Page 16 of Forbidden Game

I plop onto the floor and spread my legs before leaning forward and stretching out my inner thighs. Relief tingles through my overworked muscles as I go about my cool down routine. Parker flings his blue gloves next to mine on the bench before joining me.

He sits just a fraction too close, his long legs only inches away from my own. I try to scoot away without making it obvious.

If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen how precise he is while playing games, driving, or even boxing, I’d think he had depth perception issues. He just seriously lacks any personal boundaries.

Parker starts to mimic my movements, and I feel his eyes acutely on my body.

I press up into a downward dog and begin walking out my calf muscles. I focus on the way they are screaming at me to distract myself from the looming blond in my presence. Parker doesn’t always join me for my final stretches, but when he does, he glues himself to my side.

I hate it.

I hate it because it makes me feel a way I don’t want to feel.

I’m so lost in the repetition of left heel down, right heel down, repeat, that I don’t even register the words until a fraction too late.

“Nice ass, sweetheart. Pop it a bit higher, why don’t you?”

My elbows falter in shock, and I lose my balance. My forearms hit the mat, and milliseconds later, my knees follow suit. Confusion and embarrassment momentarily run through my brain as the words repeat themselves. I’m not even sure if they were meant for me, but the pit in my gut says otherwise.

“You wanna repeat that, mate?”

I pull myself out of the trance and tilt my head up.

Parker is no longer next to me; instead, he is standing inches away from a hulking guy in a muscle tee that barely covers his artificially bronzed chest. There are two similarly dressed, jacked-up men behind him. I’ve never seen them here before.

“Yeah, I said nice ass. It was a compliment,” the main guy sneers.

“Sounded a little more slimy than that,” Parker counters.

I see someone whip out their cellphone and it instantly triggers my publicist persona. I’m on my feet and tugging on Parker’s arm in record time.

“Enough, let’s just go.”

Parker’s eyes blaze like the hottest fires in hell as he looks down at me. I see the fierce determination, and my heart softens for a split second before turning back to ice.

“Cellphone.” I say the word through a gritted smile.

His eyes flick around before landing on the girl by the speed bags, his sharp jaw ticking with annoyance. His chest huffs with a sigh, and I relax as I watch the reluctant resignation pass through him.

Parker swoops down to pick up our gloves before tucking me protectively under his arm and stalking away.

“Pussy.”

The word floats through the air, and I feel Parker freeze. I open my mouth to stop him, but he’s already pushing the gloves into my hands and spinning from me. He doesn’t make a move to walk back to the guy; instead, he smiles, running his tongue over the top of his teeth.

“What’s your name?” His tone is calm, playful even.

The guy looks at him in confusion.

“Your name. You have one, don’t you?” Parker tilts his head and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The guy eyes him warily, eyes bouncing from Parker to me to his friends. “Boyd.” He puffs out his chest, gaining his confidence back. “Boyd Frent.”

Parker purses his lips, nodding his head a few times. Then, without saying another word, he turns around and replaces his arm across my shoulders.

I follow his lead in a trance. My mind is still whirling by the time he pushes the door open and the fall breeze whips around us.

I don’t bother fighting against Parker as he ushers us toward his car. The bright blue Porsche sticks out among the white Teslas. He opens the door for me and doesn’t move until I’m settled safely within.

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