Page 17 of The Wild Card
He shifts his arm to the back of my chair, letting his thumb trail over the bare skin above the top of my dress. “I do like games. So long as both parties are playing by the same set of rules. This?” He gestures between us with his other hand. “Isyourgame. You asked me to play, but I’m still not sure about the rules or how to win. Or”—he pauses and for a few heart-pounding beats, he stares at my lips—“the prize.”
Gulp. Does this makemethe prize? Does hewantto win? Suddenly this feels like the most important game I’ve ever played.
But he’s wrong. It’s not my game, and I don’t know the rules. The object seems to be surviving this luncheon and walking away with a job.
Aside from that, I have no idea.
“I’m just trying to keep up with you,” he continues. “And maybe having a bit of fun along the way.”
His words seem steeped in layers of meaning. And his delivery, in a low, deep voice with his blue eyes fixed on mine, makes me shiver.
At the head of the conference table, Kelvin stands and begins a boring introduction, which I only half listen to. Maybe tenpercent listen to. Because I’m way more invested in this little side conversation with my not-real boyfriend. Though given my apparent penchant for not remembering people, I should be paying attention to Kelvin introducing the various people in this room.
“I wasn’t trying to play a game,” I say, feeling unsteady and suddenly a little weepy when I think about my current life circumstances, my desperation for this job to work, and the lie I have to maintain—at least temporarily—if there’s any hope of me sticking around. Crying at this moment would be the worst thing in the world, so I draw in a breath and do my best to keep my words even. “I just needed help.”
My voice only breaks a little. On the wordhelp, of course. I know I’m not the only one who hates asking for help. Who hatesneedinghelp. This is common for many people. But it’s my very particular Achilles’ heel.
I’ve always wanted to be strong and independent like Chase. My big brother has always seemed kind of perfect. Even in his ability to shrug off Dad’s control and set up a new life several states away. He seemed to cut ties—or at least, greatly distance himself—so easily.
Unlike Chase, who really did seem to have things come easy, I had to fight for so much. Academics. At times, self-worth. The ability to say no when my father tries to make me do something.
I’m such a coward that I didn’t even tell my parents I was going to Austin, afraid they’d somehow keep me from going to visit Chase.
I packed a bag and took an Uber, sending a text only once I’d landed in Texas. I might have a college degree, but I feel like a child in so many ways.
Beside me, Mr. Biceps’s expression softens, and his hand moves from my chair to a spot between my shoulders where he rubs a slow circle with his thumb. It’s meant to be calming, andit is, but it also awakens a whole lot of nerve endings I’m not sure have ever been engaged before.
In a flash, this look paired with this touch seems to obliterate the memories of every guy I’ve ever liked.
“Then I’ve got you, darlin’,” he says, leaning toward me until I’m dangerously close to drowning in those blue eyes. “And I’ll help with anything you need.”
If we weren’t sitting at a table with a bunch of strangers, this would be one of those inevitable kiss moments. The tension between us isn’t crackling; it’s a roaring fire about to take down the building.
He’ll help me with whatever I need? Okay, nameless guy with the biceps and the eyes and the honeyed words, I’m gonna get started on a list of what I need. Stat. And it will belong.
But as for immediate needs, there is only one.
“Okay. Tell me your name.”
He opens his mouth but before he can speak, the door flies open and what feels like a whole army of people enter the room.
No—not an army. Just my brother, his wife and …
TheGrahams.
Tank and Pat and James and—my eyes land on the man seated beside me, whose arm falls away at the sight of my brother’s frown—Collin.
The realization hits me with all the subtlety of an uppercut.
“And this is when location sharing with your family is a bad idea,” Collin mutters.
Out of an entire fairground full of people, I asked Collin Graham, a man I’ve met and shouldabsolutelyhave remembered, to be my fake boyfriend without recognizing who he was.
I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out when he mentioned Jo. His niece. Harper talks about her all the time. So stupidly obvious. But somehow, in the high-stress environment and withthis being totally out of context, the connection simply didn’t make sense.
Until now.
Collin grins, the smile of a man who knew who I was the whole time, but it’s lost the teasing edge. “Guess the pieces are falling into place, huh?”
