Page 30 of How to Play the Player

“Sold,” I agree.

Ian relays the order to the kitchen, then gets pulled away by other customers. I’m left alone with my thoughts and a glass of water as an alternative to a drink until food arrives. The bar’sambient noise—laughter, clinking glasses, music playing at just the right volume—creates a comforting buffer between me and the chaos in my head.

But before I can truly enjoy the sound of silence, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Letting out a deep sigh, I pull it out to find a text from Meredith, a gorgeous redhead I met at a charity gala last month.

Free tonight? My bed is feeling empty…

Five words that would typically have me texting back immediately. Simple, uncomplicated release—exactly what I need after today. Except I can’t. Not if I want to win this bet.

My fingers hover over the screen for a moment before I start typing.

Raincheck? Swamped with work this week.

Her response comes almost immediately.

Sure thing! Just let me know when you’re…less swamped

I slip my phone back into my pocket, frustration coiling tighter in my chest. This is going to be harder than I thought. Not just turning down willing women—though that’s its own special kind of torture—but resisting the pull toward Quinn that I’ve spent so long trying to deny.

Today at the vineyard, watching Quinn, I saw the respect in Jonathan’s eyes as she outlined her PR strategy, something he rarely shows people. Trying to impress Jonathan is like learning to ride a unicycle. A near to impossible feat, she managed to do it in a single afternoon. Witnessing that was as surreal as glimpsing into a parallel universe. A world where things hadn’tgone so catastrophically wrong between us. Where the leak never became one. Where she was still mine.

The memory of her nearly stumbling on the path flashes through my mind. Grabbing her, steadying her, was from pure instinct. And once I did, I immediately regretted it. Just one simple touch of her softness is one of the many things that has me going into a spiral. The jolt I felt between us at the contact was too hard to miss. Those blue eyes widening, her breath catching, before she seemed to reclaim her composure and mask whatever reaction was replaced by cool professionalism. The worst part of it all? When she did pull away from my grasp, I felt her absence under my fingertips.

My cock hardens, straining against my zipper like I’m some desperate teenager rather than a grown man with self-control. Dammit. Barely two days into this bet and I’m already fighting with myself.

I shift uncomfortably on the barstool, grateful for the dim lighting and the counter between me and the rest of the bar. Giving into my player tendencies when I walked out of Quinn’s life was supposed to purge her from my system. But clearly my… soldier didn’t get the memo. I clench my jaw in frustration.

“It’s just physical. It means nothing,” I murmur to myself, the same words I’ve repeated like a mantra. “She’s just a woman. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

But if that were true, why did I form my hands into fists as I watched Quinn look at Jonathan and Kiera at the gazebo? Besides my own discomfort, why did I see a flash of longing cross her face as my brother shared a kiss with his fiancée?

“Food for thought?” Ian asks, pulling me away from my tormenting thoughts. The plate in his hand smells good, of cooked meat and french fries.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” I roll my eyes as he sets the food in front of me.

“Eat. It helps.”

I take a bite, and damn if he isn’t right. The food is exceptional and the extra fuel starts to wake me back up again. “Man, what did you do to this burger? It’s fantastic,” I compliment between bites.

“Thanks, man.” Ian seems pleased as he sits down beside me. “You know, when Kami and I first got together, I wasn’t exactly her favorite person.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How could I forget? Volunteering yourself as her fiancé without her permission didn’t exactly win you brownie points.”

He grins, completely unrepentant. “Best bad decision I ever made.”

“Your point?”

“Just that sometimes the path to something good isn’t always straightforward.” He shrugs. “And holding grudges is exhausting.”

Before I can give a retort about decisions, my phone rings—Jake is calling this time. I accept the call.

“Please tell me you’re calling with a genuine work emergency,” I say instead of hello.

Jake’s laugh comes through the speaker. “Not even close. Jonathan just texted that the venue tour went well. Said he was satisfied with Quinn’s ideas.”

No surprise. “Fascinating,” I mutter sarcastically.

“That bad, huh?”

---