Page 32 of Playing Pretend

“Everything okay?” Max gives me a side-eye glance. “You’re very…pink.”

I’m fucking flushed. Head to toe. Inside and out.

The exact opposite of okay.

I’m on such a unique level of not-okay-ness that I require my own brand-spanking-new dictionary definition. One which outlines the mortification of having your best friend’s hard dick permanently tattooed onto your retinas, with your name written all over it.

“Piper?” Max frowns.

“I’m great. I’m great. I’m great.” I’m floundering.

It has to have been a joke, right?

A really,reallybad one that crossed every line imaginable.

“Come on.” Max tugs me through the foyer and outside to the grassed area where colleagues and partners stand listening to Pete recite game rules.

We pause at the edge of the gathering closest to the building, but I’m too busy glancing over my shoulder, waiting for Rome to come after me.

“I’m going to stand on the other side,” I whisper, extricating my arm from Max’s. “I’ll see you on the playing field.”

He continues to frown at me as I sneak away.

“It should be a relatively fast and fun game,” Pete announces.

I pause behind a tall guy from the Newport Beach office and chance a glance at the doors leading to the foyer.

Shit.

Rome strides outside, freshly dressed in a polo shirt and khaki pants, his gaze meeting mine.

I look away, my throat tightening, my stomach doing a pirouette.

“The winning team gets their choice of treatment from the resort spa,” Pete adds.

“What are the teams?” I call out, hoping for an excuse to stay away from Mr. Masturbator.

“Office against office.”

Fuck.“Wouldn’t it be better if we mixed teams and competed against our significant others?” I ask.

Rome skirts the crowd, closing in.

“We’re always competing against the other office.” I’m clutching at straws. Nobody else cares about the game or the spa treatment. From the glowers of frustration turning my way, all anyone wants is the shortest delay from returning to the bar as possible.

“It’s just a suggestion,” I mutter as everyone returns their attention to Pete.

Rome stops mere inches behind me, his proximity awakening my skin in a wash of goose bumps. “You can attempt to delay this all you like,” he murmurs near my ear. “But we’re going to talk about what happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I keep my gaze glued to my boss. “I invaded your privacy. I apologized. End of discussion.”

“I appreciate your suggestion, Piper.” Pete smiles at me. “But we’ll stick to what we’re used to for now. On your marks, get set,go.”

Nobody moves.

I sprint.

I don’t care if it makes me look like a competitive kiss-ass. I dash over the grass and out of sight, not stopping until sand hits my toes. I find a palm tree and hide behind it, one hundred percent acting like a child in the face of adversity as I plaster my hands and torso to the trunk.

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