Page 77 of Role Play
“I don’t know. I wanted a normal night with a normal guy.” The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve messed up.
His playful expression falters slightly. “As opposed to abnormal me, the escort.”
“No. That’s not what I meant.” I set down my roller and move closer to him.
“Isn’t it?” His eyes bore into mine, searching.
“No, it’s not.” I reach out impulsively, touching his arm. “I’m sorry if it came out wrong. I just meant… Look, I got lost in wishful thinking. I think I was paying for an experience. It felt nice when I thought you were into me. That’s all.”Oh god, I sound pathetic.
His expression softens. “For the record, I was into you. The first time we met. That wasn’t an act. I came to talk to you after your meeting. You blew me off.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air suddenly charged with something heavier than our usual banter.
“You liked me?” I don’t even believe the words as I say them.
He grins sheepishly, breaking the tension. “But then I got to know you,” he adds, “and discovered the real horror.”
I gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me?”
“Your taste in paint colors.” He shakes his head sadly, turning back to the wall. “It’s truly tragic.”
“You made the final decision. This is your travesty.” I dip my fingertips in the paint can and flick them at him, splattering his shirt with tiny purple dots.
His jaw drops. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
Before I can retreat, he’s swiped his own fingers through the paint tray and is advancing on me with mischief in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, backpedaling. “This is my good painting shirt.”
“As opposed to your bad painting shirt?” He lunges, and I dart around him.
We dance around the room, me trying to avoid his paint-covered hand, him trying to corner me. It’s ridiculous and childish and somehow the most fun I’ve had in ages. I’mlaughing so hard my sides hurt, and when he finally catches me around the waist, I surrender with minimal struggle.
“Okay, okay. Truce,” I gasp through my laughter.
Instead of painting me, though, his fingers find my ribs, tickling mercilessly.
“Forrest,” I shriek, squirming in his grasp. “Stop.”
“Admit that you’re attracted to me.”
I squeal when he doubles his efforts. “No,” I wheeze between ragged breaths. “I’m not a liar.”
“Yeah, you are. We both are.” His tickling intensifies even further, and I collapse against him, breathless with laughter.
“Fine, fine. You’re all right,” I secede, fearing I’m going to lose bladder control soon.
He immediately stops, but doesn’t release me. I’m suddenly acutely aware of our position—my back pressed against his chest, his strong arms around my waist, my breathing rapid from more than just the tickling.
Heat radiates from his body, seeping through my thin T-shirt. I can feel the firmness of his chest, the tension in his muscles as he holds me. My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain he can hear it, and a delicious shiver runs up my spine when his breath tickles the sensitive skin below my ear.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, his voice low and close.
I turn in his arms, intending to push away, but instead find myself face to face with him, mere inches separating us. His eyes drop to my lips, then back up, a question in them. The air between us feels electric. My gaze traces the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, and I’m seized by a sudden, desperate longing to close the distance between us.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, his voice husky.
“Like what?” My own voice sounds hoarse and strange to my ears.
