Dangerous Games: A Standalone Second Chance Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  I’m not sure how much time passes as I wander aimlessly, allowing my heart to lead me in the direction I should go. It’s not until the neighborhoods transition from the frenzied atmosphere of Union Square to more residential — at least as residential as one can get in Manhattan — that I take stock of where I am. I don’t need to even look at a cross street to know I’m in the Gramercy Park area, and it’s not because the familiar entrance to the residents-only park is right in front of me. Only one section of this city boasts such stunning architecture, townhouses covered with ivy. As long as I can remember, it’s been my dream to afford a place like this, an impossibility on a nurse’s salary.

  I cross the street and meander along the perimeter of the park, basking in the brisk air. Although the temperature during the day has warmed up now that it’s May, nighttime can still be chilly. I run my hand along the metal fence, my fingers tracing each spike. It’s oddly symbolic of life. Ups and downs. Walls keeping people out. Doors trapping people in. Outsiders wanting a taste of what it’s like inside. Insiders wanting nothing more than to have the simple life of those beyond the walls. I wonder if it’s possible to ever achieve true happiness. I wonder if it’s possible for me to be happy.

  As I near the gate, I continue the same up and down movement, stopping when my finger doesn’t meet with metal as it should. I turn, squinting, noticing the door didn’t click shut after the last person left. The practical voice in my head tells me to pull it closed and continue on my stroll through Manhattan. But I can’t ignore the other voice, the one shouting at me that it’s a sign, a beacon directing me forward.

  I bring a hand up to the door, electricity vibrating through me the instant it lands on the metal. I pause, then push on the gate, expelling a breath when it squeaks open. I duck inside, then ensure the door is closed behind me before venturing farther into the park that’s remained like a dream to me for years. Now I know why they’ve kept it private. It’s serene, tranquil, a complete change from the rest of Manhattan, the only source of illumination that of the stars and ambient light coming from the surrounding buildings and streetlamps.

  My friends would flip if they learned I was walking through a park after two in the morning. A park I’d snuck into upon noticing the door had been left ajar. I can hear their voices in my head, particularly Evie’s, telling me this is how all episodes of Criminal Minds begin. But something calls to me to head deeper inside.

  Spying a bench along a cobblestone path, I lower myself, allowing my feet a short reprieve. Allowing my brain a short reprieve, too. If I didn’t think I’d get arrested for vagrancy, I’d sleep on this bench tonight. I don’t want to leave this park. Don’t want to go back to reality. In here, I’m in a bubble where I don’t have to live with the decisions of my past or the uncertainty of my future. And I miss my bubble.

  I close my eyes, leaning my head back, breathing in the city air. I imagine I’m sitting on the dock at Grams’ lake house, the moon shining brightly above me, Asher strumming a sweet song on his guitar, his gentle voice lulling me to sleep. The fantasy in my mind feels so real, I expect to be met with the darkness of the lake in front of me when I open my eyes. Instead, I’m still in New York. Still unable to forget the one man I can never have. Still wishing things were different.

  On a long sigh, I reluctantly raise myself from the bench, but stop when the same, melodic guitar strains filter around me. I freeze, not breathing, expecting it to go away as I return from my fantasy. But it doesn’t.

  My heart rate increasing, I pad on light feet along the path and toward the music. It isn’t loud by any stretch of the imagination. For anyone walking along the sidewalk abutting the park, they’d probably think it just ambient music coming from one of the many townhouses. But I’d recognize that sound anywhere. Just like you can distinguish the shuffle of a familiar pair of footsteps walking through a house, I can pick out Asher’s unique pattern of strumming a guitar. I’m sure of it.

  I round a bend, stopping abruptly when Asher comes into view. Sitting on a bench, one leg propped up on the other to help balance his guitar, his fingers move along the strings with dexterity and ease as he sings the same song he did earlier tonight.

  Not wanting to interrupt, I remain in the darkness, falling under his spell as I admire him from afar, like I did so often when I dated Jessie. It takes every ounce of resolve I have not to break down in tears at his heartfelt lyrics, singing to the ghost of the love he once shared… With me.

  When the final note rings out and a stark silence falls over us, every little sound seems amplified. The increasing inhale of my lungs. The racing beat of my heart. The gripping pain of regret.

  “Why did you do it?”

  My breath hitches, and I’m unsure if he’s speaking to me or the metaphorical me. Then, somehow, his eyes shift to mine, our gazes locking.

  On trembling legs, I step out from the shadows, walking toward him. “How did you know I was here?”

  He blows out a laugh that borders on sardonic. “Don’t you realize by now?”

  I shake my head. “Realize what?”

  “I feel you, Izzy,” he admits in a choked voice. “In here.” He brings his hand to his chest. “I thought I was losing my mind earlier when I walked into that club and felt a vice squeezing my heart. I was ready to have Jessie take me to the ER to see if I was having a heart attack or something. It was the same way I felt…” He trails off, but I know what he was about to say. It was what happened when he walked into that bar and realized I wouldn’t be coming. “Then when I saw you, I realized why it felt like someone was trying to rip my damn heart out of my chest.”

  “Asher…” I step toward him, but he holds up his hand, stopping me.

  “Just tell me why you did it.”

  “Did what?”

  He looks at me through sad eyes. “You know what.”

  I ponder my response, ruminating it in my mind. I could keep lying to him, make him think what we had wasn’t real in order to protect him from making a mistake he’d come to regret. But he’d never believe it. He always could see through all my lies.

  “You know why.” My gaze unwavering, I walk toward him once more. This time, he doesn’t halt my advance.

  “I do.” He stands as I approach, closing the last bit of distance between us. His scent wraps around me, a rush of adrenaline running through me at the familiarity of being in his universe. “You did what you thought you had to. What you always do when facing a path that scares you shitless.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You fold.”

  “Either way I looked at it, I had a losing hand.”

  He grasps my chin, lifting my eyes to his. I don’t pull back from his touch. Instead, I crave it. Need it. Am desperate for it.

  “Is that all I am to you? A losing hand?”

  I swallow hard, the truth falling from my lips with ease. “I don’t know what you are to me. All I know is I’ll do anything to protect your relationship with your brother.”

  “Even if it means hurting me?” he asks in a strained voice.

  “You’ll find another woman. You can’t find another brother.”

  He peers at me with intense eyes, his grip on my chin tightening to a point that’s almost painful before releasing me with a strangled cry, walking away. His fingers burrow into his hair and tug at it. When he returns his gaze to me, it’s fiery, animalistic. Everything that’s been missing from my life for too long now.

  “Do you honestly think that?”

  “Jessie’s your only brother. I—”

  “Not that. Do you honestly believe I’d ever find another woman like you? That I’d ever want another woman who isn’t you?”

  He speaks with such passion, such zeal, it makes me want to lose myself in his arms. But no amount of need, of hunger, of love can rewrite the stars. No matter what, Jessie got to me first.

  “I wish I could give you the answer you want, Asher. But we can’t exist outside of the bubble. Our love can�
�t exist outside of the bubble. You felt it in Vegas when Jessie showed up, yanking us back to reality. The same thing happened when we left the lake house. We were yanked back to the real world. We just didn’t realize it at the time. Don’t get me wrong. I love our bubble. I’d give anything to stay in that bubble for the rest of my days—”

  “We can,” he says desperately, taking my hands in his. “If you’d stop pushing me away. If you’d take a risk for once in your life.”

  “At what cost?” I search his eyes for an answer. Then I sigh, pulling away from him. “I love that you’re a dreamer. But that’s not me. My life is ruled by science, by practical considerations. It’s always what has spoken to me. I like that an answer is either black or white. No in between. No gray area. That’s what the bubble is. An in between. We can’t live there, not without paying the price.”

  I turn from him and walk away, needing to get out of his presence before I allow his fantasy to consume me once more. It can’t happen. Not again. I’ve already fallen for it twice now. I can’t do it a third time.

  “Do you love me?” he shouts before I can take more than a few steps.

  I stop and face him, mouth agape. Why did he have to ask this question?

  He strides toward me, determined, pausing when he’s a few inches away, chest heaving, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Do you love me?” he repeats.

  I avert my eyes, despite the lack of light. It’s another layer of protection against the way Asher can peer straight to my soul. “I don’t know why that—”

  “Goddammit, Izzy. Just answer the question,” he thunders. If there were any walls surrounding us, I imagine him punching his fist into it. “No more lies. No more games. No more making yourself unhappy just to salvage my relationship with Jessie. Do. You. Love. Me?”

  I know what I want to say. What I should say in order to keep my distance. This is my opportunity to push him away, give him a reason to forget about me. But as I peer into his mesmerizing eyes that have always gazed upon me with more love and dedication than any other man, I’m not sure I want him to forget about me.

  I told Chloe I needed a sign. A boomerang. Some big cosmic intervention telling me it’s okay. That he’s worth the risk. That despite this body-crushing fear it will all end in a fiery mess, it will be worth it. Even I have to admit that running into Asher not once, but twice in less than twenty-four hours is a huge blinking sign that could rival those in Las Vegas.

  “Boomerang.”

  He exhales, every inch of him relaxing before he returns his blazing eyes to mine. To anyone else, it would be an innocuous word, but not to us.

  “When I saw you scribbled that on the origami dove you left for me at the bar back in March, I was confused. Or maybe just blinded by having my heart broken. But after a few days, I realized what you were trying to tell me. That you were scared, and if we were meant to be together, we’d find our way back to each other.” He clutches my face in his hands, his hold unwavering. “Tonight is proof we have, that we’ll always find our way back to each other. But I need to know. Are you still scared?”

  “Fucking petrified.”

  “So scared that you’re going to keep running, knowing this damn boomerang is real? That our love will keep finding you?”

  “I’m scared of what being with you means…for you, for us. I’ve been drowning in my feelings for a long time now, and it terrified me. I worried you’d eventually decide I’m not worth the risk. That’s why I kept coming up for air, kept pushing you away.”

  “And now?” He adjusts his stance, our bodies moving closer to each other with every beat of our hearts.

  “I’d rather drown with you than breathe with anyone else.”

  “It’s about damn time.” His voice comes out like a growl as he presses his hand against my lower back and tugs my body against his, his jaw tightening, the promise of his kiss a heartbeat away. “Now tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Those words. The ones I told you to keep safe until we were outside of the bubble. I’m never going back to the bubble. Not with you. I want you all the time. So if you’re ready to have more than just the bubble, I need those words. Your promise. Your devotion. I need to know you’re mine. That I can finally have all of you. Your body.” He brings his lips to my neck, brushing the skin. “Your soul.” His mouth moves to my cheek, leaving another delicate kiss. Then he frames my face once more, making it so I’m unable to escape, to hide, to run. “Your heart. I need your heart more than anything.”

  “You’ve always possessed my heart, Asher. Always.” I pause, steeling myself. Then my mouth curves into a smile. “I love you.”

  He exhales a long breath, the strain on his muscles falling off him in waves. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words.”

  “I think I do.”

  His fingers thread into my hair, tilting my head back. He licks his lips, his gaze trained on my mouth, desire flickering within. Finally, his lips land on mine. I sigh into our kiss, a spark shooting through me at my first taste of him after several months. I’d expected our first kiss to be an intense explosion of want, need, and lust. But it’s not. It’s beautiful. Respectful. Honest. Everything Asher is to me.

  When he gradually pulls away, his fingers trace over the lines of my face, stopping on my lower lip and brushing the pad of his thumb over the swollen flesh. A devilish glint fills his eyes as he watches my reaction to his touch.

  “Let’s go home.”

  I smile at the meaning in his request. Most men would say “come home with me” or some other variation, simply wanting me to come to their bed for the night. Not Asher. His invitation is authentic. He wants me to come home. To him. Where I belong.

  Lifting myself onto my toes, I feather my lips against his. “With you, I am home.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Asher, slow down,” I whisper-shout as we rush out of the park. “I’m not exactly wearing the best footwear for making a mad dash up the street.”

  He slows his steps, focusing on my heel-clad feet. Pausing, he seems to weigh his options. Then he slings his guitar over his body, shifting the instrument so it rests against his back. Before I can react, he sweeps me into his arms in a cradle hold.

  “What are you doing?” I squeal.

  “I can’t wait another second to have you. If this gets you into my bed quicker, then it’s what I need to do.”

  “You act like a convict who’s just been released and is about to get laid for the first time since getting locked up.”

  “That’s exactly what I feel like, Iz.” We turn the corner, the hotel coming into view. Placing my feet back onto the ground, he cups my cheeks. “When I walked into that bar and realized you ran from me, it felt like a prison sentence.” He brings his lips toward mine, covering my mouth, his kiss sweet but brief. “And when you refused to answer any of my calls, texts, emails, it felt like the judge had handed down the most inhumane sentence possible. Life without you is the worst punishment imaginable. And I don’t want to go back. Please…,” he chokes out. “Don’t make me go back to that.”

  My heart on the verge of bursting with love, I slam my lips against his, desperate for everything he’ll give me. His pleasure. His pain. His devotion. His fear. His fury. His love.

  A heady groan ripping from his throat, he pushes me against the brick townhouse we’re standing in front of, pressing his hips into me. I gasp, an unquenchable thirst filling me. Sensing my need, he lifts me up, forcing my legs around his midsection as he tears his lips from my mouth, nipping and sucking his way along my jawline, throat, collarbone. I throw my head back, surrendering to his touch, his warmth, his everything.

  “Inside. Now,” he growls as he pulls back, chest heaving, eyes frantic. He helps me find my footing, then clasps my hand in his.

  I start toward the hotel, but he yanks me in the opposite direction. “Asher, wha—”

  “I’m not staying at that hotel.”

 
“Where are you staying? It had better not be a long cab ride.”

  His lips quirk up into a smirk. “Not at all. In fact, it’s within walking distance.”

  “Then lead the way.”

  “Gladly.” Squeezing my hand, he turns toward the townhouse beside us, ascending the steps.

  “Here? Is this an Airbnb or something?”

  “Or something.” With a chuckle, he punches a code into the keyless lock. When the door buzzes, he opens it, leading me inside.

  A dozen questions swirl in my mind as I marvel at the posh surroundings of the Gramercy Park townhome. I can only imagine what this place costs a night. It seems a bit much for one person, but I guess when you’re Asher York, whose latest album has remained on top of the charts for over a month, you can spend money on stuff like staying in a ridiculously expensive townhouse.

  A hand on the small of my back, he steers me up a short flight of steps. My feet scream for relief, and I kick off my heels, dropping my purse onto the floor beside them.

  When I finally pause long enough to take in the living space, my jaw drops. Not at the gorgeous built-in bookcases surrounding an inviting fireplace with reading chairs placed in front of it. Not at the stunning chandelier hanging from the ornate ceiling. And not at the large screen TV mounted over the fireplace playing The Sound of Music at a low volume.

  Instead, I’m taken aback by the baby grand piano sitting in the center of the room. To most, it would just be a piano. Something one would expect to see in a townhome in such an exclusive area of the city. But I recognize this piano, each scratch, each nick, each worn-out key.

  “Asher…,” I exhale, my eyes searching his.

  He lifts the guitar over his head, propping it up against a couch. “I told you. I wanted to take you home. This is my home.”

  I arch a disbelieving brow. “This is your home?”

  He nods. “Closed on it a few weeks ago.”

  “What about LA?”

  He palms my lower back, dragging my body against his. “It wasn’t where my heart was. It was here. Still is.” He touches his lips to mine in a beautiful kiss, the gesture causing my body to flood with warmth.