, without realizing I was even waiting.”
Grayson kisses me. “And you’re the fantasy I didn’t even know I had.”
“Oh, come on. You said yourself you’ve always had a thing for ‘Stacy’s Mom.’”
Grayson chuckles. “True, but that fantasy was about getting to fuck Stacy’s Mom. I never even thought to fantasize about dating Stacy’s Mom. That’s a whole other level of fantasy fulfillment.”
We kiss to seal the deal we’ve just made, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest with joy. But I tell myself to slow down and be realistic. As amazing as this night with Grayson feels, my rational brain still knows it’s unlikely our insane connection will survive for long outside the walls of this hotel room, when real life creeps in and the novelty of this unlikely pairing wears off.
“Is something wrong?” he whispers.
“No. Not at all.
“You sighed.”
“That was a swoon.”
He sighs with relief. “Oh, good.”
“Get some sleep, honey. I want you well-rested for that meeting tomorrow.” I kiss his cheek. “My darling, sweet mogul-to-be.”
11
SELENA
Six months later
I slather my face with moisturizer, prepping for the foundation I’m about to apply.
I’m standing in my bathroom in a fluffy robe after blow-drying my hair, hurriedly getting ready for tonight’s exciting date with Grayson. After months of hard work and dedication by Grayson and his small team of coders, all of it funded by Victoria’s VC group, my boyfriend’s app finally launched today, and the buzz and numbers are already exceeding projections. In celebration, we’re dining at a fancy steakhouse downtown, along with everyone who was involved in bringing Grayson’s app-baby to life.
My phone on my bathroom counter rings, and Grayson’s beautiful smile and twinkling, green eyes appear on my screen. Surely, he’s calling in response to the apologetic text I sent two minutes ago, letting him know I’m running late but hurrying to get ready.
“Helllooooo, baby!” I sing out in greeting on speaker phone. “Drew’s game unexpectedly ran into overtime, but I’m moving as fast as I can!”
“Did he win?”
“No.”
“Shoot.”
“He’s bummed, but, you know, that’s life.”
“How long till you’re on the road?”
“Fifteen minutes, if I really bust a move.”
“I tell you what. I’m still fifteen minutes away from the restaurant. Why don’t I swing by and pick you up?”
I smirk. Grayson made his suggestion so casually, like this change of logistics would simply make the most sense. Which it probably would, actually. But I know not to trust that seemingly nonchalant tone of his. For months, Grayson has been angling to at least glimpse my house—and even more so, to finally get to spend the night here with me, rather than bringing me to his apartment after a dinner date or meeting me at our usual hotel.