Page 73 of Bitter Rival

“Hey! You’re good at this.” She beams as if I’m competing for a gold medal in an Olympic sport.

Her mouth opens again, and on command, I toss another piece of popcorn into it like I’m feeding seals at the zoo. “It’s a pretty easy target.”

“If we ever go to a fair or a carnival, I’m going to make you win me a prize.”

“Those games are all rigged,” I say. “They’re just waiting for some poor sucker to come along who tries to impress their girlfriend by spending a hundred bucks and walking away with a shitty prize worth five measly dollars.”

“You’re such a cynic,” she says, tucking her cold feet under my thighs like they fucking belong there. If she weren’t injured, I’d smack them away. “I guess we don’t have to question why no self-respecting carnival worker would ever let you walk away with a stuffed unicorn.”

Fuck. She’s funny. No one has ever made me laugh as much as Daisy does.

When the movie ends, I walk her upstairs, and we stop outside the bedroom I moved her into earlier.

She puts her hand on my arm to stop me from leaving and rises onto her tiptoes.

Then she presses her lips to my throat and kisses my Adam’s apple.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she says with a shy smile, biting her lip. “Thanks for everything. Good night, Beckett.”

“Good night, Daisy,” I say long after her bedroom door closes.

The backs of my knuckles brush the column of my throat as I stride down the hallway.

I can still feel her lips on my skin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Beckett

Two weeks later, I return from a run on Saturday morning and follow the sound of laughter to the terrace where I find Grayson entertaining Daisy.

My gaze darts to the bagel in her hand and the iced coffees on the table then to her face and those fucking lips that tempt and tease.

I scrub my hand down my face and try to erase the vision of the dream I had last night but even after a five-mile run it’s still clear as day.

Daisy, sauntering into the study dressed in black lace lingerie and six-inch heels.

Daisy, spread out before me on my desk, ready and waiting and so wet for me it was dripping down her thighs?—

“You look like you could use an iced coffee.”

My gaze swings to Grayson who hands me a coffee. “What are you doing here?” A reasonable request considering he didn’t even mention that he was coming.

“I brought bagels and an overnight bag.” Not the answer to my question. He lets out a contented sigh. “It’s good to be home. Miss me?” He bats his lashes at me.

“Like a toothache.”

He chuckles. “Beckett hates surprises,” he tells Daisy as if I’m not standing right here drinking my coffee.

Daisy nods. “I know. You know what else he hates?”

“You?” I say pleasantly.

Daisy smiles, amused. “You don’t hate me. You just wish you could hate me.”

Sadly, she’s not wrong. I’m struck with the disturbing realization that I might even like her. Not only as the object of my desire—because she is fuckable to a fault—but as a person. To the point where I’m beginning to enjoy her company.

Fucking hell. What is this madness?

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