Page 26 of The Games We Play
Brushing my fingers over his length, I watched in delight as his breath hitched, a quiet, involuntary whimper escaping him.
Before either of us could push this further, I stepped out of his orbit entirely, because if I didn’t, I’d prove him right and lose all of my control.
“As hot as it would be to have you take me on my desk,” I mused, flashing him a smirk, “this is a place full of children. And I love my job.”
Distance. I needed distance.
Because Mac?
He had the kind of pull that made a woman forget everything—morals, rules, ethics—until all she wanted to do was obey his every damn command.
7
PENNY
PRESENT DAY.
Ineeded a distraction. After last night, my blood felt like it was at a permanent rolling boil.
The night had been fine, fantastic even, until Mac pulled that caveman stunt, yanking me over the damn bar and dragging me into the storage closet.
Who the hell did he think he was?
I made it perfectly clear that I needed space. That whatever we had was over because my trust was worn thin.
Grabbing the next book from my cart, I checked the label, funneled through the shelf, and slammed it into the empty space with more force than necessary.
The battle in my head raged on, my face scrunched in frustration. If anyone were watching me, they’d probably think I was insane as I argued with the voices inside my head.
I was beyond frustrated with how things had ended between us.Six months. That’s how long it had been. Six months of stolen glances, of laughter, of whispered conversations in the dark. Six months of tangled sheets and tangled emotions.
And then, one morning, it all blew up.
Everything we did, every unspoken promise, burned to the ground.
I ran, not looking back, and put as much distance between us as I possibly could, given the circumstances.
My hearthurt.
I was wounded and stubborn enough to let the pain keep me from turning around, from letting him in again.
For a brief moment in that closet, I had considered hearing him out—letting him explain why he hadn’t told me. Maybe I would have understood if it had only been a month or two. But six whole months spent together? He’d chosen to keep a secret that big, knowing damn well the entire time.
“Stupid bastard,” I muttered under my breath, turning on my heel, gripping the book in my hand a little too tightly.
As I spun, I nearly collided with something small yet solid. I jolted back just in time to see a little girl standing before me, wide-eyed and curious.
Winnie.
Her mom was a frequent visitor to the library, and at seven years old, Winnie was already reading far beyond her age. I knew that because she always came to me for help with the “big words” she couldn’t quite figure out. Normally, she curled up in one of the bean bag chairs with her favorite short chapter books, completely lost in the pages.
But today, she was standing in front of me, head tilted to the side, blonde curls bouncing around her face, and a bright pink bow perched on top.
“What’s a bastard?” she asked, her voice as innocent as could be.
Shit.
I cleared my throat, willing my face to look composed even though panic was flaring inside me. Dropping into a squat, mydress pooling around my knees, I placed a gentle hand on her arm.
