Page 34 of The Biker and the Gamer
Once I’m breathing normally and feeling like myself again, I pull away from him. He sweeps damp hair from my sweat-coated forehead. “You have those a lot? Panic attacks.”
“What do you know about them?” I ask, averting my eyes, feeling weak for letting him see me like that.
“Not much, really,” he admits. “But my mom used to have them a lot when we were growing up. They’ve never told us why. But I always remember how my dad would pull her into him and wrap himself so tightly and around her that she would make a little squeak. And he’d never let her go until she was calm. It always worked.”
Tugging at the hem of my crop top, I look any and everywhere but at him. “Worked for me, too, so…thanks.”
“Hey,” he says, catching my chin and making me look at him. “Having a panic attack doesn’t make you weak. I know you need to keep your badass street rep, but this is nothing to be ashamed about.”
Sucking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I tell him, “I hate how much I like you.” I shake my head. “You’re so annoying.”
His lips quirk up. “Annoyingly hot? Annoyingly awesome?”
I roll my eyes. “Nope. Just annoying.”
He sweeps his thumb across my bottom lip, then dips his head and kisses me.NowI’m grounded. Wholly and completely. I bow into him, kissing him deeply, passionately, loving the solidity of his entire being.
When he breaks, he touches his forehead to mine and tells me, “We don’t have to talk anymore about what happened. Not until you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
After urging me back into my seat, we continue eating. My appetite, for the most part, is nonexistent at this point, but I feed my body because I know it’s hungry.
We talk about more neutral things to lighten the mood, but I’m only partially paying attention to our conversation. The larger part of my focus is on him. I don’t understand how it got to this. I don’t understand why I like him. I don’t understand this feeling under my skin. I don’t understand why my heart flutters when I look at him. I don’t understand whyhim. How could two unlikely people come together and create such undeniable chemistry? Have such amazing sex? Enjoy each other’s company so thoroughly when we both have completely different interests?
I don’t understand.
I just don’t.
Afterwards, both stuffed to the gills, we lie on the couch and Netflix the next couple of hours away—he forces me to watch a really weird series calledA Series of Unfortunate Events. Something I never would have chosen on my own but end up enjoying. It’s strange and weird and quirky. Like him.
“I can’t believe I’m watching—and enjoying—a kiddies show,” I mumble at one point.
“Depends on why you’re watching it,” he says into my hair. We’re snuggled up on the couch—me between his legs, back to his chest, his arms around me. “For entertainment or inspiration.”
“I’m not an artist. I don’t need to beinspired.”
“We’re all artists,” he refutes. “Depending on how you look at it, everything we do and do well, is art. You’re good at crunching numbers. You don’t think that’s art?”
“Uh, no. Not really.”
He taps two fingers to my temple. “It’s all in your mindset.”
A little while later, my phone rings from somewhere in the house. Reluctantly peeling away from Alec’s warmth, I go in search of it.
It’s on the vanity in the bathroom. I don’t recognize the number flashing on the screen. “Hello?”
“Hi, Miss Tisdale. This is Tiffany—Alec Vaughn’s assistant. So sorry for calling you, but I’m not getting through to his phone. Is he with you?”
“Oh, um, yeah. Hang on.”
I pad out to the living room and hold the phone out to Alec. When he frowns at me, I mouth, “Tiffany.”
His frown deepens as he takes the phone. “Hey, Tiffany…yeah, you too…Uh-huh…Oh, shit! I totally forgot…Yeah, thanks for reminding me…Okay—wait, Tiffany?...How did you know I was here?...Okay. Thanks again. Chat soon.”
He hangs up and hands the phone back to me.
“So?” I prod. “How did she know?”
