Hopeless by Elsie Silver

Author:Elsie Silver [Silver, Elsie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2023-10-13T00:00:00+00:00

23

Bailey

I can’t sleep. I’ve tried.

When I close my eyes, I see Beau.

I smell Beau.

I taste Beau.

I hear Beau.

I feel Beau’s hands touching me like I’m his for real. I feel his cock hard for me.

My brain is all Beau, all the time. I feel like I’ve got a song stuck on repeat. One I can’t get out of my head.

My brain keeps missing the memo that this thing between Beau and me is fake.

It’s cute how I thought getting out of bartender mode to fall asleep was hard.

But this is worse than the sensation of going around in circles all night long that usually follows me to bed.

So much worse. I’m spinning alright, and it’s a downward spiral that I’m too horny to stop.

I check my phone. It’s 1:54 a.m. and I have my alarm set for six minutes from now. So, there’s no point in trying to sleep. I’m mentally preparing myself to walk across that hallway and slap on a cheery facade. One where I pretend I didn’t grope his dick in public, at a family-friendly event.

I’m not even sure if Beau is here. After the fair, he walked me to the house, ushered me inside, and said he was going to Cade’s house. Then locked the door behind me.

So, I’ve been alone and left to my devices. To my vicious thoughts.

My head took me down the rabbit hole of how the town will spin what we did. They’ll chalk me up to being a cheap whore. And Beau will be the poor, sad soldier just trying to find his way. Rightfully blowing off some steam, they’ll say.

I can just hear the way the old biddies who meet for morning coffee at Le Pamplemousse will talk about it.

That filthy Jansen girl mauling poor Beau Eaton.

Bless Beau. Bless his good fucking heart. For a man who has seen so much, he’s sure got rose-colored glasses on when it comes to me and my reputation.

Maybe we both underestimated how deeply this town hates me, because I don’t think the promise of his last name is helping at all.

It might actually be making things worse.

Before this engagement, I moved around town like a shadow. Now I move with a big freaking target on my back, followed closely by a bunch of envious eyes that seem to track me everywhere I go.

I flop onto my back and press the heels of my hands against my eye sockets, preparing myself to get out of bed. My hands fall away when the sound of an alarm filters in from across the hall. The shrill, repeating beep shatters the silence for a few moments. It’s followed by a gruff, “Fuck,” then heavy footsteps.

I lie flat on my back, alert and listening.

The quiet click of a door. Softer footfalls. And then … silence.

I check my phone. It’s 1:59 a.m. on the nose. One minute before my alarm.

I swear I can feel Beau standing outside my door. We’re holding our breath in time. These 2:11 meetings take a toll on our sleep and our ability to think straight.

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