Page 42 of Game Changer

“I’ve done some work with the foundation. I could answer your questions,” Clay says when I’m finished.

I’m surprised, both because I didn’t see anything in his profile about that and because he’s offering. “You kicked me out of your car last night, and now you’re offering to help.”

“I needed my beauty sleep.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?”

There’s a pause.

“You get any prettier, it’s gonna be a problem.”

My heart skips.

A compliment from Clayton Wade? It’s like a diamond pried from the dirt.

That—and the safety of being miles away from him—makes me bold.

“I thought you might have had to get to other company. Like the Kardashian who texted you.”

“Huh?”

I wave a hand in the air. “Or whatever you call your hot-girl Kodiak groupies. Kodashians?”

He snorts. It feels good to have a joke with him.

“That’s it, your laugh for the day,” I point out.

“Right.”

“Unless maybe the photo didn’t include her left boob, so it was a no?”

This time, he chuckles out loud. “That would be a dealbreaker.”

“Oh no, that’s two laughs,” I warn. “A clear violation of the one-a-day rule.”

“Guess you’re my exception.”

I like the sound of that.

I survey the drawing in front of me again, glad he can’t see it.

“Good, because I’m not lining up like one of your Kodashians.”

“Never asked you to.”

“And I don’t care who you got off with last night,” I inform him, cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear as I start to add the tattoos on his shoulder.

His biceps are bigger, I’m sure of it.

I bite my lip and shade the contour accordingly.

“Then I don’t need to tell you it was a solo mission.”

My pencil bounces off my knee, clattering to the floor.

I uncross and recross my legs, feeling a delicious tug between my thighs as I imagine him lying back in bed, reaching into his sweatpants and wrapping his fist around his length.

Last night, he made it seem like he regretted the kiss. Today, he’s planting the image of him getting himself off squarely in my mind.

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