Page 148 of Fake Game

“I like playing hard to get.”

“Jackson.”

“You ever noticed that you stopped calling me Shield?”

“What?” My smile drops as the realization crashes into me.

“Yup. Something tells me you like me as well.”

“Just a little.” I avert my gaze.

“A little?” He tugs me so we fall back onto the bed, and he pulls me into his arms. “You sure about that?”

I snuggle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Fine, maybe more than a little.”

“How much more?”

“A lot more.” So much more—it feels like my soul is becoming one with his.

“Good, because you’re on my mind every second of every day. You’ve infiltrated my life for the better, lighting it up where it was dark, and there’s not a moment that goes by when I don’t crave you near me.” He squeezes me tightly, and all of his emotions flood into me. “You make me whole, Deer, and I don’t think I can let you go.”

“Then don’t. Keep me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m yours.”

FORTY

JACKSON

We pull up to the restaurant and I’m thinking more and more that this isn’t a good idea. My hand rests on Deer’s knee, but no matter how much I try to soothe her, that knee just keeps bouncing up and down. One of her long pink nails twists between her forefinger and thumb.

The bodyguard we brought with us exits the passenger seat and comes around to open Deer’s side. She stares past him at the revolving restaurant doors where patrons are flowing in and out of the renowned establishment.

There’s a sharp intake of breath. And then another. And another.

Each one comes faster and faster.

Deer’s knee finally stops moving, but now her chest is heaving in short bursts.

“Close the door,” I command the bodyguard. “Francis—”

“Yes, Mr. Lau.” Our private driver immediately takes off, putting distance between us and The Bay.

“Hey, Sparkles, look at me.” I give her shoulder a squeeze.

She turns, crystal blue eyes melting from wide panic to misery as I rub my thumb in calming circles over her skin.

“I-I’m sor-ry,” she hiccups between breaths.

“It’s fine.” I press my forehead down to hers. “Just breathe with me.”

We spend the next few minutes going through her exercises, and eventually she evens out. She slumps farther forward, squeezing her eyes shut and cussing. “Fuck.”

When she opens them again, shame is written all over her features—from the furrowing of her brows to the clenching of her teeth. I dig around my pockets for my phone.

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