Page 46 of Love is a Game

So I keep us here.

In the dark.

Tuck and I.

Delicate, untouchable,secret.

And despite what he suggested about us being a real couple, I know the truth.

He knows it, too.

We’d never survive that.

Chapter 15

Tuck

-4 Years Ago-

Pen had sworn, clearly and defiantly, if I went ahead with the Taylor Napp takeover, she’d want nothing to do with me.

No argument. She didn’t even raise her voice. But she was practically vibrating with concentrated emotion. She had worked with Taylor since before graduating from the Fashion Institute. I knew how dedicated she was, how committed and focused.

But I thought I knew better. Thought I could call her bluff. That once it was all over, once she had moved on from that fashion house and expanded her horizons, she’d realize it wasn’t such a big deal. That she’d see the bigger picture.

She made me suffer for one year, two months, ten days. Basically a lifetime.

A whole year of being ignored. Through both Mason’s and Brady’s milestone 30th birthday bashes. Of her pretending not to see the invitation to mine. Of getting no invitation to hers. Of crossing paths at industry events only for her to act as if I were invisible.

Yeah, it cut deep.

Then came the opening of Brady’s first New York restaurant. He’d wonMasterChef, launched a string of successful West Coast venues. This was his big moment in the Big Apple. Of course, I was there to support him.

But I was really there for her.

After living in purgatory so long, I was primed for the moment Pen would finally step back into my orbit. Our rift had exceeded its use-by date, and I was determined to win her back.

She arrived late. The rest of us were half a dozen drinks and maybe a couple of other substances in, since Brady’s appetite for partying knew no bounds. But I sobered up the second I spotted Pen.

After a year spent trying to convince myself I’d moved on, that she wasn’t a ghost pressing on my ribs every time I heard her name, she walked into the room. And all the air got sucked out of it.

A striking blur of blue and red, a dress so bold it looked painted on.

Latex, clinging like a second layer of flesh, that forced every set of eyes to follow the smooth curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. The neckline was off her shoulders, leaving her collarbones and the slope of her neck bare…like a dare, a challenge. Appliquéd flowers trailed across her bust and along the hem, sweet and delicate against the high-shine material.

Then her hair—a glossy mass pinned into a high pony and tucked into a floral hairpiece, matching the bouquet on her dress. It was as if she planned every detail, knowing she’d be a walking contradiction—soft and sharp, sweet and dangerous, utterly unforgettable.

My gaze dropped, because I’m a masochist, to her legs: bare, toned, and ending in a pair of patent red heels, sharp enough to puncture a rogue admirer’s eyeball.

She turned her head, and the world receded.

And I knew: I’d do anything to make her forgive me.

By then, she’d made her name. Awards, headlines, accolades: “Fashion’s fastest-rising star”, “The industry’s most cutting-edge designer”, “The boldest and most original talent this decade.” Blah, blah, blah. She deserved every bit of it.

And would any of that have happened if she hadn’t been forced out of the uncredited, unrecognized role she played at Taylor Napp? I think not.

I waited. Through the frenzy of her arrival, the fawning of admirers and industry climbers. Through the speeches, the toasts, the obligatory flattery from people who suddenly acted like they’d seen her potential all along.

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