Page 64 of Siren's Game

"How did you know which ice cream I like?" He looks down at me, his eyebrow raised and an emotion I can't quite make out written all over his face.

"I watched your interview with NR Magazine," he admits sheepishly and my eyes grow wide. That was like a year ago. "By chance," he adds quickly, then looks away and I swear I can the slightest glimmer of red flushing his cheeks in the moving light from the TV.

Aww. He watched my interview. "It came up when I searched the internet for your favorite ice cream flavor."

My heart drops. There I thought I'd been on his mind even before we ever met officially. That maybe I’d been on his mind after the whole interview fiasco.

Then again . . . he researched my favorite ice cream flavor instead of just buying a random one. That's cute as hell, too.

Once we finish the ice cream, he puts the empty tub on the ground next to him, without getting up. Then suddenly, his hand is on my hip while his eyes remain glued to the TV. It seems like an unconscious move, but I tense.

And then his hand starts stroking small circles on my hip and I feel my muscles starting to relax under his touch.

Fuck. This is actually somewhat nice. So nice even, I fall asleep halfway through the movie.

I come awake and tense. Something is moving under my cheek. Is my pillow alive? Am I still dreaming? What is going on?

But in fact, the pillow is also warm. And there's a hand in my hair, fingertips stroking gentle patterns on my scalp, making me want to purr like a cat.

Right. Asher came over. I had my head on his thigh.

Now what? I don’t want to break this moment yet. It’s so nice. So serene. So . . . intimate.

The realization of how fucked I truly am settles in my stomach.

I read romance novels, for fucks sake. I should have known this fake-dating thing wouldn’t work out without having my heart broken.

But no, I thought I knew better.

When I realize my breath has hitched at the realization, I announce my consciousness with a yawn and roll my shoulders. My heart is pounding fast and loud, my brain screaming at me to jump up, but I can’t. I don’t want to. It's way too comfortable for that.

And I want a few more moments to imagine this is real. Imagine he came over because he was actually worried aboutme, not about his monster cock doing damage.

"Had a good nap?" Asher asks, an amused grin on his face and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

"Yeah," I admit, barely above a whisper, and smush my cheek against his thigh like a cat. "I actually did."

"That's good." He tries to free another one of my strands, but my hair is so tangled, I wince when he accidentally pulls on a few hairs. "Sorry."

"You're good," I tell him with another yawn. "I should probably brush it. Didn't really get around to that the past few days."

I grimace at the thought. Brushing it now is going to hurt like a bitch, but I really couldn't be bothered the past few days, not even to just go ahead and braid it. All I did was lay in bed and wallow in self-pity and pain. My hair was the last thing on my mind.

Without a word, Asher suddenly gets up and walks off. I purse my lips in a pout as I watch him disappear around a corner. He's a comfy pillow; it feels weird to lay my head down on this flat couch now.

First, he brings me another painkiller and glass of water. A glance at the clock over my TV tells me the first ones are probably going to wear off soon, so good thinking. Then he walks off again.

I’m just about to reach for a real pillow when he returns with my brush and one of my hair oils in his hand.

"Come on, sit up."

I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused, but do as he asks.

To my surprise, he climbs onto the couch behind me, caging me between his thighs, his hand a gently warmth on my stomach as he scoots the both of us back a bit so my butt is not halfway off the couch.

"You really don't have—" I say weakly, but he immediately interrupts me.

"I know, Kayla." He sounds a bit exhausted. "Just accept it, okay?"

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