Page 91 of Forbidden Game

“Admiring the goods?” Parker stares at me upside down from between his legs with a smirk.

Heat crawls up my neck. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something snarky back, to deflect the conversation like I always do. But for the first time, I don’t. For the first time, I take my head out of the equation and just listen to my heart.

“Yep.” I say with a pop on the ‘P.’ “Sure am.”

He stands straight and gives me a soft smile. “You are feeling better. That’s good.”

I give him a shrug, averting my gaze again. I can’t keep my confidence high around him for long when he looks at me like that. Especially now that I’m looking more closely and can see the genuine relief and care detailed in the fine lines of his face.

Put me in a room full of the press shouting questions and berating me, and I’m a steel wall. Throw me in front of a flirty British man, and the steel warps.

I do feel better compared to an hour ago, but I still feel exhaustion pulling at my bones. Instead of it being like I’ve been run over by a train, it’s more like I was clipped by a bike while walking. The pain is there, but it’s more of an inconvenience than something debilitating. I can function and form coherent thoughts, which I couldn’t do yesterday.

“All righty, then.” Parker comes back over and scoops me up again in one fell swoop and carries me back to the couch.

“I can walk, you know,” I squeal, my heart racing. All my earlier thoughts are coming back with his face mere inches from my own. The blanket is thick between us, but somehow his fingers still burn through.

“Nah, I told you, Syd. Today you’re under my care.”

Instead of just dropping me onto the cushions, he sits down with me in his arms. My ass and feet are on either side of him. My back is supported by his arm as he cradles me to his chest.

I eye the disappearing orange hue outside.

It has to be late afternoon by now.

Parker leans forward, crushing me even closer to his body as he grabs the remote from the coffee table. My heart rate spikes to obscene levels.

Crap.

I am definitely screwed.

He flicks on the TV and starts scrolling until he finds the reality show I’m currently watching and pops on the latest episode. In my sick haze, I am now three episodes behind, which means I have a tasty three hours’ worth of content to drool over.

The classic opening sequence plays out with its signature song, and my body calms in a practiced response. I find myself snuggling deeper into Parker’s arms, laying my head on his chest as I watch the couples flirt and squabble on screen.

Sometime during the second episode, my eyes start to flutter shut. I push myself to keep them open, but the screen keeps getting fuzzy and my brain swims. Eventually, I give up and just let my body do what it wants.

When my consciousness starts to return, the first thing I notice is that I’m still held in Parker’s protective arms.

Slowly, I open my eyes. The apartment is coated in darkness, and there is a chilly breeze sweeping in through the open balcony door. I blink a few times, adjusting to the darkness. Parker’s chest moves in shallow breaths under me, and in the silence, I hear the short puffs of breath leave his lips. It’s stupidly comforting.

I’m careful not to rouse him as I tilt my head up to look at his sleeping face.

His lashes look even longer from this angle, and the shadows of his cheekbones are darker in the moonlight. There is the faintest smattering of stubble along his chin and above his upper lip. I try to think of the last time Parker wasn’t clean-shaven and fail to come up with an example. Even during their annual twenty-four-hour stream, he was more put together in the last hour than he is right now.

His platinum hair is sticking up in eight different directions, and I have the impulse to run my hands through it to smooth it back into its regular perfection.

My chest aches again, and the emotions swirling inside of me are so strong all I have is the urge to cry. I want to cry over this pretty boy because what I feel for him is inexplicable. I would say it’s the exhaustion talking, but I’ve spent the last two days sleeping. So if anything, it’s the clarity of getting enough rest that is making me see things in a new light. It’s forcing me to face the reality that I’ve been stubbornly ignoring within an inch of my life.

I’ve been gaslighting myself.

God dammit.

I’m not just attracted to Parker.

I like him.

I like this frustratingly handsome man with his panty-melting accent and disregard for money.

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