Page 53 of Game Changer

“The best wow,” she says, nodding slightly. “You know how to make someone feel special.”

It’s more than that, and I need her to know that, so I reach for her chin and pinch it between my fingers as I guide it up so our eyes meet. “You are really special. You are exceptional. You know that, don’t you?”

She gazes directly into my eyes. “I know I’m special. Now, show me your apartment.”

I push the door open and step aside to let her enter first.

She steps into the entryway, her head volleying from left to right and back again. The décor is nothing to write home about. The furniture she’s looking at has been here since day one. I invested a small fortune in the navy blue sectional because the fabric was the softest I ever felt at the time I bought it. The salesperson at the furniture store threw the coffee table into the deal because I agreed to her suggestion to buy a small dining room table, bedframe and mattress that day, too.

The artwork on the walls is all Bauer’s early work. When he painted two large abstracts on canvas, I offered him two hundred bucks for the pair. He jumped on that deal. That opened the floodgates and my wallet because within six months, I bought a few sculptures, two charcoal drawings, and another three paintings.

Two of his more recent paintings are hanging in the main living room of my penthouse. When I walked into this apartment earlier today, I made a mental note to have all of his art shipped to my current home. All it’s doing here is collecting dust. I want it all where I can see it on a daily basis. My brother is talented beyond measure, and I need to start appreciating that more.

“This is nice, William,” she whispers. “It’s really nice.”

I accept the compliment with a smile. “Thank you.”

“You don’t strike me as a fake flower type of guy.” She laughs while pointing at a bouquet of near-perfect violet roses sitting in a white ceramic vase in the center of the coffee table.

The inspiration for those came from her Instagram. There were at least half a dozen posts of her holding violet roses.

I can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not. They’re real, and they’re for you.”

Her breath hitches as she charges toward them, dropping the bag slung over her shoulder onto the sectional. When she reaches the table, she bends over to inhale the fragrance of the roses. My gaze automatically goes to her ass.

She straightens and faces me, luring my eyes to the neckline of the dress. I have no idea how to label it, but it’s giving me a bird’s eye view of the top of her tits. This is the most I’ve ever seen of Opal’s body, and all I want is more.

“I wanted to get you a gift,” she confesses. “I did bring a bottle of wine. It’s in my bag.”

“You brought the game, too,” I point out before setting the special edition of Turquoise Crown next to the vase. “I appreciate that you lugged it all the way here for me.”

“How could I not?” She smiles, and it lights up her entire face. “It belongs in your home so you can play it whenever the urge strikes or whenever someone you want to play with comes over.”

The skin of her neck blooms pink with a blush before it slides over her cheeks.

“You’re the only one I want to play with,” I say in a low tone.

She bites the corner of her bottom lip. “I’m the only one you want to play the game with.”

It’s not framed as a question, but I answer as though it was, “I want to play with you, but it has nothing to do with that game.”

She looks into my eyes. “I want to play with you, too.”

It’s the most roundabout confirmation that a woman wants to fuck that I’ve heard in years, but I’ll take it. I want her desperately, but first, I need to feed her.

“Food first.” I kiss her forehead. “Then we play.”

Both of her eyebrows perk. “Is dinner ready now?”

32

Opal

“Pizza?”I rub my fingers over my bottom lip as I watch the expression on William’s face shift from confidence to amusement. “You’re making me a pizza?”

“She of little faith,” he says with a smirk. “I told you I make a great pepperoni pie, Opal.”

Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s yanked something from under the counter. It looks like a piece of black folded fabric. It must be an apron, or maybe it’s a kitchen towel. For all I know, he has his own chef’s jacket that he wears when he cooks.

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