Page 65 of Siren's Game

"What if I get used to it?" I try to sound sassy, but in reality, even my best attempt doesn’t quite manage to mask the vulnerability shining through my voice.

What if I actually do? Then this whole charade is going to end in a broken heart and another reason to not mend it back together. I mean, what use is it if people just leave me over and over again?

I might as well just get used to it as life goes on.

Thankfully, he ignores me as he swipes all my hair over my shoulders so it falls down my back and carefully starts to work the hair oil into my ends.

"What do you do when you're not working?" he asks me, distracting me from the way his hands and the brush run through my hair, so gently that they don't even get caught in the knots.

"I like reading," I admit with a sigh and lean my head in my neck.

I love it when people touch my hair. It’s my kryptonite, not that I’d tell him. I don't know what's going on here, but maybe, just maybe, I should stop asking questions for now and just roll with it. With another soft sigh, I close my eyes.

"Yeah? What kind of books?"

"Romance, mainly. Something that distracts me from reality,” I whisper and clear my throat.

I don't know why I said that. The reaction to that is usually, 'Oh, so you're one of those people who read porn?', when in reality it's so much more than that.

Romance lets me dream about finding someone I can trust wholeheartedly. Someone who won't cast me aside when I don't play into the fantasy they had of me, like my parents.

Someone who makes me his priority, would face his friends or family if they talked shit about me. Who would stick by me even through the media shitstorm a relationship with me will bring with it.

It seems impossible. I’ve stopped believing in that a long time ago, after being disappointed one too many times.

That's why I appreciate my hook-ups. None of us has a higher expectation of the other than the occasional fuck and, in Josh’s case, friendship.

I know exactly where I stand with them, and they with me. They don’t need to pretend they want more and I don’t have to struggle with the question of whether to believe them.

Josh is the only exception. He is the only one who fought his way into my friendship circle as well. Letting him in was not my wisest move, but I wouldn't want to miss him now, either. He’s the last risk I took that paid off. Well, until now at least. Who knows what the future may hold?

"Cool," Asher answers, and for some reason, I don't think he means it in an ironic or sarcastic way. "You mean like Twilight?"

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "Yeah, kind of," I admit, the corners of my mouth twitching.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, but I can hear the smile on his face. That's when I realize that my whole body is shaking with a suppressed giggle that now breaks free.

"I don't know," I say between giggles. "I just find it funny that Twilight is the first book to come to your mind. Did you read it?"

“No, but my mom did,” he says, and when I turn around, I see a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, tell me about the ones you're reading then," he challenges me, and oh boy. I hope he has nowhere else to be today.

I dive into all of my current favorite books. And God, do I wish that I could watch his face as I do. Especially when I mention that reverse harem biker romance I read a while back.

But he's undeterred, asking questions and commenting what I tell him, all while expertly detangling my hair with the brush.

He’s especially curious about the logistics of a five-some, that, admittedly, I’m also clueless about. We joke about all the different positions that would work and go through all the logistical issues it would cause.

At one point, we run out of positions to talk about and fall silent as he's fighting with a particularly persistent knot in my hair.

"Ouch," I wince when my hair pulls quite a bit.

"Sorry," he mumbles. And to my really big surprise, he leans forward and for a moment, presses his lips against my head, right where it hurts. "I'm trying but this is a hard one."

"You're good," I assure him quickly. "Thank you. You're really good at this."

"Well, lots of practice and first-hand experience," he says with a chuckle and casts the brush aside. "I'll try to pull it apart with my fingers, hold on."

I wince a few more times and each time, he gives me a small, reassuring gesture. A kiss on my neck. A gentle pat on my thigh. And then finally, a satisfied sigh sound escapes the back of his throat, and he reaches for the brush again.

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