Page 22 of How to Play the Player

“Quinn implied I lacked…self-control,” I finally admit. “She thinks I’m incapable of restraint.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong,” he murmurs.

Damn, he didn’t need to be that harsh. I breathe out a deep sigh.

“So she called you out,” Jake tries to simplify.

“No. She made a bet. Two weeks. No penetrative sex, hookups, or paparazzi photos of me out at clubs or with other women.”

He laughs. “Damn. So what are the stakes?”

“If I break, I publicly admit I never had concrete proof she leaked our merger details.”

“Wow! Didn’t see that one coming.”

“So I challenged her right back.”

“What do you mean by ‘challenged her back’?” He searches for my logic. To be fair, I wasn’t using any at the time.

I reach for a stress ball on my desk, working it between my fingers. “That she can't resist me in that time. And if she breaks, she walks away from Jonathan’s contract.”

Jake whistles low. “Those are some high stakes.”

“It’s not like she’ll win. And I’d be an idiot if I let her.”

Jake watches me intently. “Sure, but betting on someone’s attraction usually means you’ve noticed something that suggests otherwise.”

The memory of Quinn’s pupils dilating when I stood close to her, the catch in her breath when I called her out on her lingering attraction—These details I hadn't meant to notice cross my mind.

“It’s just physical,” I dismiss. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

Jake tosses the ball back to me. “So you’re risking a public admission of being wrong on your ability to resist sex for two weeks? That’s your brilliant plan?”

Put in those terms, the bet sounds even more reckless than it did when I made it.

I stay silent, putting all my focus on the stress ball in my hands.

“What happens when you lose?” Jake asks, his tone measured.

“IfI lose,” I counter, “which I won’t.”

“Right, because abstaining is also a strong suit of yours.” His sarcasm isn’t helping. “Remind me, how many women have you been with this month alone? You know what would be easier than this ridiculous bet?” Jake asks, leaning forward. “Actually processing what happened between you and Quinn instead of drowning it in an endless parade of meaningless encounters.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” I protest the ugly truth.

“No?” Jake gives me a look that’s equal parts concern and challenge. “Then what are you doing with these women? Playing mini golf? You’re not moving on, Nathan. You’re just keeping busy.”

I toss the stress ball toward the wall, frustrated, as it bounces back into my hand. “That’s not the same thing.”

“How?”

“Because none of them matter.” The truth slips out before I can catch it, hanging awkwardly between us.

Jake’s expression shifts from skepticism to something uncomfortably close to understanding. “And Quinn does?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” He shifts his weight, voice dropping. “Look, I’ve watched you move through women like revolving doors for a year now, and not once have you seemed genuinely interested in a long-term relationship with any of them. It’s like you’re trying to prove something.”

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