Page 67 of Games We Play
Sloan lost any mirth hiding in her cheeks. “Excuse me?” Talk about a topic change!
“Maybe it was dumb of me, but I bought this book about the kind of relationship we have. Well, we’ve been reading it… and I realized that I need to be more forward about what I expect and need from a relationship with someone like you.”
“Is that so?” A huff of laughter escaped Sloan’s chest. “Go on. Tell me. I’m all ears.”
“When we talked on the phone about punishments, I admit, it turned me on.”Tell me something I don’t know, precious.“For the wrong reasons. I thought I was into the idea of being punished in the bedroom. Bad girl stuff, you know? But I think the reverse is truer. I’m much more motivated by rewards than punishments.”
“I see.” That was how these things tended to go. There were women who got off on intentionally messing up and getting their asses spanked and nipples twisted by the end of the night. Then there were those who got off on pleasing others. They were the ones who lit up when toldGood Job!in any situation.It doesn’t have to be sexual… but the response can often be.Gee. How in the world did Sloan know that? “If I’m being completely honest, I have to say that I enjoy doling out rewards more than punishments. You can only punish someone so much before you need a change of pace. Rewards are endless.”
Leah’s grin stretched from curl to curl. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“So, did you write down every time you thought of me?”
“Oh. You still want to do that?”
“Of course.”
Leah sifted through her bag.Is that the one I bought her? I can’t remember.These kitschy bags all looked the same after a while. In a perfect world, Sloan wouldn’t need a bag. There was something to be said for having a small wallet and a pocket to shove it in. Too bad her daily look required some makeup. Plus, she needed a comb, medicine, tissues…
Being a woman was too much work. When she wasn’t in the bathroom, fighting either cramps or a snarl in her wig, she was touching up her makeup because the men she worked with were fragile porcelain figurines who couldn’t handle a forty-year-old woman’s face in its natural state. She already pushed it with the gruff mannerisms and pantsuits. Was she prepared to lose business because she dared to not wear eyeliner for one day?
A piece of paper slid toward her, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Hello,” she said, snatching the paper. It was freshly torn from a notebook in Leah’s bag. “Let’s start counting, shall we?”
She had expected scratches representing every moment Leah thought about her in the past two weeks. Instead, she received one sentence details, some of them sweet, but most of them naughty.
“Monday. I’m decorating a cake with gold frosting that reminds me of your eyes.”
Something was trapped in Sloan’s throat again. She really needed to stop swallowing so much air.
“You okay?” Leah asked.
“This is… adorable.” Sloan had no idea what to make of it. On one hand, the idea that Leah spent so much time fantasizing about her inflated her ego until she was confident enough to take on half of Chicago. On the other?I don’t think any woman has been this infatuated with me before.If they had, she never hung around long enough to find out about it. This was usually the time Sloan decided that she had strung her girlfriend on long enough. Tonight would be the last hurrah, then…
She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Leah asked.
Sloan popped open her cross-body bag and pulled out the neatly folded paper from within its depths. “I think you win. Obviously, you’re given too much thinking time at your job.” She handed Leah her own paper.
Fingers tipped in warm, pink nails unfolded the note. Eyes lined in a light red widened to read the words. “You did it too?”
Sloan pocketed Leah’s extensive list of dirty and sweet thoughts. “You’re not the only one thinking about others all day. I’m also a fan of a nice fantasy or two. Life is stressful. Why not think about your girlfriend when times are tough?”
Leah gazed at her with more rapt attention. “You think of me as your girlfriend?”
“Honey.” Even though Sloan’s nerves piqued within her jittery heart, she still offered Leah the most no-nonsense smile. “I’ve flown you out here twice. I talk to you on the phone more than I talk to my own family. If that doesn’t make you my girlfriend by now, then I don’t know what does.”
She wouldn’t let Leah know what a big deal this was for her to admit, however.I haven’t had a real girlfriend since… college?How long ago was that? Fifteen years? Eighteen? The years went by so quickly that Sloan couldn’t tell when one ended and the next began.A girlfriend. Me. How preposterous.She wasn’t starting to settle down at forty, was she?
If I could settle down at thirty, then I suppose it’s not too difficult at forty.Actually, it was more difficult. Because Sloan already knew what that yoke felt like. She knew its constricting grip like she knew her own body. Escaping that life and making a new one for herself meant never looking back.
Who knew that looking forward might make her see a woman like Leah Vaughn?
“You’re okay with having me as your girlfriend? Because, I…” Leah looked like she didn’t know whether to smile or grunt in disbelief. “I’ve been really careful how I talk about you to my friends. They know I’m seeing someone, but I’ve made sure to not use words likegirlfriend.I wasn’t sure how you felt about it.”
Sloan glanced across the restaurant.Where are you, mister reporter?The only single man lurking in an upscale French restaurant on Valentine’s Day would be a reporter. They were notorious for infiltrating these places on romantic holidays, hoping to catch everyone in high society cavorting with mistresses and attempting to smooth things over with estranged children.There he is. Is that a guy from the Tribune? No. He’s probably well-paid tabloid trash.
She briefly made eye contact with the man. He shoved his camera into his bag and pretended to be obsessed with his phone. Sloan knew the truth. He was taking subpar photos with his phone. Probably some of her and Leah.
