Page 42 of Rush the Edge

“Then what are you doing? Because surely you’re not helping me,” she laughs sarcastically, and I suddenly remember how much I love her laugh.

God. This is not good.

My head is spinning, especially as I stare at the smooth skin beneath her bra straps. I have an alarming urge to grip her hair in my fist to tug her head back so I can have access to her neck.

My dick hardens at the thought, and being alone in this stuffy room behind a locked door isn’t helping.

I react in the only way I know how to.

I get angry.

With her costume bundled in one of my fists, I pull it as hard as I can. The ripping of the fabric blends with my pounding heartbeat, and I watch as the frayed material falls freely from her body.

“Fixing the fucking problem,” I seethe.

Unfortunately, I’ve created an entirely new problem. As soon as Daisy turns around in a wrath of anger, I get an eyeful of her standing there in nothing but her panties and bra. I know the image will haunt me for days to come.

Daisy’s baby blues form into slits, but she’s so shocked that nothing comes out of her mouth.

“No costume, no mascot,” I say.

My chest swells with pride.

Now, maybe, I’ll be able to play a decent game without wondering where she is and if she’s watching me from the side.

I watch with a stone-cold expression as Daisy steps out of her torn costume. She kicks it toward me, landing at my feet. I make no move to look at it.

Daisy crosses her arms, mindlessly pushing her breasts up even higher. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

I cross my arms too. “Yes, you can.”

She sighs loudly, and it pulls my attention to her heart-shaped lips. “Why does it matter to you if I’m the mascot?” she asks. “Oh, and in case you’ve forgotten, you were the one who got me the job.”

“Because,” I snarl, “it fucks with my head.”

“How?!” She throws her hands up, and I wish she’d recross her arms, because at least it hides some of her body from me.

She didn’t want you, Kane. Don’t forget that.

The sting from that night still burns.

When I don’t answer her, she hastily stomps over to her bag. She pulls out a pair of jeans and starts to pull them up her legs furiously.

I stand back against the door with my arms crossed, smirking at her flustered behavior.

Sure, I’m flustered too, but I’ve been shadowing my emotions for years. She doesn’t have to know that I’m losing my mind while she’s parading half-naked in front of me.

In nothing but her jeans and lacy bra, she heads for me.

Shit.

My dick says that she’s winning this little war between us, but my head refuses to lose.

“How am I fucking with your head, Kane? I’m literally skating around in a ridiculous, giant devil costume.” Her cheeks are red with frustration, and for a split second, I think about grabbing onto them and shutting her up with a kiss.

“I’m not even doing anything,” she mumbles.

Doesn’t she get it?

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