“I’d love to.”
Blake’s smile reflects mine. God, why did I ever think I could play pretend with him? Why did I ever think I could ignore my attractive to him, my feelings? Because, right now, it seems fucking impossible. “So, I thought we could start with—”
“What’s in it for me?”
He furrows his brow. “Hm?”
“What’s my incentive?”
“Incentive for what?”
“Helping you pack.”
Blake purses his lips in thought before he answers. “Rewards?”
I peer at him from the corner of my eye. “What kind of rewards?”
“The orgasm kind?”
Still grinning, I jump up from the sofa, placing my hands on my bare hips. “Deal! Where do you want me first?”
I’m sweaty, tired and hungry by the time Blake and I finally lay tape along the last box; the majority of the contents of his apartment packed up into the brown boxes dotted about the place.
Arms sore from packing, sated from the two orgasms he’s wrung from me using nothing but his fingers and his mouth while I lay splayed out for him on the sofa, plus a full tummy from the Chinese food takeaway we ate half an hour ago, not bothering with plates but instead sharing forkfuls from the plastic containers, equals a very tired Calla.
I have to force my eyes to stay open, lids aching, as I raise a cold beer to my lips.
It was Blake’s idea, to have a celebratory drink for getting the job finished, but I think the slight alcohol flowing sluggishly through my bloodstream is only serving to make me even sleepier.
“How do you think McAvoy felt after we left together last night?” Blake asks in between swigs of beer.
I crack open a closed eye to look at him.
“I’m not really sure,” I answer carefully; talking about Thomas is the last thing on my mind. “What do you think?”
“I think he was royally pissed off. So, I’d say our plan is working, wouldn’t you?”
I nod quietly. This might be my tired crankiness talking, but I don’t want to be reminded of our plan, I don’t want to be reminded of Thomas, I don’t want to be reminded that this isn’t real.
That it’s all a fucking hoax.
Suddenly wishing I was in my own space, I throw backthe rest of my beer and stand on jelly-like legs, pins and needles beginning to dash through my limbs.
“I’ve been sitting for way too long,” I say, walking a little ways past Blake’s sofa to regain the blood flow. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little before eight.”
“I should get going…”
Blake watches my every move. “If that’s what you’d like.”
I don’t even know what I’d fucking like anymore.
I’m confused and tired and—
“Could I borrow something to wear?”
Blake nods silently, lumbering off to his bedroom and returning with a spare pair of tracksuit bottoms. God, this feels like the very first time we slept together, after our one-night stand, when neither of us knew where we stood or what was about to happen.
