Page 35 of Playing Pretend

A group went to the beach. Others scrambled to make spa appointments on the company dime while Cassidy, Vanessa, and Annabelle went for a walk.

Rome and I stayed at the resort and grabbed a table at the restaurant. I would’ve preferred to remain in the open air instead of an enclosed space with all the memories that continue to haunt me. But at least the meal was nice. The cocktails, too.

The problem is, no amount of alcohol can stop me from fixating on how our relationship is changing. After less than twenty-four hours, this so-called challenge has spun our friendship on its axis. And not for the better. Yet Rome seems oblivious.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Julian caused trouble this morning.” He finishes his last French fry and places his cutlery on his plate.

Now he’s apologizing for the wrong things. He could’ve begged forgiveness for touching me. Kissing me. Exposing me to his OnlyFans performance. Instead, he’s worried about not being around when my ex lashed out.

I finish my hamburger and reach for the cloth napkin to dab my mouth. “You don’t need to be sorry. I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”

“I know. And even though I want to fight them for you, I never would. You’re well and truly capable. I just would’ve liked to have been able to support you through it.”

Maybe I should try to be like him. Less uptight. More carefree. At least on the topics that are bringing me down at the knees. If he can see the physical developments between us as nothing more than byproducts of the challenge, why can’t I?

“Your support is the one constant I can always rely on,” I admit. “If I’d needed you, I know you would’ve come running.”

“If brownie points are in the mix, I’d like it noted that I literallydidcome running. From five miles down the beach.”

I suppress a laugh. “It’s noted.”

“I was your knight in shining armor.”

“You were the joker in sweaty gym gear,” I counter. “I can still taste the salty perspiration.”

He smirks. “I can still taste you, too, little Pip.”

I groan and push to my feet. “I think it’s time to relocate outside for a drink.”

He follows me from the restaurant, practically glowing with smug confidence. But I’m the one who grabs his hand as we walk for the outdoor bar.Imake the first move.Itake the lead.

Claiming some semblance of control is necessary. I just wish it didn’t come with the butterflies that take over my belly.

We’re escorted to a table with an ocean view. We order alcohol. Then we sit for hours while I try to convince myself that sliding my palm against his for the four-hundred-yard walk out here didn’t feel entirely natural.

The sun beams down on the few small groups in the pool. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of Annabelle and her husband at the beach, his black hair whipping about with the slight breeze.

Rome steers the conversation toward business for a long time. We chat effortlessly about Bellefont and how he and Rett are considering employing a full-time realtor instead of contracting. Like always, he asks for my opinion and listens intently to my response.

This is one thing I adore about Rome. He never ceases making me feel worthy, or valued, or smart. He takes in my suggestions without interruption, ticking them over in that savvy brain of his before giving feedback that improves my ideas even further.

We would work great together.

The perfect team.

I just need to restore my brain to factory settings so I don’t get a flash of scandalous bathroom memories every time those dark eyes meet mine. His hand clenched around that massive cock, stroking over and over…

I swirl the plastic swizzle stick around my second Long Island Iced Tea and take another sip.

“You’re thinking about me naked, aren’t you?” Rome studies me from across the table.

I snap from my daze with a quick shake of my head, the destabilizing effects of one too many cocktails making my brain slosh. “No.”

“You sure? Your cheeks have turned pink again.”

“Because youremindedme about seeing you nakedagain.” I take a gulp of liquor. “Anytime you’d like to stop inserting your manhood into the conversation I’d be greatly appreciative.”

He snickers. “I’ll try my best not toinsertmymanhoodanywhere it isn’t welcome…as long as you tell me what you were really thinking.” His tone softens. “Everything okay? You’ve gone quiet.”

---