Page 21 of Playing Pretend

I want to kiss her. Right here. Right now.

To forgo the baby steps and thrust my hand into her hair while I smash my mouth to hers. To tell her that none of this is a charade and it never was. To make her moan. To fuck her senseless.

“Of course.” I walk to the small closet. “My wardrobe is yours to command.” I pull open the doors, grab one of my T-shirts from a plastic hanger, and lob it at her.

She catches it, staring at the material as if it’s a bargain bin reject.

I can’t wait to see her in it.

But before that, I need some space if I’m going to adhere to her rules. “Do you want first shower?”

“No.” She keeps eyeing the shirt with disdain.

Good. I don’t have the restraint to ask twice. I grab my boxers and escape into the bathroom to drown myself under icy water.

I don’t get out until my dick is under control and my balls are begging to hibernate. When I return to the main room, she slips into the bathroom without making eye contact.

Her suitcase is now neatly placed in the corner, her clothes no longer strewn across the bed. What takes their place, though, is a construction of pillows down the center of the mattress, the pile double stacked.

This room might be a friends-only zone, but she’s feeling the undercurrent of more than that if a fortress is necessary.

By the time the bathroom door quietly swooshes open, I’m waiting in bed, the room bathed in shadow, the only illumination coming from her bedside lamp.

She pads into view, my grey KSCY shirt hanging off her, making her appear younger than she is. Smaller. More innocent. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her makeup-free face as beautiful as it’s ever been.

God damn. I need another cold shower.

Her eyes trek my way, her attention falling to my bare chest for a brief second before snapping to her side of the mattress.

“I look good on you,” I drawl.

Her lips twitch but she doesn’t give in to the smile.

“I mean my clothes.” I cross my hands behind my head and rest back against the only spare pillow I’ve been allocated.

“I knew what you meant.” She climbs into her side of the bed, tugs up the covers despite it being balmy outside, then flicks off the lamp.

I grin into the darkness. “You nervous, little Pip?”

She groans. “Why would I be nervous, Rome?”

“You tell me. We’ve slept in the same bed before but last time, there wasn’t a barricade.”

“Last time, I was twelve, and you weren’t throwing around sexual innuendoes like confetti.”

I may not have been throwing them, but my thoughts were far from virtuous.

I’d been staying at her house for the week while my father was out of town. It was one of the benefits of being best friends with my neighbors.

I spent the day with Rett playing video games and sneaking back into my house to smuggle my dad’s beer. Piper tagged along the entire time. Always eager to watch our mischief. But when night fell and us guys were talking shit in the pitch black of Rett’s room, she casually climbed into the bottom bunk with me to join in.

Then she fell asleep, and not wanting to wake her, I let her doze. I spent half the night trying not to think about our age difference and how fucking wrong it felt to enjoy her next to me. Because the thing was, even back then, being with Piper was easy. Natural. Perfect.

“The innuendo is beside the point,” she mumbles into the darkness. “Because I remember you telling me how horrible I was as a bed partner. You said I kicked all night. So you’re welcome for the barricade.”

“You didn’t grow out of the restless sleep?”

“You’re the only one who’s ever complained.”

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