Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 22608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
We've been going out for years, dammit.
You say you love me, so why aren't you acting like it?
You gotta want to have sex with me.
Be eager to get down on your knees and blow me.
So why aren't you?
YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY one who's sick of all the fighting, babe.
That's why I need to let off some steam.
I'm not holding you back from doing the same thing.
It's not my fault you don't want to party like normal people do.
Those are just pictures, and pictures don't mean shit.
Yeah, you see them on my lap, but go ahead and ask any one of them.
Check the fucking cameras for all I care.
They were there just for the pictures, and you know I'm under contract.
I'm legally forbidden to say no.
WILL YOU STOP FUCKING crying?
Can't you just be grateful?
I'm not playing around like the other guys.
I've never cheated on you.
Everyone wants a piece of me.
Of this!
But I've said no to all of them, and you know why that is?
Because we're end game, you and I.
So do some real hard thinking, will you?
We're not kids anymore.
In two years, you'll be out of college and moving into my apartment.
Don't you want that?
Because I want that.
I want a future with you, but I need to know you want the same thing, too.
You can't tell me you want it if you won't give it to me.
So what's it gonna be, babe?
Do you want me?
For good?
TEARS ARE ALREADY ROLLING down my cheeks when I wake up, but for the first time in days, it's not because of the dream that has been haunting my sleep for the past week.
I'm crying because I'm hurting.
Literally.
It feels like someone's cracked my skull open from within, and...and...why is the room spinning?
Fragments of memories flash in my mind, but my head throbs anew whenever I try to start piecing them together.
Something's wrong.
I don't know what it is.
Or why.
All I know is that somewhere along the way, my life has taken a wrong turn, and—-
"AAAAAAAH!"
A scream spirals out of my throat, and panic exacts a costly price as a fresh wave of pain pounds my head.
Is this...is he...for real?
Am I really in bed with a stranger...who's naked?
And the moment that truth hits me—-
I almost scream again.
Because I've just realized...I'm naked, too.
This isn't happening.
This can't be real.
It can't be.
My gaze snaps back to the stranger.
But all he does is stare at me in silence.
And that's when it hits me.
Oh my God.
A weak laugh spills past my lips.
None of this makes sense.
Because none of this is real.
I don't need to panic.
Because all of this is a dream.
Just a dream, oh thank God.
But even so, I still find myself clutching the sheets to my body as I slowly sit up.
He does the same thing as well, and my stomach cramps at the way both of us moving have the big white bed dipping as well.
It's almost as if we're making love.
I stare at him as I try figuring things out. This isn't my first time to be conscious in my dreams. But dreams like those usually last less than a minute. Long enough to make me realize what's happening and remember key details. But not long enough for me to actually take control of my made-up world.
Until now.
Because...it's been more than a minute, right?
And yet I'm still here.
Dreaming.
Why is that?
I look at the stranger again. I have never seen him in my entire life, which is...strange.
Am I really dreaming?
I've read somewhere that "normal" dreams can't contain any element we haven't encountered, whether consciously or subconsciously.
It's how you distinguish dreams from visions.
But since I can't imagine why visions of the future would include a naked man...
He has to be someone famous, and that's why I'm dreaming of him.
I mean...I see people in movies and on TV all the time, but I don't always remember their faces.
So, yeah.
He has to be famous.
Or semi-famous like Jamieson.
But while that explains why it's his face I'm seeing—-
There has to be another reason for his presence, and that's why I'm having a harder time figuring out.
Every element in our dreams has meaning, and maybe...
Maybe my mind has conjured him to symbolize the reason I've never been able to say 'yes' to Jamieson?
This man is the quintessential embodiment of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger.
Ebony-black hair.
Bronze skin.
And rock-hard abs, as evinced by the fact that he's "allowed" the sheets to fall to his waist.
He's beautiful, no doubt about it.
But Jamieson's 1.5 million followers on Instagram will be quick to say my boyfriend is just as beautiful, albeit in a tall, blond, good-boy-next-door kind of way.
Where looks are concerned, there's nothing to complain about with either of them, but then...
I've always known my problem hasn't anything to do with how Jamieson looks.
Rather, it's something else.
But it's something I've never been able to explain.
Until now.
Because there is something about this man my mind has conjured—-