Page 17 of Playing Pretend

My stomach flips. Tumbles. He says it so simply, unraveling my childhood memories with ease and contorting them into something different.

“Rome,” Max says from farther down the table. “Can you spill any secrets on the Bellefont development? Just how ludicrously expensive are those condos going to be when they hit the market?”

Rome continues to stare at me. Silent. Hypnotizing.

Is he serious? Was there a time when he felt something more than friendship between us?

Finally, he drags his attention to Max. “Exceptionally ludicrous. No expense has been spared.”

I release the congealed air from my lungs and grasp my cocktail. I graduate from sipping. I don’t even use the straw. I guzzle from the rim, trying to be as ladylike as possible while dousing my soul in liquor.

What would’ve happened if we’d dated?

No. It wasn’t possible with our age gap.

When I was sixteen, he was twenty-two. Or worse, at twelve, he was eighteen. At no time would it have been socially or morally acceptable. Not even close. So, when the hell could he have had a crush on me?

I fixate on the question as a waitress takes our meal orders.

I’m still neck deep in thought through dinner while Rome enjoys the focus of my colleagues as he eats. They grill him about the Bellefont Residences. They schmooze and try to butter him up.

I remain a deer in headlights.

I’ve had an additional cocktail and barely half my fried chicken and roast vegetables when the waitress returns to offer the dessert menu. But I can’t take any more social interaction.

I stand, dabbing my mouth with the cloth napkin before placing it on the table. “I’m sorry, guys…” My head sways from the sudden ascent. Thank you, potent liquor. “I’m going to call it an early night.”

I’m greeted with groans, protests, and pleas.

“I’m exhausted and still haven’t unpacked yet,” I add. “I haven’t even been inside my room. So I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Rome pushes back his chair.

“No.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “Stay. Enjoy yourself.”

“I plan on doing exactly that back in our suite.” He stands, giving me a look. A scandalous one. Implying to everyone in the vicinity that this is a prelude to a massive sex fest.

Son of a bitch.

Laughter erupts from my colleagues. Snickers and rude references, too.

I glance around the restaurant, praying the other office—especially Julian—isn’t in the vicinity to hear this gag-inducing display. I find the Newport Beach table. But they don’t pay us attention. My ex is still nowhere in sight.

“Good night all.” Rome takes my hand. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“I’m sure we will,” Cassidy croons. “Just not as much as the two of you.”

More laughter is shared at my expense.

Death isn’t enough. I need him to suffer.

I force a smile, then turn and measure my stride from the restaurant with Rome at my side.

It isn’t until we’re enclosed in the elevator that I snatch my hand from his and glare. “If you’re confident I won’t be able to put up with your bullshit for the next three days, the least you can do is not ruin my prospects at the job I have to return to.”

“It was your confidence that started this. I thought you could handle me?”

I clench my teeth.

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