Page 22 of Fake Game

Suddenly another face flashes in my mind. A short woman with fuckable tits and an innocent look that begs to be ruined.

I try to scrub the pink vision away.

“Wow, you’re really out of it. I’m not sure if I should take offense.”

My gaze snaps back to Savannah’s assessing eyes. I open my mouth to bite back but stop. None of this is her fault.

“Sorry,” I finally sigh, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“It’s fine,” she shrugs. “You know I don’t expect anything outside the session.”

“Yes, but you at least deserve my attention while I’m here.”

Her eyes soften and she places a reassuring pat on my knee. “Stop. You always treat me well.”

When I don’t say anything more, she slips off the bed and goes to rummage through her handbag. She pulls out a small purple stick and presses it to her lips, taking an inhale that makes the bottom of it light up blue. When she exhales, a small cloud floats from her lips that smells like grapes. “So, who is she?”

“Who?”

“The girl who’s apparently rented an apartment in your brain.”

“There’s no girl.”

“Sure,” she drawls before taking another hit. “Is it the one you told me about?”

I stiffen.

“You’re the only person I’m involved with.”

Surprise ripples across her features. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. A while?”

She lets out a laugh. “And you’re sure there’s no girl you’re pining over? Really.”

“Savannah,” I growl.

Her spine straightens at the warning and her eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll drop it.”

I grit my teeth together and get up to grab my clothes from the chair in the corner and put them on. The more I think about it, the more it bothers me. I hadn’t even realized that Savannah is the only person I’ve been seeing—seeing being a very loose term—and even this is losing its shine.

I turn back to her, ready to break things off, but she stops me with a raised hand.

“I know.” She walks up to me and brushes some lint off the shoulder of my sweatshirt. “I hope you sort things out, Jackson.” She gives me a smile before twirling around and heading into the bathroom. “I’m going to have a shower. Make sure you shut the door behind you.”

My eyes track her, giving her naked body one last appreciative look as she disappears.

I grab my phone and wallet from the nightstand before throwing on a black face mask and baseball cap. Then I slip on my limited-edition sneakers before picking up my duffle and heading out of the VIP room.

My jaw is clenched tight.

I’m not even in the mood to think about what I am going to do now. Even the idea of trying to find someone to replace Savannah has me annoyed.

Not because of her, but because every time I try to conjure an image in my head of someone new, all I see are flashes of pink.

Which is fucking stupid.

The scrawny guy manning the valet stand gives me a terrified look as he takes my ticket, and I tell myself to stop giving him the death glare. I even fish out a hundred from my wallet to tip him when he returns with my Jeep.

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