Page 49 of Love is a Game

I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath. “Pen, you’re the most gorgeous woman here. You can have anyone you want,” I let my voice drop low. “I can see it in your eyes. You need to be fucked. And it should be with someone who knows exactly what you need.Me.”

We barely made it to the secluded service elevator located at the end of a corridor, stacked with glassware crates and an empty food cart. I backed her onto the cart, her legs scissoring the air as I slid up her dress and got to work.

Her taste on my tongue, her moans in my ears—time fell away like we’d never been apart. And when I got her to her feet, spun her around, bent her over the cart, and buried myself inside her, it was a perfect fit. Her body gripping mine like she’d been made for this, for me. Heat, friction, pressure pulsing through my spine, into every nerve.

I had her. She was mine.

I wasn’t letting her go again.

When it was over, I almost said something. Something meaningful. About how we were better together, how we were like the final pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. Instead, I pulled her into my chest and mumbled something about being glad we’d mended things.

She looked up, tossed her ponytail, eyes sharp.

“Don’t kid yourself, Tuck.What friendship? You’ve competed with me our whole lives. You screwed me over to expand your business. And this?” She smirked, stepping back, straightening her dress. “I was just using you for sex.”

Two weeks later, she had some Brazilian model boyfriend.

A few months after that, I met Stella.

So I did the only thing I could—I worked on actually becoming her friend.

No sex. We grabbed food at her favorite spots, coffee runs, even a round of bowling. When I was in town, I made time for her. If she was too busy, I went to her studio. I suppose it was an unplanned experiment…figuring out what we could be together.

Because I knew our connection had to mean something.

It sure as hell did to me.

Chapter 16

Penelope

The morning light streams in, turning the pale pink sheets to warm copper, dancing across Tuck’s chest, which has taken on a soft golden glow.

I stand there, half-dressed, drinking him in.

It’s a perfect moment. Until he ruins it.

“That your mother’s computer?” he nods at the clunky HP desktop in the corner.

“Either that, or a contraption to display ugly doilies,” I reply, eyeing the crochet design draped over the monitor.

“You opened it yet?” he probes.

I frown, toweling my hair. “Why?”

“Your mom’s digital footprint. You’ll need to shut down her online presence.”

I snort. “Pretty sure my mother had about as much of an online presence as she did offline. Or do you think she was secretly an influencer for senior citizens? Or killing it as a middle-aged model on OnlyFans?”

He props himself onto an elbow. “I mean the accounts she had, the sites she visited, the subscriptions she signed up for. Her information doesn’t just disappear. If you don’t request removal, it stays out there. Stored, accessible. That means it could be used by scammers, like identity thieves.”

My amusement fades. “Damn, this stuff is never-ending. I can’t even keep my own email inbox under control. How am I supposed to deal with all that?”

“First step is checking her browsing history, socials, pinned sites…” Tuck takes in my slumped shoulders. “You want me to help?”

I fold my hands into a prayer sign.

He nods. “But we have to prioritize, okay? The funeral home still needs the items from her final wishes list, right? Can we go through that today? You can’t keep putting this off.”

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