by West, Harper
She was right about that. As long as we met up once a week, that was enough to fill the conditions of the contract as it was written. Granted, sometimes we met up more than once a week, and sometimes she stayed over all weekend, letting me fuck her and put her in different positions.
It just usually worked out that we went back to my place together after dinner on Fridays. I wasn't used to her having other things to do.
"It doesn't," I said quickly. "Tomorrow is fine."
"Okay." She said it slowly and kept looking at me like she was waiting for me to start making sense or say something else. When I didn't, she seemed to take it in stride. "Okay," she said again. "I'll come over in the afternoon, then. Is that okay?"
"Sure," I replied. "That's fine."
"Great. See you then."
And then, without so much as a backwards look, she headed for her car.
I was left standing there, blinking in both surprise and displeasure as I watched her get in her car and pull out her phone again.
I didn't know for sure it was Simon, of course. It could have been a friend from work or her mother or anyone else. I wasn't a big enough part of her life to know everyone she talked to or would make plans with on a Friday night.
But I did trust the feeling in my gut, and it was telling me that she was definitely going to see Simon, and I definitely didn't like it.
Chapter 2
Ashlyn
Sometimes I felt very much like I was living a double life. I had school and work, where people knew me as a quiet person who kept her head down and got things done. I had a few friends, and now there was Simon to add to that list, and that was all pretty nice.
And then, there was Killian, and all the things that went along with him. Our marriage, sham that it was, the club and Eve, and the things we did together.
I couldn't imagine looking anyone I knew in the eye and telling them that at least once a week I let a ridiculously rich man tie me up and fuck me or hit me or make me beg for him to do it all more.
They wouldn't understand it, I wouldn't know where to start, and it was just really for the best to keep everything separated.
So when I left the restaurant that Friday and drove to Simon's house, I had to force my brain back into the mode it usually stayed in when I wasn't around Killian.
Back to being a mild-mannered student and barista who could talk about art and normal things.
That was one of things I liked the most about Simon. He was so blissfully normal. He didn't talk about dropping obscene amounts of money like it didn't matter, and he didn't belong to some secret club of kinky perverts as far as I knew.
I always knew how to feel around him, and I never felt like I was out of place. Even though I'd more than gotten used to Killian by then, it was nice to get back to people more like me.
It was almost nine when I pulled up to Simon's house for what he was calling a movie night.
He'd had the idea to make a list of movies we'd liked as teenagers to see if they still held up now, and if they didn’t, we'd heckle the shit out of them.
He promised popcorn and drinks, and had even offered to let me crash on his couch if I needed to, which I wasn't sure I was going to do or not yet.
I liked Simon, really. He was handsome and kind and funny and talented, but there was a Killian shaped elephant in my brain that kept me from really letting myself decide if I liked him as a friend or as more.
I hadn't told Simon anything about Killian, of course. There was no way to explain that particular relationship in a way that wouldn't be weird. So I'd just mentioned I'd had to meet a friend for dinner and then I would be right over.
By the time I was out of the car and walking up to his front door, he had opened it and was standing there, smiling at me. Handsome as ever and dressed down in a T-shirt and some sweatpants.
"There you are," he said. "I thought you'd gotten lost."
"I told you I was on the way," I fired back with a grin. "It's not my fault you can't read."
He laughed and ushered me in, taking my coat and leading me into his living room where he had the couch piled with blankets, a bowl of popcorn on the table already and the TV set up to watch.
"I wasn't sure if you'd be hungry after your dinner, but there's plenty of popcorn to go around," he said.
"I'll probably want it after the first movie," I said. "Dinner was good, but I get hungry late at night."
"Where did you go?" he asked.
"Thompson's Steakhouse," I said.
Simon whistled. "That's a fancy place, isn't it?"
I blinked, considering that. I supposed it was, but dining with Killian so often had sort of desensitized me to that kind of thing. He always paid, and he usually chose the restaurant we met at.
"I guess," I replied. "They have cloth napkins."
He laughed. "So does Olive Garden, and I can actually afford to eat there. I didn't know you had Thompson's money."
Technically, I both did and didn't. Working at the coffee shop definitely wouldn't have let me afford to order a twenty-seven-dollar entree, but then, Killian made sure I didn't have to worry about things like that.
I knew Simon was just teasing, but it was closer to the truth of things than I wanted him to be.
Feeling nervous, I laughed it off, going to sit down on the couch. "There's a lot you don't know about me," I said, matching his teasing with what I hoped was a casual tone. "I could be a secret billionaire."
"That would actually make my life so much easier, assuming you were looking for things to do with your gobs of money other than swimming in it."
"You never know," I said, settling in. But that did get me thinking. Even if I did take Killian's advice and offer to invest in Simon's business once I had the money from our marriage, how the hell was I going to explain that?
I still had no idea how I was going to come clean to my friends and family about the sudden windfall of money, and I only had half a year left to come up with something that was believable but not the truth.
Some people wouldn't care, I knew that. They'd tell me that being married to some rich guy for a year was hardly that embarrassing, especially when it resulted in getting that much money, but my parents would care, and they would look down on me for it.
I didn't know if I was more embarrassed by what I'd done for the money or by how people were going to feel about it, but either way, I needed a plan.
Simon peered at me for a second, and I tried not to squirm under his gaze. "We're friends, right? You'd tell me if you were a secret billionaire, right?" He was still laughing, but I didn't know him well enough to know if he was kidding or not.
I settled for rolling my eyes. "It was a joke, Simon. Just start the movie."
He snorted and did so, settling back against the couch as we watched.
My mind wasn't really on the movie, even though I knew I liked this one. Watching the husband and wife find out they were both secret agents who were supposed to kill each other was always entertaining, but I was too deep in my head to focus that much.
For some reason, I felt guilty for being there.
I felt like I was lying to Simon for not telling him I was married, even though it wasn't a real marriage, and even though Simon and I were just friends.
I hadn't elaborated with Killian either, about what I was doing that night, even though it shouldn't have mattered because we could each see whoever we wanted, and he had Eve to occupy him when I was busy.
No one was getting hurt here, but I still felt like I was doing something wrong.
God, the sooner this year was over, the better. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be able to have friends and explore my feelings without having to think about whether it was fair or not.
I glanced over at Simon, and he was watching the movie eagerly, eyes bright while the colors and lights from the TV played across his handsome face.
He wasn't rich like Killian, and he didn't have reach and influence and a rolodex full of other importa
nt rich people he could call up at the drop of a hat, but he was steady.
He was normal and fun and interesting, and we actually had things in common. We could talk about art or music or anything, really. Bad retail jobs we'd had. Customers who'd frustrated us. Our parents and growing up in the same small town and knowing most of the same people.
We seemed to never stop talking when we were together, and it was easy and enjoyable.
I enjoyed time with Killian too, usually, but that was different. I didn't know if it was just that we were too different as people, or if the contract put constraints on things because I couldn't forget it existed, but we just...didn't click the way Simon and I did. In that organic way that felt exciting and new and made me want to see what else there was to find out.
Of course, I'd meet him when I was already involved in something with someone else. It couldn't have been when I was free to choose him, because apparently that wasn't how my life worked.
Meeting Killian when I did definitely saved my ass in more ways than one, but it was at the cost of other things that I wanted.
I supposed I was being selfish. No one could have everything they wanted when it came down to it, and maybe, in six months, when things were over with Killian, I could come back here, and Simon would still be single and we could see where it went.
Assuming he even wanted anything to do with me in the first place. Maybe he just wanted a friend. Maybe I was getting myself worked up over nothing.
I kept my sigh internal, not wanting to alert Simon to my inner conflict while we were supposed to be just watching movies and relaxing.
He didn't know I was secretly worked up about all of this, and I didn't want him to.
When he glanced over at me, I forced a smile, leaning back further against the couch, trying to seem like I was relaxed and having a good time.
"I haven't seen this movie in years," he said, glancing back at the screen. "I had such a crush on Angelina Jolie when I was a teenager."
"You and every teenage boy in the world," I pointed out, laughing a little.
"Oh, like you weren't into Brad Pitt back then?"
"I wasn't," I said. "I always thought he was just a little too pretty, you know? Too polished and put together."
"So, you like them rough around the edges?" He eyed me for a second, raising an eyebrow, and I felt my face flush slightly.
"Maybe."
"Hmm, I'm not sure I believe you," he said.
I snorted and shrugged a shoulder. "You gotta do you, I guess. Anyway, what does it matter?"
He looked away, back to the television, and I couldn't tell if the color on his cheeks was from the movie or a blush.
It made my breath catch for a second while I waited to see if he was going to answer the question.
"I might have an interest," he said finally. "In what your type is."
Oh god.
Why couldn't these things happen to me at the right times? If I'd met him before and he had said these things to me, I would have climbed into his lap and shown him what my type was. Because it was very much him, but I couldn't just say that.
Well. I could, I supposed, but it felt wrong. I'd be lying by omission by not telling him about Killian, and there was no way in hell I was going to open up that conversation, so I was at a standstill on how to handle it.
He was sitting there, very carefully not looking at me, and I needed to say something.
"Well," I murmured, keeping my eyes down on my lap. "I wouldn't say I had one specific type. I'm more interested in the person than the type of person. If that makes sense."
Simon nodded, and I could feel him looking at me again. "It does make sense," he said. "And it's good to know."
We went back to the movie after that, watching it all the way through in silence. Even after the conversation we'd had, it was a comfortable silence, though it felt heavy with something very much like anticipation.
I kept stealing glances at him, taking in his profile. His curly hair fell over his forehead, and his glasses were slipping down, and I smiled when he reached up to reposition them before glancing over and smiling at me.
I could easily see this being the new normal for Friday nights. Instead of going to some expensive restaurant with Killian and then going back to his place to have sex that was much more his thing than mine, I could spend time here with Simon. Watching movies and laughing or taking an art class together. He could show me how to blow glass, and then we could kiss, and I could see what he was into in bed.
It was a nice little picture.
Chapter 3
Ashlyn
The movie ended before I even really noticed it was over, and Simon flipped the light back on, stretching when he got up from the couch.
"I'm going to grab a drink, do you want anything?" he asked, looking down at me.
"Maybe just some water?" I replied, mouth suddenly very dry.
"Coming right up," he said, and I watched him walk into the kitchen.
Once he was gone, I sighed and rubbed at my face. "Pull it together, Ash," I muttered. "You're not some lovestruck idiot. It's all fine. Don't have a crisis over this."
"Are you talking to me?" Simon called from the kitchen. "Because if you are, I can't hear you."
My cheeks went dark with embarrassment and I shook myself.
"No," I said back. "Just talking to myself. Don't worry about it."
He looked amused when he came back in with a can of soda for himself and a glass of water for me. He handed it to me and then sat down, and I was very aware that he was much closer than he had been before.
"Another one?" Simon asked. "Or is it getting late?"
I swallowed hard and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, but there was a part of me that wanted to stay.
"I don't want to overstay my welcome," I said, instead of answering his question, putting the ball back in his court.
He looked at me, and his eyes were soft and warm, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was.
"Ash," he said. "You're welcome here any time for as long as you want. I think..." He trailed off, looking away from me for a second. "Do you know that when my mom told me about you, I thought you were going to be a complete bore?"
I snorted. "Wow, thanks."
"It had nothing to do with you, I promise!" he insisted. "It was just the way she framed it. A daughter of a friend of the family, already living and working where I was moving to. It seemed too good to be true, so I made a mental list of all the things that might be wrong with you."
"Still not flattering," I pointed out, but I was amused. "What was on the list?"
"That you might be boring or into more corporate things. My mom couldn't even tell me what you did for a living, which goes to show how much she really thought we would hit it off. I wondered if you would be seeing someone or married. Or already so full up on friends you didn't have the time or desire to meet anyone else. I basically psyched myself up for having coffee with you once and then never seeing you again, just so I could tell my mom I'd done it."
I licked my lips, trying not to show any reaction to the 'seeing someone or married' part of the list. The rest of it was funny, though, and I smiled, shaking my head. "I mean, you know it was the same for me. The fact that we were in the same city was enough to make my mom think we would hit it off. She didn't tell me anything about you, either."
He nodded and scooted just a bit closer to me on the couch. "I know. And so I feel like we're pretty lucky that we've hit it off so well, right? It could have very easily been a disaster. Instead I got a new friend out of it."
"Yeah," I replied. "It's very nice."
"But," he added, and I knew there was more coming. "I think... I sometimes think about what it would be like if were more than friends."
"You think?" I asked, deflecting hard because I had no idea what to say to that.
"I know," he amended. "I do think about it. And I wonder..." Once again, he trailed off, and I was left al
most holding my breath, waiting to see if he was going to finish that sentence and tell me what he was wondering.
Instead of speaking again, he turned to face me. Before I could say or do anything, he put a hand on my face, cupping my cheek gently. His thumb stroked against my skin, and I sat there, frozen, heart hammering in my chest.
Slowly, probably giving me time to tell him to fuck off if I wanted to, he leaned in, closer and closer until his mouth was just a breath away from mine.
I didn't speak. I didn't move. And he seemed to take that as permission, closing the almost nonexistent gap and kissing me.
His lips were soft and warm, and my eyes fluttered closed.
Finally, I broke my impression of a statue, and I leaned in and kissed him back, one hand going to his shoulder, the other resting against his chest.
It wasn't a long kiss, or a very deep one. He kept his tongue in his mouth, didn't try to take control over it or press me back and consume me.
My heart was racing, and when he finally pulled away, I licked my lips, tasting popcorn and his own flavor there.
His cheeks were dusted with pink, and he looked both eager and nervous, which made me smile shakily.
"Um. Okay," I said, which was probably the most idiotic thing someone could say after being kissed.
Simon raised an eyebrow. "Not good?"
"No," I murmured and then realized what I'd said. "No, I mean yes. Yes, it was good. It was really good. I'm just..."
"Listen, it's okay if you aren't interested," he said. "I know I'm new to your life and not very exciting and all that. I just... I wanted you to know where I stood. If you don't want any part of it, we can forget it ever happened and keep being friends and nothing else."
As if it would ever be that easy.
"I didn't say I wasn't interested," I said. "There's...." God. Fuck. How was I supposed to explain this?
"There's what?" Simon asked, looking at me curiously.
And fuck, this wasn't fair to him. He'd come to me in good faith, putting his feelings out there, and I was about to lie to his face.