Page 98 of Role Play
“Coming right up, lil lady.” Sora bustles to the fridge. I follow behind, trying to make myself useful by grabbing a bowl.
“You keep a healthy fridge,” I say.
She snorts in laughter. “I was just trying to impress you. The fridge in my apartment only has spicy pickles, old birthday cake, Coke Zero, and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”
“You put Cheetos in the fridge?”
Sora proceeds to rinse a cluster of green grapes. “You’ve never tried that?”
“No. Because it’s weird. Also, I don’t like spicy food.”
She stops rinsing, sets the grapes on the counter on top of a stack of paper towels, then presses her palm against her heart like she’s in pain.
“Are you okay?” I ask, filling with concern.
“You said you don’t like spicy food. I’m just mourning the death of our friendship.”
I laugh. “You kook. Rinse me some grapes too, please?”
She winks. “You got it.”
It’s wonderful and terrifying how natural this feels. Just a couple hours after stepping foot into the brownstone, it already feels like…
Home, I realize with a start.
Not the brownstone itself, impressive as it is, buther.It’s way too fast, way too much, but it’s undeniable.
Home is where she is.
In the span of a month, Sora has somehow worked her way in and become the other center of my world. The two people who collectively consume all of my thoughts, in one space together.
I know it can’t work between us.
But also…
How can it not?
chapter 21
Sora
“Is she actually coming?” a man who I’m assuming is Taio asks Forrest, fidgeting with his paintball mask’s chin strap. “From everything you’ve said, she seems more ‘afternoon tea at the Ritz’ than ‘mud-crawling commando.’”
I can’t help smirking as I emerge from the women’s changing room at Extreme Paint Warriors. The facility, just outside the city, sprawls before us—a massive compound with terrain that ranges from mock urban landscapes to dense woodland areas strewn with bunkers. Forrest and I left home separately, as he and his friends apparently needed to pick up new gear and ammo for the match today.
“How ridiculous do I look?” I gesture to my outfit—camo overalls with a tight black tank top underneath, my hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The ensemble is surprisingly comfortable, with the exception of my clunky black combat boots.
Forrest turns, his face lighting up in that spontaneous way that always catches my heart in a chokehold. His eyes perform a quick evaluation, idling on the way the tank hugs my curves,and despite the decidedly un-glamorous setting, I feel a flush spreading across my chest.
“Not ridiculous at all. You look ready for battle,” he says, his voice warm with approval.
Taio pivots toward me, and my first thought is that Forrest seriously undersold his roommate’s height. The man is a skyscraper, broad-shouldered with an easy confidence that explains his success in their line of work. Behind him stands a tall, but more compact, muscular blond man wearing a weathered Australian flag patch like a badge of honor.
“The infamous Sora in the flesh,” Taio says with an appreciative whistle. “The brownstone bandit who stole Forrest’s bedroom slippers and his…” He drops his voice dramatically. “…let’s say,concentration.”
I shake his extended hand. “Guilty as charged. Though I have yet to see Forrest wear bedroom slippers.”
“Really? You can’t miss them. They are pink, fluffy, with little Hello Kitty charms on the front. Koda-cakes has a matching pair,” Taio says, teasing his friend.
