Page 39 of The Player (Close Quarters 5)

I’MFUCKED.Literally and figuratively.

Last night was a rollercoaster of emotions and, like a rollercoaster, left me screaming. But I made one mistake... I spent the night.

I sit up in the middle of Rowan’s enormous king-size bed and push my hands through my hair, staring at the empty space next to me. It’s rumpled in a way that’s distinctly Rowan-shaped.

We might live in the same building, but I’m pretty sure that’s where the similarities end as far as our apartments are concerned. Mine is a little one-bedroom place and I can tell, simply from the layout of his bedroom, that his is much bigger. Then there’s the rest of it—the giant bed, the sheets that feel like they’re spun from baby kittens and the tears of angels, the ensuite bathroom with the tub big enough for two.

Ask me how I know that...

“Ugh, what have you done?” I mutter.

What have I done? Whathaven’tI done?

After defiling both the balcony and his bed, we got hot and heavy in the bathtub. Then in the kitchen while eating ice cream directly from the tub, and then again back in his bed—half-asleep and so familiar it made my body turn to goo. Sex with Rowan feels old and new at the same time. Old and new in thebestways possible. Like he knows everything about me.

Like he cherishes me.

But that’s not true. This is fun, to him. Casual. And I’m supposed to be swearing off men to focus on my career.

Now I have those two things well and truly entangled.

I swing my legs out of the bed and get dressed. Maybe I can sneak out without him noticing. I hear the clack of drawers closing and the whir of a coffee machine. A second later, I smell it—fresh liquid gold.

I almost groan in delight. Damn him.

I nudge the bedroom door open as quietly as I can. His apartment, like mine, is completely open plan aside from the bedrooms and bathrooms. I spot him across the room. His back is to me.

He’s topless, and the muscles in his arms and back turn my mouth dry as he makes his coffee. Rowan isn’t the bulky kind of ripped, like his brother. He’s leaner—more sleek panther than big bear.

My gaze darts to the front door. If I move quickly and quietly and catch enough luck that he doesn’t turn, I might be able to make it out. Why am I doing a vanishing act? I don’t know. Maybe because I’m terrified that the second he looks at me, he’ll see how much I still want him.

I scratched the itch and it’s only made it worse.

“Don’t even think about running out of here without saying goodbye,” Rowan says without turning around.

“Have you got eyes in the back of your head or something?” I huff. Damn it, I really thought I had a chance there.

“Shiny knobs.” He indicates the oversized handles on his cupboard doors. “I saw the bedroom door open and figured it was more likely to be you than a ghost.”

“I wastryingto be a ghost,” I mutter.

“Too afraid to face me in the light of day?” He turns around and walks over, two coffees in his hand. He presses one into my grip and I don’t even try to resist.

“Busted.” I take a sip and it’s glorious. “I figured it might be better that way.”

“I can’t pretend it didn’t happen...twice. Or are we calling it three times now. Do blow jobs count?”

“Two and a half,” I say with a smirk. God, two and a half is verging on a pattern. A habit. “Although I didn’t know it was you, so maybe that one can be a gimme?”

He smiles, but it’s not his usual cocky smirk. Nor his shit-eating, smug grin. This is...softer. Realer. “I guess the thing that really matters is whether or not it’s going to happen again.”

I cradle the coffee cup and look down into the dark liquid. Rowan isn’t letting me shy away from my feelings or what we’ve done. He isn’t letting me pretend this was anoopsie.

“I’m pushing too hard, aren’t I?” he says.

I shake my head. “Honestly, I thought you’d be happy for me to take off so we could avoid this conversation.”

“Why?”

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