3: Lia.

He came clean. Admitted that he notices me. Notices my body. He lets our mouths touch. Stroked my thighs. Things might have gone further if he could just stop holding himself back. I'm almost trembling with happiness at this development. If I knew he'd be this responsive earlier, I could've pushed him sooner. If I'd been this brave from the beginning, I could've broken him a lot earlier. The man I burned for, love so fiercely, is turned on. He's attracted.

But also, he's thrown up a startling fifty-foot wall between us.

I'm more than happy to climb it this time. To show him I'm more than the little, horny girl he thinks I am. To show him how much I love him. How much I'm willing to be devoted.

That's if he doesn't throw me out of the kitchen before I get a chance to do anything.

With more confidence than I had before entering the room, I slide off the counter very slowly, letting my skirt hike up all the way to my curvy hips, thrilled at the way he groans, his eyes glued there no matter how hard he tries to look away. He stifles a groan with the pocket square on the back of his thick neck now. Maintaining intense eye contact with the only man I could ever want, I bite my bottom lip and jut out my chin arrogantly, then pull the white, lacy thong down my legs, stepping out of them. I dangle it from my index finger and part my legs, giving him a full second for him to get a full view. For him to look at me. There. Nake. Bare for him. Showing him that the little girl's excuse is so old news. I'm a grown-ass woman now, and I am sure of what I want. This strip is meant to open his eyes. To help him update reality.

His jaw goes slack. “Holy fucking shit,” he rasps, starting to twist away — to block my seduction out — but it's impossible. He can't. Not completely though. Half-turned. Half-heartedly, his eyes still lingering at the juncture of my thighs, his tongue snaking out to wet those pink, perfectly-matured lips, surrounded by an irresistible black pepper-and-salt mustache.

Cautiously, I close the distance between us, smirking at his helpless expression as I tuck the thong into his breast pocket while his mighty chest heaves, faster and faster. “No one has to know, Big Daddy. I can be your cute little secret. Your guilty pleasure,” I whisper, gently dragging my middle finger down, along the stiff bulge that was his erection. “Consider my offer. I promise you no regrets.”

“There's nothing for me to think about, Lia. This...this thing you're trying to ignite between us... it's not happening. It can't happen,” he grinds out, but the sound comes forth to me as a sexy whine. I gasp when he yanks my skirt down, back into place, almost nudging me. “Go. Eric must be worried now. He'll be here any minute.”

I watch him move to the other side of the kitchen, where he plants his large hands down on the counter, dropping his head forward. It's pitch black outside now, and moonlight streams in through the closest window, illuminating him in a glossy white light, and my heartbeat picks up. My pussy clenching and unclenching with yearning. To be in his arms. To have him hold me down with that hot, big, safe body and comfort me. Tell me that everything would be okay.

If only he can just...give in...

Things would be so much fun between us, I'm sure.

And I desperately needed someone to comfort me right now.

Not only has my infatuation with Tristan just told me, forcefully, to leave, but I also have a much bigger problem. I have less than a month to come up with my first semester's tuition fee, as well as money for accommodation and other necessities. There's no point asking my father because I know he has nothing. And asking him will only make him avoid home a lot more.

My options are disappearing. Quickly too. I have no one to run to. No one to help me.

I could ask any number of my friends for the money. Their parents would probably have a hard time believing they only needed the money for themselves, but they'll give them anyway. But that would raise a lot of questions and expose my father as a debtor. A liar. A wrench. That would paint me as a fraud. I care a lot about the cute, rich girl image they have of me. Ruining that, at this vital point in my life, will wreck me.

There is at least one option a solid ninety-five percent of girls my age have to pursue — find a stinky rich old billionaire and become his sugar baby. Or one of his sugar babies. It really didn't matter if he was willing to pay their tuition and fund their expensive lifestyles. In exchange for... company. Of the biblical variety.

There's a website that's made connecting with older billionaire men a lot easier, which I've visited so many times. I still haven't brought myself to create a profile, but with time running out and the deadline approaching steadily, I have no option but to make a profile soon and pray to the heavens that someone is interested. It won't be easy, but I think I can manage.

But what if...what if there was a possibility — even if it's the tiniest kind — for me to be Tristan's sugar baby?

It would be like killing two birds with one stone. I would get the man of my dreams, who'll also be footing my bills and tuition. A marvelous dream come true.

And if he'd just let himself lose a little, he'd realize that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him since black coffee. He'll realize that no one will love and appreciate his work like I do. I'm not gunning for something long-term, because I know that'll be like asking for the moon, so I'm settling for a lot less. If we could just spend some time together, this time as adults and not as an adult and a child, he'll notice my growth. That I could be more than his son's best friend. Daughter of his good neighbor. I could be his safe haven — the one thing in his life that wasn't related to stress and work.

Who wouldn't want that? Tristan, I suppose.

It won't be easy, but I'm willing to try.

Suddenly, an idea pops up and I smile.

I would get Tristan Hemsworth to bed me, no matter what it takes.