Page 7 of Forbidden Game

She pushes out of my grip with a grunt. “Stop, you’re covering me in your sweat.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Seriously, Parker.” She gives me a blank stare from beneath her bangs.

Sydney acts as unaffected by me as ever, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. Every once in a while, I catch her off guard and I see that glint in her eye—the one she denies.

“Seriously. People on the internet would pay good money to be covered in my sweat. You could even bottle it up, sell it on eBay. Eau de Parker.”

She just huffs and picks up her pace, her heels clacking on the ground as she makes a beeline for the backstage door.

“I bet it would even go to auction. The bids would go into the thousands. All for something I’m giving you for free,” I call out to her, admiring the way her pert ass sways in her short pencil skirt.

She’s adorable when she’s frustrated with me, which is her default emotion.

Once upon a time, I broke through her walls. But since then, she’s reinforced her castle with steel, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to break through.

At least, not yet.

It only takes a few strides for me to catch up to her as she pushes the door open. The early fall air breezes past us instantly, and I have to squint my eyes against the afternoon light after so many hours indoors.

The white BMW is parked just a few feet away, but a reporter pops out from seemingly nowhere to intercept us. His cameraman begins firing off bursts of photos. The shuttering clicks echo in the back of my mind as the reporter starts peppering me with variations of the same question.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath, allowing myself a second of annoyance before slipping an easy smile on my face for the camera.

Sydney wraps her small hand around my wrist and begins marching us to the car, but the reporter just follows.

“Is it true that your family is disinheriting you because of your gaming career? How does that make you feel?”

“I’m still very much a Covington, and my family is supportive of my career,” I promise the stoutly man.

“Parker,” Sydney hisses, pushing me toward the door Francis is holding open. “Get in the car.”

“Don’t believe the rumors, mate,” I call back with a dazzling smile before hopping onto my seat.

The door slams a hairsbreadth away from my nose and, not a minute later, a very disgruntled publicist slips onto the seat beside me.

“You know what I’m going to tell you.”

“I didn’t say anything bad.” I shrug.

“You weren’t supposed to say anything at all.” Sydney rubs the spot between her brows with an audible sigh.

“It’ll be fine, Syd.” I reach over and give her knee a squeeze. Her skin is warm beneath the thin tights, and I let my hand linger for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

She doesn’t even bat a lash.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and reluctantly scan the notifications. There are hundreds crowding my screen, all a result of the stories that are circulating, but it’s the one from my dad that hardens the rock in my gut.

DAD: Call me.

I didn’t want to worry Sydney earlier, but there is no way my family didn’t know that this story was dropping. Syd thinks she has enough contacts to get ahead of any breaking news involving us, but she has nothing on the team the Covingtons employ. Nothing against her, it’s merely the simple math of British aristocracy.

But what this means is that someone in my family didn’t see an issue with it…which is not a good sign.

I’m trying to wrack my brain for what the reasoning could be, but nothing makes sense.

I bypass my dad’s message and settle for texting my older sisters instead.

---