Page 21 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

Another bite of eggs fills my mouth as I weigh the pros and cons before swallowing it down.

“You might even have fun,” he prods, sensing how close I am to caving.

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

“Yeah?”

His disbelief makes me want to laugh, but I hold it in. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” His playful tone turns ominous as he leans forward and adds, “There’s one condition, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to have to touch you, Q.”

I shake my head. “I can’t—”

“I know. I know it’ll be hard.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I know,” he repeats, gently. “I know I don’t get it. I know that even if you sat me down and explained all the shit you went through with explicit detail, it still wouldn’t make me fully understand. But if you want to get past this, then you need to try. And you need to trust someone to help you.”

Staring at the cold eggs in front of me, I try not to get lost in my memories, but it’s so. Damn. Hard. “I’m not sure I know what trust is anymore.”

“I get that.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “But, you gotta try.”

The thought of him touching me—of anyone touching me—is torture. But the possibility of learning how to defend myself is so damn tempting that I’m desperate to reach out and grab hold of it. I’d give anything to feel powerful. Strong. Hell, pretty much anything that doesn’t include self-loathing and…dirty.

“Okay. I’ll try,” I whisper while hating the way my stomach feels like it’s been knotted inside of me.

“I won’t let you down,” he promises. “Go change. I’m gonna grab a quick shower. Then we’ll get to work.”

“Right now?” I ask with wide eyes.

“Yeah. No time like the present, right?” That same crooked smile makes my heart gallop before he stands up and strides toward the second floor, where I assume he’s going to shower.

With a gulp, I put our plates in the sink.

Well. Alright then.

8

Diece

With a sour look, I glare at the gray T-shirt folded on the bathroom counter before slipping it over my head. I’m not used to exercising in anything other than a pair of shorts, but I don’t want her to think I’m doing this for anything sexual, and it’s going to be hard enough not to get a fucking erection with her touching my chest when we brawl.

This was a bad idea.

After I slide on my dark-red joggers, I head across the hall and knock on Blue’s partially opened door, but she doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Blue?” I call out.

Silence.

“Blue?”

After another thirty seconds of silence, I jog down the stairs toward the gym. The door is cracked, and the rhythmic sound of exercise equipment confirms my suspicion. With a soft push, I open the door the rest of the way, but my steps falter when I find Q sprinting at full speed on the treadmill. Her tits are bouncing up and down as her feet pound against the machine with sweat dripping down her forehead. She’s lost in her own world, completely oblivious to my presence, and finally losing herself in something beneficial for her health—both mentally and physically.

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