Page 67 of Scoring the Player
“Blue.”
Always the prey with him.
Rubbing the heel of my hand against my pounding chest, I step back. Salem’s back is to me as he stares out the window.
I open my mouth to speak, but when he turns around and looks me square in the eyes, I choke.
“You ran,” he says.
Goddamn his tailor.He’s smoking in a mustard-colored suit. The smooth swell of his chest peeks through his partially open, pale blue button-down. I can make out a portion of his tat—black spider legs. I open my mouth again, and I’m reminded of part of the reason I’m choked up. I’m a coward.
“I-I…”
The doors burst open. “Did you find the fresco? Isn’t it a marvel?”
Salem clears his throat, and the server jumps out of his skin.
“Holy balls!” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I’mnothere,” Salem replies, making for the door.
“W-wait.” I dart in front of him before throwing, “We’re in the middle of something,” over my shoulder to the server.
“Find me later?” the server asks.
“He’s free now,” Salem answers, sidestepping me.
“Stop.” I match his steps. “Can we talk?”
“Why?” he demands as the doors thud closed, leaving us alone.
I hang my head and release a strangled breath.
“Enjoy your night, Arnaz.”
Fuck.
The fading sound of his footsteps is like a cold hand in the small of my back.
I bolt for him, blood rushing in my ears until it’s washed out by my panicked, “Wait!”
My foot kicks out, catching him mid-step, and the world tilts as my knee buckles, and we crash to the floor.
“Seriously?” His palms flatten next to his sides.
“Just wait. I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry.” I squeeze my thighs around him, and he goes still before he drags in a breath and pushes up. Suddenly, I’m riding him like a horse.
A horse with no reins.
Oh shit.
He lurches back, twisting left, but instead of bucking me off, he uses the momentum to reach back and yank me to the floor. As soon as I land with a thud, his arms bracket my head. His stare doesn’t hold the anger of a glare, but it’s steel-cold and sharp, like he’s assessing…me, my bullshit, if I’m worth the effort.
“Why’d you run?” His voice is dark and low. “Your scar?”
His lips are so close that the tightness in my chest makes each breath a miracle.
I can’t admit it.
