Page 40 of Role Play
I approach the bed, debating whether to gently nudge him or just yank the covers off entirely. Gentle wins. I’m not a monster.
“Forrest,” I whisper, lightly touching his shoulder. His skin is warm and smooth beneath my fingertips. “Forrest, you need to wake up.”
He stirs, his arm sliding away from his face to reveal those devastating honey-brown eyes, now blinking sleepily up at me. For a moment, he looks confused, then a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Good morning, cookie girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hi,” I respond lamely, immediately stepping back from the bed. “So, um, you need to go.”
The smile falters. “That’s…direct.”
“I’m sorry,” I rush to explain, twisting my fingers together nervously. “My friend is coming over. She’ll be here any minute. And she can’t know that I, um…”
“Hired an escort?” he finishes for me, sitting up now, the sheet pooling at his waist. I try—and fail—not to stare at his muscular chest. Of course he’s topless, I’m still wearing his shirt from last night.
“Right. That.”
Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe?—but it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, revealing red boxer briefs that fit him like they were painted on.
“Wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation,” he says lightly, but there’s an edge to it.
“It’s not that,” I protest weakly, though it absolutely is that. “It’s just complicated.”
He stretches his arms overhead, muscles flexing in a way that should be illegal before noon. “Don’t worry about it. But before I go…” He stands and takes a step toward me, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of his cologne from the night before. “I want to make sure you get what you paid for.”
My throat goes dry. “What?”
His eyes dance with mischief. “Did you really pay me to cuddle for one night? Or, were you expecting something else?”
“I wasn’t expecting anything.” This is no time for honesty. So I won’t tell him that when I made that cash transfer, all I could think about was being owned by Forrest for one dirty, salacious evening. I also won’t tell him that even though all we ended up doing was cuddling, it was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months, wrapped in his strong arms, my head tucked against his chest.
“That’s it? A ten-thousand-dollar cuddle session?” he teases, his voice dropping an octave. “Well, that’s your call.” He surveys the room and shrugs. “I guess judging by your place, you must have money to blow.”
The doorbell rings, the sound echoing through the brownstone’s high ceilings. Panic seizes me.
“That’s her. Daphne’s here.” I grab his arm, my fingers barely spanning his bicep. “Please, please don’t say anything about…your job. Or the money. Or any of it. Actually, if you could just disappear in a hurry, that’d be preferable.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How? We’re on the fourth floor, Sora. Should I go ahead and jump out the window onto the concrete sidewalk?” he snarks.
“Depends. Could you land it?” I deadpan.
He tries to control his smile. “I’d like to live to see my daughter again, so I’m going to pass on that idea. But don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you in front of Daphne. I’ll just quietly wave, lips sealed, and slip out.”
“Wait,” I protest feebly. “Daphne is not going to let you sneak out quietly. I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl. She’s going to have questions. Could you pretend, just for a bit, that we’re a thing?”
For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse, but then he shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Sure, why not? I can play boyfriend for a bit.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, releasing his arm. “Just stay up here until I call you down, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a mock salute.
I dash down the three flights of stairs, my bare feet slapping against the Tasmanian oak flooring, and fling open the front door to find Daphne on the doorstep, one hand raised to ring the bell again, the other clutching a pink pastry box.
“Finally!” she exclaims, brushing past me into the foyer. “I texted you three times last night. What happened to you? I was starting to really worry. Andholy shit, I forgot how nice this place is.”
“Sorry. I, uh, got distracted.”
“Distracted how?” She sets the pastry box on the marble island and turns to face me, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Then they widen as she takes in my appearance—sleep-tousled hair, oversized men’s dress shirt, bare legs. “Sora Cho-Cooper, do you have a man here?”
