Page 11 of Pro Gamer's Aim

My jaw clenches. An irrational flare of jealous possessiveness rises in my gut. I push it down. I have no claim on Sam. I just met her for Christ's sake. But the thought of Aiden, or any other man, near her...

Asher:

None of your damn business. She's practically a kid.

"Everything okay?" Sam's voice startles me and I almost drop my phone. She peers around the doorframe, brows raised. "You seem... tense."

"Just finished ordering. I was getting slaughtered in texts by my friends." I say, sliding my phone in my pocket and willing myself not to ogle her barely concealed curves. The silk kimono thing she has on is nothing more than a nod at decency. She is wearing pants, by the way—if you can call them that. They're glorified panties, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm not complaining, though.

"Pizza should be here in 20," I say, even as I think about her ass cheeks hanging out of her so-called shorts.

"Awesome, I'm starving." She grins and it's like a punch to the chest. Gorgeous. "So, these friends of yours..." She arches an eyebrow. "They have anything interesting to say?"

"Nothing worth repeating." I need to change the subject before I do something stupid. Like pin her against the wall.

I'm pretty sure she'd be okay with that. She seems okay with a hell of a lot more, from the bright neon signals she's giving off.

But she's so young.

And drunk.

I'm not that much of an asshole.

Am I?

I draw in a deep breath, tamping down the surge of desire stirring low in my gut. Get a grip, Sinclair. You're not some hormonal fuckboy who can't control himself.

She's just a woman.

Just a beautiful woman standing in my living room, looking utterly at home. Like she belongs here.

The thought hits me with a visceral punch to the gut. I try to shake it off, but it lingers, an ember glowing in the back of my mind.

A soft clicking of nails on hardwood precedes the appearance of Milo wandering out from the bedroom. The dog stops dead in his tracks when he catches sight of me, his tail going rigid.

I tense instinctively as he starts sniffing at my feet. "Don't even think about it," I warn him, finding it hard to be mean when Sam's staring right at me. I've already thrown the pair he peed on in the trash.

Sam grimaces. "Shit, I forgot. He got you, too, didn't he? I'm sorry. He seems to think it's going to keep people away from me." She scoops him up, cradling him against her chest. The little furry bastard licks a wet stripe up her neck and she giggles. "I'll keep a closer eye on him."

I wave a dismissive hand. "Dogs are dogs." And I can't punt this one. Besides being warned against it—multiple times—I'm not going to do something like that to Samantha.

I don't want my neighbor to be upset with me. Especially one like Sam.

"Dogs are crazy, but at least they're cute, right?" Sam shoots me a playful wink, the tip of her tongue peeking out to wet her full lips.

Christ, she's going to be the death of me.

A sharp knock at the door makes us both jump. Pizza. Thank fuck.

I pay the delivery kid, ignoring his curious glance between us. Yeah, she's young. Yeah, I'm old. She's just about naked and it's midnight. It's weird. I get it.

I set the box on the coffee table and flip the lid. The aroma of melted cheese and pepperoni wafts out.

"Smells incredible." Sam reaches for a slice of the meat half. "You didn't have to pay though, I could've—"

"Don't worry about it." I wave her off, grabbing my own. It burns my fingers but I don't care. I need something else to focus on besides her.

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