Playing Pretend, page 7
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I keep my gaze glued to my boss. “I invaded your privacy. I apologized. End of discussion.”
“I appreciate your suggestion, Piper.” Pete smiles at me. “But we’ll stick to what we’re used to for now. On your marks, get set, go.”
Nobody moves.
I sprint.
I don’t care if it makes me look like a competitive kiss-ass. I dash over the grass and out of sight, not stopping until sand hits my toes. I find a palm tree and hide behind it, one hundred percent acting like a child in the face of adversity as I plaster my hands and torso to the trunk.
Footsteps approach. Colleagues pass.
My pulse kicks every time something moves in my periphery, my fight-or-flight instincts well and truly enabled.
Someone chuckles ahead to the right. A woman. No threat.
Then a twig snaps to my left. Close.
I hold my breath.
“Let’s get this over and done with.” Rome walks around the tree to stand over my right shoulder. “Get your embarrassment out in the open. Say whatever you need to say to stop fixating on what you walked in on.”
I ignore him and cling to the trunk, peering around my hiding place as I pretend to be fully invested in the stupid flag-capturing game. “I’m not going to fixate.”
“So it’s not playing on a loop in your head. You’re not picturing my di—”
“No.” I cringe.
He sighs. “I’m a guy, Piper. I jerk off sometimes.”
“I’m well aware.” If I was pink before, I must be scarlet now. Probably fluorescent. “I could’ve done without the demonstration, though.”
“I should’ve locked the door.”
“We never should’ve shared a room.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
I swing around to face him. “You were saying my name.”
His chin raises. A knee-jerk reaction. The slightest show of discomfort from a usually unflappable man.
I hate this. I hate everything about it.
The explicit flashbacks. The awkwardness.
I can still hear the way he said my name. The cadence. The tone.
“Were you goading me into walking in on you?” I ask. “Did you want that to happen?”
“No.” He shoves a rough hand through his hair. “Believe me, seeing you disgusted like this is something I’d never want.”
My heart becomes a frantic butterfly in my chest. What I feel is far from disgust. I’m embarrassed, the uncomfortable heat of it sinking right down to my bones. “Then why were you saying my name?”
His arm falls to his side, his eyes turning pained. “Why do you think?”
Because he was kidding around and things got out of hand… Because he wanted to bait me… Because he…
“You’re gorgeous, Piper. It’s not unnatural for me to fantasize about you.”
I stop breathing. Again.
He seems to have mastered that newfound skill since we arrived here, and it can’t continue. I need to be able to breathe around my best friend, otherwise how can we continue being friends at all?
“Don’t look at me like that.” He inches forward.
I try to scramble backward, every one of my nerves hyperalert as my ass bumps into the tree.
“Please, Piper. Don’t make this into a big deal. It was pleasure. Nothing more.”
Pleasure. Nothing more.
I get it. I really do.
Guys don’t associate sex with emotion like women.
But I’d had those same fantasies when I was younger. I’d whispered his name as I came undone. Then things got complicated. Our casual conversations turned into moments where I hung onto his every word. I created an alternate reality where we were together. Where our futures were entwined in something deeper than friendship.
Yet all those dreams were torn further and further apart as he lost himself in other women. I had to feign interest instead of heartbreak whenever he shared a story about a new conquest.
“You’re my best friend,” I whisper.
“I know.” He winces. “And I feel like shit because of it.”
I believe him. Not once in my entire life have I seen him fake sincerity, and I don’t think he’d start now. Not with this.
“But you’ll forgive me, right?” He takes another step, one side of his mouth kicking up slightly. “You know I’m a perverted fuck. And with all that’s been going on, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to indulge in a little pseudo-incest fantasy.”
I refuse to laugh.
I will not.
I’m not even going to let a smile break free. Nope. Not on my watch. “You’re a monster.”
“And you’re trying to hold in a grin.” His eyes glisten. “Come on, little Pip. It’s just an orgasm. If it will make you feel better, we can even the score. I’m more than happy to watch you fool around.”
I glower. My nostrils flare with the need to snort at his ridiculousness.
His smirk increases. “Do I sense you caving to the idea?”
“You sense my ovaries shriveling at the mental image. It’s never going to happen.”
“That’s a shame. But the offer stands if you change your mind.”
He amazes me. The lack of shame. The complete void of sexual inhibition.
If our roles were reversed, I’d be walking into the ocean with lead boots. “My mind won’t change, but what does require a tweak or two is this challenge of ours. I think I’ve endured enough torment, don’t you?”
“Nice try. There’s still a career on the line with a generous six-figure salary. You’re not getting off that easy.”
“If anyone was getting off easy, it was you…in that bathroom.”
“Was that a masturbation joke? From Piper Sheffield?” His brows spike. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” I turn back to the tree. “Now I feel awkward again.”
“You’re too cute, Pip.” He closes in behind me, mimicking how I peer around the trunk. “So what’s this game we’re playing, and how do I win so we can get something to eat?”
CHAPTER 7
Piper
Rome won.
He captured the opposition flag and brought it back to base with a charming grin.
I think the other team handed it over. Either to butter him up for a future Bellefont pitch or to get to the bar faster. Regardless, it helped get a drink in my hands, so other than his bolstered cocky attitude, it was a win-win.
Everyone scattered after.
A group went to the beach. Others scrambled to make spa appointments on the company dime while Cassidy, Vanessa, and Annabelle went for a walk.
Rome and I stayed at the resort and grabbed a table at the restaurant. I would’ve preferred to remain in the open air instead of an enclosed space with all the memories that continue to haunt me. But at least the meal was nice. The cocktails, too.
The problem is, no amount of alcohol can stop me from fixating on how our relationship is changing. After less than twenty-four hours, this so-called challenge has spun our friendship on its axis. And not for the better. Yet Rome seems oblivious.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Julian caused trouble this morning.” He finishes his last French fry and places his cutlery on his plate.
Now he’s apologizing for the wrong things. He could’ve begged forgiveness for touching me. Kissing me. Exposing me to his OnlyFans performance. Instead, he’s worried about not being around when my ex lashed out.
I finish my hamburger and reach for the cloth napkin to dab my mouth. “You don’t need to be sorry. I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”
“I know. And even though I want to fight them for you, I never would. You’re well and truly capable. I just would’ve liked to have been able to support you through it.”
Maybe I should try to be like him. Less uptight. More carefree. At least on the topics that are bringing me down at the knees. If he can see the physical developments between us as nothing more than byproducts of the challenge, why can’t I?
“Your support is the one constant I can always rely on,” I admit. “If I’d needed you, I know you would’ve come running.”
“If brownie points are in the mix, I’d like it noted that I literally did come running. From five miles down the beach.”
I suppress a laugh. “It’s noted.”
“I was your knight in shining armor.”
“You were the joker in sweaty gym gear,” I counter. “I can still taste the salty perspiration.”
He smirks. “I can still taste you, too, little Pip.”
I groan and push to my feet. “I think it’s time to relocate outside for a drink.”
He follows me from the restaurant, practically glowing with smug confidence. But I’m the one who grabs his hand as we walk for the outdoor bar. I make the first move. I take the lead.
Claiming some semblance of control is necessary. I just wish it didn’t come with the butterflies that take over my belly.
We’re escorted to a table with an ocean view. We order alcohol. Then we sit for hours while I try to convince myself that sliding my palm against his for the four-hundred-yard walk out here didn’t feel entirely natural.
The sun beams down on the few small groups in the pool. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of Annabelle and her husband at the beach, his black hair whipping about with the slight breeze.
Rome steers the conversation toward business for a long time. We chat effortlessly about Bellefont and how he and Rett are considering employing a full-time realtor instead of contracting. Like always, he asks for my opinion and listens intently to my response.
This is one thing I adore about Rome. He never ceases making me feel worthy, or valued, or smart. He takes in my suggestions without interruption, ticking them over in that savvy brain of his before giving feedback that improves my ideas even further.
We would work great together.
The perfect team.
I just need to restore my brain to factory settings so I don’t get a flash of scandalous bathroom memories every time those dark eyes meet mine. His hand clenched around that massive cock, stroking over and over…
I swirl the plastic swizzle stick around my second Long Island Iced Tea and take another sip.
“You’re thinking about me naked, aren’t you?” Rome studies me from across the table.
I snap from my daze with a quick shake of my head, the destabilizing effects of one too many cocktails making my brain slosh. “No.”
“You sure? Your cheeks have turned pink again.”
“Because you reminded me about seeing you naked again.” I take a gulp of liquor. “Anytime you’d like to stop inserting your manhood into the conversation I’d be greatly appreciative.”
He snickers. “I’ll try my best not to insert my manhood anywhere it isn’t welcome…as long as you tell me what you were really thinking.” His tone softens. “Everything okay? You’ve gone quiet.”
“I’m worried about the tension with Julian,” I lie, deliberately adding my ex into the mix, hoping it will steer him away from his unabashed nudity. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe it was disrespectful to bring you here.”
Rome falls quiet as he scrutinizes me, his attention tinkering with my pulse.
“He hadn’t stopped calling, after all,” I add. “I knew he still had feelings for me.”
“Unrequited feelings. And you made that perfectly clear. It never should’ve gotten to a point where you had to block his number.”
“I’m not disputing that. I just don’t want to be seen as a contributing party to the unprofessional behavior.”
“What did he do to you, Pip?” Rome cocks his head, his eyes narrowing. “He messed with you somehow, didn’t he?”
“What do you mean?” I take another sip. “We weren’t a good match. That’s all.”
“I agree. But I know he did something. You changed while you were with him. He fucked with your confidence. Or, more specifically, your sexuality.”
My hand slides from my cocktail glass, hitting the table with a thud as I blink at his pinpoint accuracy. “Why would you think that?”
“I notice these things.” He rests back in his chair. “I notice you.”
My chest tightens, the restriction painful. But of course he notices me. I notice everything about him, too.
“See?” His gaze diverts to my cheeks. “Your blush is darkening.”
It’s darkening because my subconscious took his remark and ran in the opposite direction of platonic. A direction my subconscious should be nowhere near. “He didn’t do anything.”
“What did you say to him this morning when he came up to you?”
I shrug. “Not a lot.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I frown. “Because like I said, I want to remain professional. We were in the middle of a hall filled with colleagues.”
“There’s a difference between being professional and being a doormat. He called you non-stop until you had to block his number. Doesn’t that deserve a reprimand?”
“A reprimand? It’s not my job to lecture him on what’s right or wrong. I’m not a private school nun with a cane in hand.”
“No, but you’d look great in the costume.” His grin is subtle. Devious.
“Gross.” I take another hearty sip to drown the tightness inching its way up my throat. “Is that another fantasy of yours? Being a schoolboy punished by his superior?”
He breaks eye contact to stare toward the beach, his brows furrowing with mock contemplation. “I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you ask, I can easily picture you bending me over the school principal’s desk and—”
“Rome.”
He chuckles, low and breathy. “Have I told you how much I live to scandalize you?”
“Not today. Instead you told me I’m a doormat.”
“That’s not what I said.” His humor fades. “The point I’m trying to make is that I don’t understand why you haven’t given him the dressing down he deserves.”
It’s not that I don’t want to.
My fear is the possible retaliation. The truth that could come out. That Julian will use my sexual failings against me…not that I’m even sure he noticed my lack of fulfilment. “He may deserve it. But I don’t want the complication… Unless this is a hoop you expect me to jump through to prove I’m worthy of my position in your company.”
“What you do in your private life is your business. And that won’t change once we start working together. I’m pushing this on a friendship level. Because I know you. Because you need to reclaim whatever he took from you.”
“He didn’t take—”
“You didn’t have a problem talking about sex when you were in college.”
The heaviness of shame settles on my shoulders. He’s right. I didn’t have a problem. But I also hadn’t been aware how much of a disaster I was between the sheets. “That’s because you and Rett didn’t use it as a default topic for every conversation. Now it’s all you talk about.”
“That’s not true.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I palm my cocktail glass and guide the straw to my mouth.
“Piper…” Rome’s pause is filled with impatience. “I honestly believe that if this morning’s bathroom excitement happened years ago you would’ve laughed it off. It would’ve been something you’d pick up the phone to gossip with Rett over. Something you’d use to make fun of me for years to come. But emotionally, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”
“I wouldn’t say it was a big deal.” I sip, sip, sip, not stopping until there’s a gurgle from my empty glass. “Average maybe.”
He smirks. “Are you insulting my size? Because I’m more than happy for you to measure it for posterity. I’m no slouch in that department.”
My cheeks flame. Goddamnit.
“Don’t look away,” he says. “Hold my gaze. Show me you’re not daunted by a simple conversation about anatomy.”
I clench my jaw and force myself to comply, blinking back the burn.
He inclines his head, clearly impressed. “Good girl.”
Jesus Christ.
“Now, tell me, little Pip, did you get a chance to take a proper look? Or did shock make that impossible?”
How isn’t he embarrassed? “I saw enough to require counseling.”
He chuckles. “You wouldn’t be the first. The size has been known to trigger fight or flight.”
I should laugh. Humor is his aim after all. But all I can do is drown in recollection. All I see are the contours of his muscles and the way they flexed.
“Do you want to know what I was thinking when you walked in?” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table, taunting me with the proximity. “What I was picturing you doing?”
Yes. I swallow. “No.”
“Are you sure?” His voice turns sultry. “You’re not the least bit curious what my fantasies conjured up for us?”
I’m more than curious. But I’m well aware indulging would only help him throw me more off-balance. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that verbalizing the depth of your depravity might get you arrested?”
“It’d be worth it to see the look on your face.”
I hold myself in check, not succumbing to the trap. He’s back to playing the game. I need to play mine. “The thing is, I already got to see the look on your face, and it wasn’t pretty. You’re not one of those guys whose appeal increases during the build of approaching orgasm.” I ignore the simmering warmth that expands down my neck, and cock my head to the side in contemplation. “What do they call it again? The rat face?”
God. The lies. Rome’s face was so far from that. His appeal absolutely did increase. But I’m playing to win here, so a lie it is.
His eyes narrow in competition. “You were on the bathroom counter. Legs spread.”
My blush swoops lower to consume my chest. My nipples.
“Mouth parted,” he continues. “You wore the sexiest pair of lace panties and loved it when I called you my good little girl.”
