Page 93 of The Rogue and His Flower

“Is that a promise?”

“No, it’s a certainty,” he grins, tugging on a strand of my hair. “Especially if those are stockings and not tights.”

“Take your mind out of the gutter, racer boy, and get your head into the game,” I retort, grabbing two pound coins from my cup, and sliding them into the slot.

He laughs, settling onto the blue motorbike.

As the screen comes to life, and the game lights up, Dalton and I exchange competitive glances before the countdown begins.

3…

“Get ready to lose, Daisy.”

2…

“Get ready to eat your words, Dalton,” I counter with a wink.

1…

The sound of roaring engines fills the air, blending with the laughter and excitement of the other patrons as I grip the handlebars tightly, turning the throttle. Determined to show Dalton what I'm made of, I take the lead, laughter bubbling up my chest as he grumbles something unintelligible, the weight of his body making the mechanical motorbike groan as he leans from side to side. He might be an expert on a real race track, but he doesn’t realise that I hold the highest score on this particular game, and have done so for years.

With a determined set of my jaw, I navigate the twists and turns of the digital race track, Dalton hot on my tail as we speed through virtual city streets, neon lights flashing as we race.

“The fuck?” Dalton laughs, as he realises a little too late that I’m beating his arse.

Weaving through the traffic effortlessly, I dodge obstacles, hitting speed boosts with precision. Dalton’s grin falters as hestruggles to keep up, his bike crashing into virtual cars left and right in his haste to catch up with me. I can’t help but laugh as a stream of curse words erupt from his lips. With one final burst of speed, I surge ahead, crossing the finish line way ahead of Dalton. The machine dings loudly, signalling my victory with onscreen fireworks and flashing lights.

“You’ve got to do better than that, racer boy,” I tease.

Dalton stares at his screen in disbelief before turning to me with a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Okay, okay, you wonthisgame,” he concedes, a playful glint in his eye, “But just you wait until the next game. I won’t go easy on you. This was just a warm-up. I was testing you.”

“Sure you were,” I laugh.

“Get ready, Daisy, because I’m not about to lose again.”

“You’re on,” I reply, slipping off the motorbike.

With a smile tugging my lips, I slide my hand into Dalton’s as we head to the next game, more than ready to whoop his arse once more. An hour later I have one hundred more tickets than he does, and I smother a smile as we wait in line at the kiosk to exchange those tickets for a nominal prize.

“Well, shit,” Dalton mutters, side-eying me as I slurp happily on my blueberry slushy.

“What was that?” I ask, cupping my ear with a smirk. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“I didn’t realise you had so many hidden talents.”

“Oh, I havemanyhidden talents,” I reply with a raised brow, wrapping my lips around the straw provocatively before sucking the sweet liquid into my mouth.

He groans, and I step forward, smiling sweetly at the attendant.

“What can I get you?” the teenager asks, his eyes flicking to Dalton, who wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me into his side as he buries his nose into my hair.

“What can I get for three hundred and fifty two tickets?” I ask, my eyes grazing over the plastic toys, stuffed animals, and sweet treats lining the shelves behind him, my cheeks heating at the way Dalton coasts his hand over my arse then lower as he feels the ridge of my stockings.

“Thought as much,” he mutters, and I smile internally.

“Anything on the middle shelf,” the attendant says, pointing to a row of stuffed toys, completely oblivious to the fact I’m being felt up so indecently.

My gaze coasts along the shelf, before noticing a small crystal unicorn tucked onto the end of the top shelf. I point to it. “What about that?” I ask, swallowing a moan as Dalton’s hand slides back up over my arse and squeezes.

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