Page 28 of The Biker and the Gamer
The Gamer:You’re all I think about.
Me:No
The Gamer:I want to see you. I want to see your eyes.
Me:No
The Gamer:I want to kiss you…
The Gamer:Hard.
A shot of heat rushes to my core as I imagine those firm, sexy lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth…Dammit. Why couldn’t he have just moved on with his life and left me alone?
Me:3895 Sweet Timber Drive, Cherry Hills Village
Setting my phone face-down on my chest, I turn my head to the couch. Leyana is watching me with a look of amused interest.
“We’ll have to cut TV time short tonight,” I tell her. “I’m getting a visitor.”
“Hmm, this is new. You haven’t had a ‘visitor’ since you moved in.” She picks up the remote and points it at the TV, switching it off. “Is it that the gamer guy?”
I give her a look, feeling territorial. “What do you know about him?”
“You asked me to pick up some stuff from him once, remember?” She laughs and folds the top of her Doritos bag. “He’s super-hot, by the way. In, like, a Clark Kent kind of way.”
“Oh.” I touch the choker around my neck. It’s one of the many items he’d bought me that day. “Yeah, it’s him.”
“I don’t mean anything by this, but the last guy I saw you with had tattoos up to his throat. Clark Kent gamer guy doesn’t seem like your type.”
“He isn’t.” I peel myself up off the floor. “It’s gonna take him around twenty minutes to get here from RiNo. Fifteen if he drives as recklessly as he usually does. When he gets here, can you let him in and show him where to go?”
“Of course.” She pops up from the couch and slips her tiny socked feet into her white Chanel sliders. “Have fun, babe. And be sure to change before he gets here—you’ve got guac stains on your blouse.” She gives me a quick hug before skipping off.
As I watch her leave, I wonder about her. I’ve never seen her with anyone except Grunt, and according to both of them, nothing happened between them. Not to mention that was well over three years ago. The girl’s pushing twenty-four and she’s never really dated. Anyone. Something’s seriously wrong there. Especially since she’s a freaking bombshell. When I say she’s got it, I mean she’sgotit.Allof it. Men arealwaysleering at her, trying to get her number, askingmeto hook them up. But she’s never showed any interest. Inanyone.
I’m missing something…
But now is not the time to think too much about my strange new friend. I need to clean up the crumbs she left all over my couch and grab a shower. And maybe roll myself a joint to calm my anxious heart.
I don’t recognize myself. I’m not the girl who gets ‘giddy’ over men. Never. Literally, notever. But look at me now, darting around the pool house like a tween on prom night.
After showering and moisturizing, I don a black camisole and a pair of military-print leisure shorts.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch with the coffee table drawn close, conveniently positioned so I can prep and roll my blunt. As I’m running my tongue along the thin wrapper to tame it for a smoother wrap, I sense someone’s presence and glance up.
Alec Vaughn stands between the open French double doors, the white sheer curtains billowing around him in the cool night breeze. Plaid shorts, plain white t-shirt and flip-flops, hands in his pockets.
“Continue,” he says with a crooked smile. “I’ve never witnessed the art of rolling a joint from scratch before.”
Not that I planned on stopping. This is a process that, once started, has to be finished. So, under his intense and unnerving gaze, I continue to roll my joint.
When I’m through, I get up and tap it against my palm as I move toward him. “Wanna hit it first?”
His eyes are all over me, unsettled. “No, thanks.”
“My tongue touched it,” I coax, stopping in front of him. “Licked it so good it submitted under my thumb.”
He moves in. “I’ll settle for the real deal instead.” And before I understand his intentions, he has my face between his palms and his mouth is on mine.
