No sign of Rebecca. A thread of unease worms through me. She’s usually anal about this type of stuff—arriving on time, touching base if she’s going to be late. I send off another text to call me when she sees this.
Glancing up, I catch my father’s eye across the room. He inclines his head—his way of telling me to behave. Scowling, I give him my back. What am I going to do, dance on top of the tables? I wish he’d start treating me like an adult instead of a twelve-year-old.
Twenty minutes later, after mingling for a bit, I move to an alcove shielded by a large indoor plant and call Rebecca. I’m gripping the phone hard enough for my knuckles to turn white. After multiple texts and no response, my initial annoyance has given way to concern. This isn’t like her. If she couldn’t make the fundraiser, she would have told me. Which makes me think something happened to her.
After close to eight rings, she finally picks up. “Hello?”
Except it’s not Rebecca. This woman’s voice is higher pitched, less husky.
My body stiffens as a surge of fear swamps me. “Who’s this?” The words are sharp.
“This is Katie, Rebecca’s roommate. Who is this?” She sounds suspicious, but also troubled.
“Mitchell. I’m Rebecca’s—boyfriend.” My voice catches on the word.
“Mitchell. Of course.” She says this slowly, then clears her throat. “Rebecca can’t answer the phone right now. Can I take a message?”
My heart lurches, then pounds hard and fast. I brace a hand against the wall. “Did something happen? Is she okay?” My voice is louder than I intend it, and it bounces off the marble floor to the vaulted ceiling, carrying everything I’m feeling upward. A few people glance at me curiously.
“I think she might have the flu. She passed out as soon as I brought her home from campus. That was around three.”
Nearly six hours ago. That explains why she wasn’t responding to my messages.
With a frown, I picture Rebecca curled in bed, deep coughs ripping open her chest, unable to eat or drink, sleeping fitfully. I shouldn’t be at this party. I should be at her side, making sure she’s staying hydrated. “Does she need anything?” I ask. “Soup? Orange juice?” I’m already heading for the door, making a mental list of everything she could possibly need at the store. A hot water bottle? Tissues? Cough medicine?
“Actually, I think I’ve got it covered—”
“Be there in twenty.”
“But—”
I hang up before Katie tells me not to come over, because fuck it, Rebecca needs me, and I’m going to be there for her whether she likes it or not. Besides, this party sucks. Sure, it’s a good chance to network and do some good, but it’s less fun with Rebecca’s absence. Plus, my dad’s presence just puts unwanted pressure on everything.
I find Austin and Casey near the bar. Austin speaks to another man in his early thirties. Casey looks glum as he knocks back a mixed drink. There’s a game playing on the television mounted on the back of the bar, but I suspect he’s not watching it.
“I’m heading out,” I tell him. “Rebecca’s sick. Can you and Austin catch a ride with one of the guys?”
“Sure,” he says, shooting a glance at Austin. “Though I might be going solo tonight.”
I’ve seen Austin hook up with plenty of men, but he’s never been in a relationship since I’ve known him. I’ve never asked him why. Wondered if maybe he got burned. Then again, maybe he’s not interested in a relationship. They take a lot of time and energy, as I’m coming to realize.
“See you back at the house,” I tell Casey.
I don’t say goodbye to my dad when I leave.
After grabbing supplies from the store—seriously, I think I may have gone a little overboard—I park on the street in front of Rebecca’s apartment complex. Katie greets me at the door with an exasperated smile, but wordlessly steps aside to let me in.
“Well this is a surprise,” she states sarcastically as I set the groceries on the kitchen counter.
Without missing a beat, I begin to unpack everything. The kitchen is bright and open, with pale yellow walls, white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. The room has a touch of home: pictures hanging from the fridge, place settings on the round kitchen table, floral paintings on the walls. Their living room is large but lived in, with a couch and Papasan chair piled with colorful throw pillows.
“I bought some OJ to keep her blood sugar up. Ibuprofen for her fever. Gatorade. Bread, bananas, some chicken noodle soup. I wasn’t sure what kind she likes so I got three different flavors—” I cut off at the smile Katie sends me.
“Rebecca’s upstairs if you want to see her. She was sleeping when I last checked.”
I take the carpeted stairs two at a time. One door is open. I assume that’s Katie’s room. Gently, I knock on the closed door. When there’s no response, I turn the handle and step inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.
The room smells like her. Fresh, sweet, lemony. Everything is immaculate, not a single article of clothing on the floor, no overflowing trash bin, no empty cups littering her desk. Watercolor paintings decorate her light green walls, and her bookshelf is stuffed to overflowing.
The bed takes up the center of the room. Rebecca lies curled in the middle of the mattress, the sheets twisted around her waist and legs as if she slept restlessly. She wears only a thin white tank top and a pair of black underwear. Her hair partially escapes its braid.
For a moment, I just look at her. I’ve never seen her so soft and unaware. Her mouth is parted in sleep, and her chest rises and falls. It’s impossible for me to look away.
Something’s happening to me. If I’m being honest, it’s been happening for weeks now. It was a gradual change that crept up on me when I wasn’t looking. I look at this girl, and I can’t breathe. Fear and yearning weigh upon my chest. I can’t ignore it, and I can’t push it aside. It just is.
The beige rug muffles my footsteps as I approach and perch on the edge of the bed. Despite the warmth in the room, Rebecca shivers.
I use the sleeve of my shirt to dry the sweat from her face. At my touch, she shifts onto her side, eyelashes fluttering. A pained groan slips out. “Katie?”
Ridiculous, that I wish she’d said my name instead. “Close.”
Rebecca blinks a few times. “Mitchell?” She tries sitting up.
“The one and only.” I prop up her pillows so she can lean back against them. “How are you feeling, Becky?”
“I told you not to call me that,” she croaks.
My lips curve. “Must have slipped my mind.”
A cough shudders through her body, and the sight and sound of her pain causes me to reach for her. She asks, voice thick, “Can I have some water?”
I hand her the cup on her bedside table, keeping hold of the bottom so she doesn’t drop it. She takes a small sip. “Better?” I ask.
She nods and slumps down into the pillows. “Thanks.”
As Rebecca settles onto her side, I rest the back of my hand against her damp forehead. Her skin is hot to the touch. “You’re burning up.” I smooth the sweat-damp hair from her face, my thumb brushing across her cheek. “Do you need anything?”
Another shudder wracks her body. “No, I’m f-fine. Katie will take care of me. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay.”
It’s an effort to keep my voice pleasant. Of course she’d assume I don’t want to be here. After all, we signed a contract, and this isn’t a part of it. This is dangerous territory. Something someone in a real relationship would do. And honestly? I’m okay with that.
“Rebecca, look at me.” Her bloodshot eyes lift to mine, her eyelids sinking low before snapping open. “I’m not going anywhere. I need you to trust that I want to help you. All right?”
A few moments pass before she nods. “Then I need to go to the bathroom.” Her teeth begin to chatter. “But I need help walking there.” She looks at me with those big blue eyes, so full of trust. In me.
As
soon as I pull the covers away from her body, I know it’s a mistake.
She’s the perfect balance of curvy and slim. Thin cotton clings to the soft swells of her breasts. The pale strip of her flat belly flashes above the black underwear. Long, gorgeous, creamy thighs lead to the delicious curve of her ass, which looks even better out of those black pants she wore at the restaurant.
Rebecca Peterson is a fucking knockout. And I’m ogling her like a sixteen-year-old horndog.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I support her weight while she shuffles the fifteen feet to her en-suite bathroom. Every other step, she has to stop. All I can think of is her laugh, how alive it makes her, and I want that back. But I can’t do a fucking thing except watch her struggle.
The fourth time she stops, I say, “Hold on,” and sweep her into my arms. Three long strides and I’m at the bathroom door. I deposit her near the toilet. “Call out when you’re done.”
She blinks at me, eyes shimmering with emotion. Then she shuts the door.
After what feels like an eternity, she calls my name, and I carry her back to bed, pulling up the covers and tucking them tight around her. “My whole body hurts.”
Clasping her hand in my larger one, I brush the hair from her face. Without her glasses, she looks different. Familiar, even, which is strange. “What can I do? Do you want some soup? I bought some for you.”
“Stay with me,” she whispers, eyelids sinking closed. “Please.”
It takes a moment for me to speak. “Are you sure?”
“Mm.” She nods, already beginning to nod off, and pats the space beside her on the bed.
If that isn’t a clear invitation.
After making sure the water cup is within reach in case she needs it in the middle of the night, I slip off my shoes and slide beneath the covers. It’s never been clearer than right now that I want this. I want that comfort you feel when you’re with someone who accepts all of you. And with her, I have that.
Sliding one arm beneath her head and the other over her waist, I tug her against me until we’re back to chest, flush. Her sweet little ass is snug against my very hard dick, but it’s more of a reaction of being around her than need. Rebecca sighs softly, sinking against me in a gesture of complete trust.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Sleep, Rebecca.”
“Mitchell?”
I nuzzle the side of her neck. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Me too, I think with a smile. Me too.
Chapter 20
rebecca
I wake slowly. Every slight shift from the moment I become conscious to when my eyes open causes pain to pulse through my body, so forceful I feel it in my teeth. It feels like I got hit by a bus. Twice. And then stomped on by an elephant, and then dragged behind a moving vehicle, and then—
You get the idea.
The only saving grace is that I’m no longer drenched in sweat. My skin is cool and dry, which must mean my fever broke during the night. The sheets are damp, and a heaviness presses down, causing me to sink into the soft, warm bed. It’s another moment before I realize that heaviness is a masculine arm wrapped around me.
Mitchell.
He’s breathing deeply, his face buried in my hair. One arm cushions my head. The other lays across my waist, his hand palming my breast. He’s holding me so close, so gently, like I’m made of spun glass. My heart flutters as memories of last night return to me.
Mitchell took care of me. He carried me to the bathroom when I couldn’t walk, tucked me in, helped me drink water. I never would have expected this gentleness from a star athlete like Mitchell Burns, but now I know how warm and giving his heart is. When I asked him to stay, he did. Now we’re in bed, wrapped up in one another, and it’s such a natural way to start the day. It feels like we’ve been doing this for years.
I can’t lie to myself anymore. What I feel for Mitchell goes beyond physical attraction. It’s a deeper emotion, strengthened by the friendship that’s sprung between us, the trust, and easing into something terrifying I don’t want to name.
What am I going to do?
There’s no way I can continue with my thesis. I care for him too much. I’ll have to think of another research idea, as well as try to convince Dr. Stevens to abandon ship. If by some miracle she agrees, I’ll no longer have any reason to be his pretend girlfriend. But if I tell him the truth, there’s no way he’d want to continue the contract. I won’t get paid. And I need that money. I’ve worked too hard these past few years, barely staying afloat, to let my degree slip away.
I’ll have to think of something soon. Maybe there’s another way I could earn the thousand dollars. The restaurant always gets busy with graduation at the end of the semester. If I take on extra shifts, it could be possible.
Mitchell shifts behind me, cutting off my thoughts. His hand squeezes my breast, and my nipple perks up happily. Muscle contraction, I’m sure.
He sighs, and my skin prickles from the heat of his breath along my neck. I go tight and loose all at once.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. The vibrations in his chest rumble against my back.
“Better.” I speak softly, suddenly shy, glad that I’m facing away from him. Something’s changed between us, and I don’t think it can go back to the way things were. And I don’t want it to either.
“Do you need anything?”
You.
Ugh. I’m hopeless.
We lay in silence for several minutes, but it’s not awkward. It’s a pleasant quiet, without haste to fill, without pressure. His body heat envelopes me. His scent has an addictive quality that makes me want to bury my nose against his chest and inhale.
Slowly, I turn onto my side to face him. His arm shifts back, palm coming to rest on my hip.
Mitchell’s face is softer in the morning, his dark hair rumpled, eyes sleepy and warm. Mouth curving, his palm coasts down my thigh. “Good morning.”
My mouth goes dry at the shift of his pectoral muscles. This guy is too beautiful for words.
It’s then that I realize I’m not wearing my glasses, as his face is a little blurry. Shoot. My fake identity.
I snatch the glasses from my bedside table and shove them onto my nose. Hopefully he didn’t see any similarities to Blue Girl. “Good morning.” I glance at his rumpled outfit. The shirt sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up his corded forearms, the top few buttons undone, displaying a smattering of dusky chest hair. Long black slacks hug his legs, though without a belt. He must have removed it before falling asleep. “Please tell me you didn’t miss the fundraiser to come here last night.”
He shrugs. “All right then. I won’t tell you.”
I only stare at him. “Why would you do that?”
With a sigh, he skims his hand up my body to tug on the end of my braid. “I didn’t skip the fundraiser. I was there for about thirty minutes before I left.”
I stare at him in surprise, feeling guilty. This fundraiser was a prime networking opportunity for him. “Why would you leave?”
From the look he sends me, he’s under the impression that the reason is obvious. “Because you were sick.”
“I mean, Katie was here. She could have taken care of me.”
The skin around his eyes pinches, like fabric bunched together. “I wasn’t going to sit around stuffing my face with caviar while you were running a fever, too weak to even get out of bed.” He shoves a hand through his hair, rumpling it further. My fingers itch to brush the strands aside. “I’m not an asshole, Rebecca.”
The sudden anger makes me stiffen. Instead of snapping back, I pause and take note of what I said, what I implied. I’ve hurt him. I assumed he wouldn’t care, but he does. Maybe he has for some time.
“I know you’re not,” I say, resting a palm on his rigid forearm. “I’m sorry.”
The tension in his arm eases. “I care about you,” he murmurs, and his expression is
so open, so honest, that a zing runs through my body. “So yes, if I have to choose between attending a fundraiser and taking care of you, I’m going to take care of you.”
A feeling of warmth washes over me. I fight the urge to smile. “What about your father? Was he angry?”
“Probably.” His shoulders lift, then fall. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find a long line of angry voicemails on my phone.”
After meeting his father those few instances, I can’t imagine that would be a pleasant experience. “I don’t know, Mitchell.” Leaning back against the pillows, I stare into his eyes, which is something I’ll happily do all day if given the chance. “I just don’t want to be the reason your father gives you a hard time.”
“You’re not. It was my choice to make. And I’m glad I made it.” He lays back with a happy sigh and absently trails his fingers down the inside of my arm. “Some night, huh?” He chuckles at his joke.
I snort, which causes my body to throb in pain. “Oh yeah. Being too weak to walk to the bathroom is basically the most fun I’ve ever had.”
The twinkle in his eyes dulls, settling into something more somber. “You sure you’re feeling better?” He presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “You hungry?”
Actually, I do have somewhat of an appetite. I nod, and as he slips from bed, heading to the door, I devour the sight of his wide back, slim hips, firm butt, and long legs. A glance over his shoulder, and Mitchell catches me watching. He sends me a wink before heading downstairs.
Blowing out a breath, I watch the ceiling fan circulate. This isn’t a dream, right? This is real life? My only regret is that I couldn’t fully appreciate the beautiful specimen that is Mitchell Burns last night.
A few minutes later, Mitchell returns with a plate of toast and sliced strawberries, settling beside me on the bed. He offers me a slice of toast slathered in peanut butter, which I nibble on before setting down. He then pushes a few strawberries toward me. “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”
Playing the Field ebook final draft Page 15
