Dangerous Games: A Standalone Second Chance Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  I smile, relishing in his compliment. “You wouldn’t have done anything,” I say after a beat.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Making a move on a girl you know is seeing someone isn’t really your style.”

  He shrugs. “Generally not, but people do crazy things for love.”

  I sip my water. “They most certainly do.”

  “So…” He clears his throat, his tone brightening. “Think you’re up to socializing? Grams made a bit of a…request.”

  I arch a brow. “A request?”

  “Family time.”

  “And what did she have in mind for this family time?”

  He chuckles as he shakes his head. “You won’t believe this. She wants to have a game night.”

  My eyes widen. “Game night?”

  “Yup.”

  To anyone else, this wouldn’t seem like a crazy idea, but Asher and I have a unique history with game night, considering it was a game night turned risqué that led to us finally kissing during that Vegas blackout.

  That led to us doing a lot of other things, too.

  “Well,” I say brightly, “I doubt Grams will want to play Never Have I Ever and spice it up with a pair of sexy dice.”

  “You never know,” he shoots back sarcastically. “Grams can be…unexpected.”

  “The best things often are.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “How could you not get that?” Reagan exclaims once the sand in the hourglass drains to the bottom.

  “Get what?” Sean shoots back in a lighthearted tone. “You drew a blob with glasses. How was I supposed to come up with ‘one smart cookie’ out of that?”

  “It’s obviously a cookie. I even put frosting and sprinkles on it because your favorite Christmas cookies are those little anisette ones.”

  “Like I said, a blob.”

  “Dad, just apologize and move on,” Asher interjects.

  At first, I was edgy when Grams paired Asher with me in this game of Pictionary, worried what we might reveal, but I think she forced us together for a reason. If nothing else, being on the same team, having to decipher one another’s horrific attempts at drawing, has eased the tension. There are a few sly glances and playful winks, but I don’t feel awkward. Even better, I don’t feel awkward being with him while Jessie’s in the same room.

  “Ma’s a lot more stubborn than you are,” Asher continues. “Plus, you should know to never argue with a woman unless you’re prepared to sleep on the couch.”

  Reagan straightens her spine, a smug expression on her face as she looks from Sean to Asher. “I knew I raised you right.” She winks. “Looks like it’s your turn,” she says to him. “Roll at least a four, guess the drawing, and you guys win.”

  “You should do the honors,” I say, scooping the die off the table. “That way, if we don’t get to the finish line, I can blame you for throwing the game.”

  “I appreciate that,” he retorts, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “I figured you would.”

  I extend my hand toward his, and he reaches for the die. When his fingers graze my skin, a rush spreads through me. I quickly pull away, acting as if I didn’t just react this strongly to a simple touch. Finally, Asher rolls, forcing everyone’s attention, including mine, back to the game. When the die lands on six, I cheer while everyone else groans.

  He turns to me. “You should draw.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’re better at putting words into picture form,” he insists with all seriousness. I stand, heading toward where a whiteboard sits on an easel. I’m about to pull a card from the stack when he adds, “Plus, if I can’t decipher it, I can blame you for throwing the game.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

  I place a hand on my hip, feigning irritation, but it’s a lost cause, especially when I can’t help but stare at how nicely his biceps fill out his t-shirt. His muscles aren’t huge, but he’s not scrawny, either. His arms are…perfect. He is perfect.

  “Okay, Iz. Let’s win this one.”

  Asher’s voice forces my eyes up. When he waggles his brows, it leaves no question in my mind that he caught me checking him out.

  Not wanting him to rattle me, I refocus on the game, grabbing a card out of the box. I look at the phrase for the permitted five seconds, then nod to Grams, giving her the go-ahead to flip the timer.

  I uncap the marker and get to work drawing something that hopefully resembles a prize ribbon. Almost immediately after I start sketching, Asher shouts out anything remotely applicable.

  “Ribbon. Circle. Blue. Number one.”

  At that, I turn around, motioning for him to keep going, that he’s getting close.

  “Winner. Medal. Best in Show.”

  I point to him, doing more hand motions I doubt anyone would understand the meaning of.

  “Best?”

  I quickly nod, then turn back to the whiteboard, sketching two circles, hoping they appear like the planet earth.

  “Best planet. Best planets,” he attempts.

  I shake my head, stealing a glimpse of the timer to see the sand is more than halfway gone.

  “Best globes. Best boobs.”

  I give him a disapproving look, my lips pinched, eyes narrowed. He shrugs playfully before continuing guessing. I glance between him and the board, trying to figure out another way to sketch this idiom.

  “Best world.”

  I spin around, eyes wide, encouraging him on since he’s so close.

  “Best of both worlds!” he shouts out as the last grain of sand falls to the bottom of the hourglass.

  “Yes!” I exclaim, jumping up and down.

  Asher bolts from the couch, hoisting me into his arms and spinning me around before putting my feet back onto the floor. His enthusiasm infectious, we do our own version of a touchdown dance, wiggling our butts and waving our arms. With the way we act, you’d think we’d just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl, netting us a healthy bonus.

  “Okay, okay,” Jessie says, his voice even. “You won Pictionary. You didn’t find a cure for cancer. Sit down and stop gloating.”

  “Someone’s mad they lost,” Asher teases, tousling Jessie’s hair as he passes him on the way back to the couch. Jessie quickly slaps his hands away, smoothing his hair back into position.

  “I’ll get you back.”

  “So, what’s next?” Asher asks as he begins to clean up the Pictionary pieces.

  Jessie stretches as he stands. “Actually, I think I’ll call it a night.”

  “It’s only ten.”

  “For most people, that’s a reasonable bedtime.” He turns his attention to me. “Iz, you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m not that tired, considering I slept most of the day. I’ll stay up and visit a little while longer, make up for lost time.”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, no matter the time of night.”

  I touch my hand to his. “I will.”

  He leans down, kissing my cheek, then retreats.

  “We’re going to head up, too,” Sean announces as he and Reagan stand. “We also go to bed at a normal hour.”

  “I suppose I may head to my room, too,” Grams states.

  “Don’t even try to tell me you go to bed at a normal hour,” Asher teases, standing to say goodnight to his parents and grandmother. “I know for a fact you’re as much a night owl as I am.”

  “You’re correct about that, my darling boy.” She caresses his cheek, gently running her thumb along the scruff of his beard, then pulls away. “But nighttime is when all the crazy people message me on those dating apps, and I like to mess with them. Are you aware there’s a trend among some intellectually deprived men to send a picture of their penis?”

  I stifle a laugh as Asher’s face turns a bright shade of crimson. No one wants to talk to a family member about dick pics, especially your ninety-year-old grandmother.


  “I’ve heard of such a thing.”

  “I don’t understand it. I might be impressed if they were hung. But at my age, I’ve seen my fair share of penises. You have to try harder if you want to impress me. And four inches ain’t going to cut it.”

  “Okay then!” Sean interrupts, taking Grams’ arm and helping her up the stairs. “Time to get you to bed so you can sleep off some of that whiskey.”

  “You two stay out of trouble.” She laughs, then turns around, meeting our eyes from atop the landing. “Actually, maybe you two should get into a little trouble. It could be good for the soul.” With a wink, she disappears into the kitchen.

  “She’s something else,” Asher comments, a hint of nerves audible in his voice.

  I glance at him as he runs a hand through his hair, the confident rockstar nowhere in sight. It’s no longer Asher York, the man who earned a spot on this year’s list of sexiest men alive. Now, it’s just Asher.

  “She certainly is.” I bite my lower lip, fidgeting with the hem of my sweater, a strained silence filling the air.

  “I should—” I start.

  “Do you—” Asher begins at the same time.

  We both stop, then laugh nervously.

  “Okay, this is stupid,” he states. “It never used to be this way between us.”

  “That was before…ya know.”

  “I know,” he sighs, shaking his head as he lowers himself beside me. “If I’d known it would end with me not even knowing how to act around you, I’d like to say I wouldn’t have crossed that line.” He lifts his fiery eyes to mine. “But I probably would have. I knew it was a risk. But I also knew the reward would be amazing.”

  A voice in my head tells me to retreat. To not ask the question on the tip of my tongue. To excuse myself and keep my distance. To do the job I’m here to do, then walk away. But if I listened to that voice, I never would have experienced this man’s kisses, this man’s arms, this man’s love. The brain may be more logical, but the heart can be more powerful. And right now, my heart is infinitely more powerful.

  “And was it amazing?” I ask huskily, eyes resolute.

  “It was.” A sad smile tugs on his mouth. “It could be again.”

  A strange feeling of honesty washes over me, almost like we’re in our bubble again. “That’s why I’m struggling so much with this, with being around you. Because it could be amazing. But it will most likely destroy us, too. That’s the power you have over me.”

  “You hold that power over me, too. But remember what Grams always said?”

  “Grams says a lot of things.” I laugh. “Are you talking about ‘an arrogant bug is a cocky roach’? Or maybe ‘every hooker is pretty under candlelight’?”

  Asher’s chuckles fill the room, his eyes shining with love for his grandmother. “I wasn’t talking about that. Although, based on some of the prostitutes I saw in Vegas, I can attest to the fact that some of them are only attractive under candlelight.”

  “Is that so?” I give him a disapproving look. “I didn’t take you for the type of man who needed to pay someone for sex.”

  “And I don’t. Never have. Never will. I mean, sex is great.” He floats his gaze back to mine, steady and even. “But sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.”

  “Hunter S. Thompson,” I state, recognizing the quote.

  “Precisely.”

  “So… Grams?”

  “Right.” He licks his lips. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Maybe too much, especially after our conversation on the dock earlier.”

  I push a strand of hair behind my ear, lowering my head. But Asher won’t let me avoid this, placing his finger under my chin and tilting my eyes back to his.

  “And do you know what I realized?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I just want you. However I can get you. So if all I can have are brief moments of awkward interaction every once in a while, I’ll take it. If you want to be friends, although we both know we’ll never truly be able to remain just friends, I’m happy to try that, too.” He edges toward me as he drops his voice, his tone throaty and addictive. “But I’d love if you’d stop thinking of all the reasons we shouldn’t cross that line again and focus on the one reason we should.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Like Grams says, true love has a way of finding its way home. And in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve been reminded of probably the most important thing in all my thirty-five years.”

  “And that is?”

  He traces a line along the curve of my face, sparks following his touch, igniting a fire in me. “You’re my home.” Slowly, his lips inch closer to mine, the seconds stretching. My pulse increases, my breathing becoming ragged from a combination of hunger for this man and fear of Jessie walking in on us. I flick my eyes toward the kitchen to ensure we’re alone.

  “Don’t.” Asher’s stern command forces my attention back to him. “Stay with me, Isabella. Stay in this bubble.”

  I sigh, tension rolling off me. “I’ve really missed our bubble.”

  “Me, too.” With a smile, he erases the distance between us once more.

  I close my eyes, bracing for his lips to brush mine. But after several long moments pass with nothing happening, I return my gaze to his, almost worried this is another dream. Thankfully when I open my eyes this time, he’s still here, his expression even, thoughtful.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then—”

  “Do you want to kiss me?”

  His question catches me off-guard. It should be an easy one to answer. I’m here, in his arms, a breath away from his kiss. But at the same time, I’m here, in his arms, a breath away from his kiss. As much as I’ve dreamed of this, fantasized about it, I’ve also been here before, on the precipice of crossing the invisible line we’ve drawn between us.

  “Answer the question. Don’t think. There should be no thought involved. Do. You. Want. To. Kiss. Me?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  He nods, then drops his hold on me. “Good.”

  I scrunch my brow. “You’re not upset?”

  “Why would I be?” he asks dismissively. “I’m not in the habit of kissing women who don’t want to be kissed.”

  “But—”

  He clutches my cheeks, bringing my face within a breath of his. “But the second you figure out what you want, the second you realize you can’t keep running from this, come to me. My lips will be waiting for your kiss.” He runs the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip, causing a tiny moan to escape. “My arms will be waiting for your embrace. My heart will be waiting for your love. Whether it takes two hours, two years, or two decades, they’ll always welcome you home. You need to finally realize this is where you belong. I can’t force you to do that. You need to figure it out yourself.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stare at the ceiling, studying the tree bark texture, as I have all night. The sun’s been up for several hours, but I haven’t slept a wink. Possibly due to the fact I slept most of the day yesterday. Most likely because my mind has been consumed with yesterday’s events, culminating in Asher leaving the ball in my court about whether we continue what we started in Vegas or attempt to be the friends we both know we’ll never be.

  Maybe if Jessie were the asshole I made him out to be to my friends, this would be easier. But he’s not. He never was. Apart from a momentary lapse of judgment when he was in a bad place because of me, he truly is a great guy — kind, compassionate, gracious. That makes the guilt of what Asher and I have done even more painful to bear.

  Glancing at the time to see it’s nearly ten, I push the covers off, resigned that sleep isn’t in the cards. I pad into the bathroom, turn on the shower, shrug out of my pajamas, then step under the refreshing stream, washing off the past few days. After a longer than normal shower, I reach for where I remember the towel rack to be, my hand coming up empty.

  Peeling bac
k the curtain, I peer at the wall. Sure enough, there’s a towel rack, albeit empty.

  “Shit,” I groan, stepping onto the tile, searching the room for any sign of a towel. Given this is an older house, the tiny space can’t fit much more than the bathtub, toilet, and pedestal sink. Certainly no cabinets or linen closet, so Grams kept the extra towels on the top shelf of the bedroom closet. I hope she still does.

  I hug my naked, droplet-covered body and awkwardly dash into the bedroom, doing my best not to slip on the trail of water I leave in my wake. As I open the closet and find a towel, a knock sounds on the bedroom door.

  “Hold on,” I mumble, securing a flimsy towel around my body. When the door unexpectedly opens, I fling my surprised eyes to it. Asher comes to an abrupt stop mere inches away when he sees me in only a towel that barely covers what it needs to.

  “What part of hold on did you not understand?!” I shriek, bringing one hand to the top of my towel, the other to the bottom in an attempt to tug it down. I’m not sure what’s worse — giving him a peek at a nipple or my hoo-ha.

  “I thought you said come in!” he argues in his defense, ears red, gaze wide. “That’s what it sounded like!”

  “Well, it wasn’t!” I start to storm away, but skid on the puddle I left on the floor. In the hopes of breaking my fall, I drop my hold on the towel and reach for the first thing I can. Which happens to be Asher. The unexpected force obviously taking him by surprise, he falters, his own feet giving out from beneath him. We crash onto the floor with a thump, him on his back, me on my front.

  On top of Asher.

  Without a towel.

  Several long moments pass as I remain frozen in place, not so much as breathing. Heat flashes across my neck as I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tell me this is just a dream.”