Dirty Sexy Player

by Laurelin Paige

I kept my eyes pinned on Weston’s, eager to see his reaction to my flirtation. He seemed annoyed, but not as annoyed as I would have preferred. It didn’t help that Donovan’s response was to bend forward to take a bite of his dumpling, acting as if I wasn’t even there.

  And it most definitely didn’t help when Weston, sure I was watching, returned his hand to Sabrina’s knee. Thank God, he at least was subtle enough so that only Donovan and I could see.

  “You said you weren’t coming,” he muttered accusingly.

  “I hadn’t planned to. But.” I turned and looked at Donovan again, slipped my eyes up and down him longingly. Or I hoped it looked longing. “Donovan called and told me I needed to be here.”

  Weston sneered. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of him?” Then the asshole scooted his chair closer to the woman beside him. “Sabrina, have you tasted the seared pork and shrimp dumplings yet?”

  “No. Where are they?” She fluttered her eyes, all doe-like and naïve.

  He lifted his chopsticks with a bite of dumpling on them. “Have some of mine.” Then the asshole fed dumplings to his little girlfriend in front of me. She even had the nerve to groan.

  I could happily have murdered them both for this rude display.

  Not to be outdone— “Donovan, the pan-fried lamb—” I started for the dumpling on his plate, but before I could feed him anything, he picked it up and dumped it on my plate. “You can have it.”

  Obviously, he was not playing along. I consciously smoothed out my frown and smiled at him. “Guess that’s better than swapping germs.”

  “Elizabeth’s a germophobe,” Weston said snidely.

  “I am not.” I grabbed the chopsticks next to me and attempted to pick up the dumpling, remembering too late that I’d never been very good with the things. “Just because I’m concerned about the diseases that come into my house doesn’t qualify me as a germophobe.” I chased the dumpling around my plate, growing more and more frustrated with each failed attempt to capture my food.

  “She’s asked for a report of clean health.”

  “I think that’s reasonable.” I’d only asked for his medical records because I knew it would rile him up. Because I’d felt riled. It was payback.

  Finally, I snagged a piece of pastry and lifted it toward my mouth, but just as it reached my lips, it fell to the plate. “Goddammit.”

  “Guys,” Nate sounded like he was trying not to laugh while hushing us. “Lovers’ spats are fun and all…”

  Weston apparently didn’t get the hint. “Why do you even care when there’s no way I’m sharing anything I’ve got with you anyway?”

  It shouldn’t burn like it did to hear him say that—twice in one day, no less—but it did. Especially in front of Sabrina, for some reason.

  Well, fuck him.

  I reached over and stole the unused fork from his setting. “Big words, King. Just remember the thing you want out of this relationship isn’t as replaceable as the thing I want.”

  I stabbed the pan-fried lamb and put it in my mouth, and it tasted fucking delicious. Like redemption. It melted on my tongue.

  Melted like the conversation had melted into a tense silence.

  “Speaking of replacements…” Nate said breaking the hush. “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I needed this original painting by this Brazilian artist, Luiz Hugo Sousa?”

  Weston, who’d been staring at me, moved his eyes eagerly to Nate’s. “This sounds like the beginning of a good story.”

  “The problem was, the girl who had possession of it didn’t want to sell. Fortunately, I was fucking her at the time. It wasn’t even particularly valuable, but my boss wanted it, and that made it powerful. I needed it more than I wanted her, and that’s saying a lot considering her oral skills.”

  I needed Dyson Media more than I wanted Weston. That was the lesson here. Silently, I thanked Nate for the reminder. Eyes on the ball, Elizabeth.

  “Skipping past the details: I got bombed on Jäger one night and decided to paint a replacement.”

  Weston and Sabrina laughed, and so did a couple of other staff members who were now gathering around for Nate’s telling of the story.

  “This is what made you stop doing Jäger?” someone asked.

  “Oh, that came years and many adventures later. Long story short, there’s a reason I don’t paint for a living. I took the original and left a real Ecce Homo in its place. You should have seen this mess. Turns out I might have had a career as a ninja warrior, though, because the escape route I had to take to get out of her apartment that night was insane. If I hadn’t been drunk enough to feel invincible, I never would have tried it. I still have the scar on my upper arm from the barbed wire.” He started to pull down his shirt at the neck, searching for the mark. “It’s partly covered by the tattoo.”

  “What did she do when she woke up and saw it?” Weston asked.

  “Left me about a hundred messages threatening my life and manhood, until I tossed the burner and picked up a new phone. And then what could she do? She couldn’t display mine, obviously, but once her friends had seen the real thing, it wasn’t like she could hang any copy. It would have been glaringly obvious. Guess she has a white space on her wall now.”

  “Is there a moral to the story?” Donovan asked, unamused.

  “I suppose if you need a moral, Kincaid, it’s that there’s never a replacement for the real thing.” Nate looked at his partner hard. Real hard.

  I glanced over at Weston, willing him to hear the point. But, surprise, surprise, he’d tuned us out and was whispering something in Sabrina’s ear.

  “I’m not sure the person who needed to hear you got the message,” I said to Nate.

  He looked from me to Donovan to Weston to Sabrina and back to me again. “There’s more than one person at this table tonight who needs to hear it.”

  More people crowded around us from the other tables, the staff becoming looser from drinks and more jovial as the evening passed. The mood had lightened considerably since I had arrived. Weston got up from the table without a word, heading to the restroom, most likely. Someone took his seat, and another round of dumplings were set on the table.

  Some nice guy from creative tried to get to know me by asking all about the wedding. It might have done my ego some good if I’d thought he was flirting, but I had a feeling he was gay.

  And even if he was flirting, he wasn’t nearly charming enough to make up for the stab to my heart when, five minutes after Weston left the group, Sabrina nonchalantly left the table and followed after him.

  Thirteen

  I’d gone to the restaurant that night with every intention of flirting with Sabrina, and maybe making out with her in the back of a cab. I needed the reminder of what it felt like to have other lips on mine, needed to remember what it was like to kiss another woman, a woman who wasn’t Elizabeth. And maybe, with luck, I could get her out of my head.

  I had zero intention of inviting Sabrina to meet me in the back of the restaurant for a buddy bang.

  But when Elizabeth showed up, everything changed.

  Before she came, I had my hand on Sabrina’s leg. The warmth of her, the soft silky tenderness of her skin that was supposed to get my cock going, only had me wondering what Elizabeth’s skin would feel like in comparison. Were her luscious thighs as soft to the touch? Would goosebumps prickle along her skin if I rubbed my thumb on her like this?

  Even with a gorgeous woman beside me, with her attention completely on me, all I could think about was pale complexion, red hair, blue eyes.

  And then the woman I was dreaming of was standing in front of me, dressed in a pale gray jumpsuit with lace over the arms and décolletage. She was more covered than Sabrina was, but my cock was more interested than it had been all evening.

  I’d been grateful at first—she’d shown up! She’d come to Red Farm, even after all that fighting back and forth over text, she’d come out for me.

  And my gut twisted with guilt and turmoil over the wa
y I’d been flirting, but I thought maybe all could be forgiven, that the whole day would be turned around, and we could forget everything going on between us if Elizabeth would just sit by me.

  I stood up to kiss her, and I don’t ever usually do that. Even for show, not since the engagement party. But it felt natural and right, and I wanted to.

  And then she turned her head.

  And I realized she wasn’t here to make amends at all.

  Especially when she started flirting with Donovan. She couldn’t keep her hands off of him. What—had Clarence been busy for the night? She had to come and parade her disinterest in me in front of me? Every time she touched my friend, every time she glanced at him, it felt like a chess move, like she was taking out one of my pawns.

  But I knew how to counterattack.

  She ruffled his hair, and my hand scooted higher on Sabrina’s leg. She’d sharpen her gaze on him. I’d offer a forkful of food to Sabrina. It was intense and it was tedious. I was annoyed, but more than a little turned on.

  But it wasn’t a game with casualties until she brought up how easily I could be replaced.

  For weeks, I’d been teaching her how to be a better businesswoman, been bending to her rules, living in the same house, keeping it in my pants, been stifling my irrational planet-sized desire for her, been doing all of this so that she could get her hands on her company—and I could be replaced?

  So I didn’t know if it was to hurt her or to get over her or because I was hurt—probably a combination of all three, and I was too fired up to narrow down the specific motivations—but I leaned down and invited Sabrina to meet me in the back of the restaurant.

  I could replace Elizabeth, too.

  Five minutes later, I was slipping into the cubby by the kitchen, a cutout in the wall covered by a decorative curtain, trying my hardest to turn my thoughts to the woman meeting me and away from the woman waiting back at the table.

  Soon, I saw Sabrina walking past. I pulled her into the cubby with me, pushed her against the narrow wall, and pressed my lips against hers, kissing her aggressively, asking for permission with my tongue—permission to let me use her, use her to help me forget about that other woman, the woman I really wanted to be kissing.

  Sabrina, sweet Sabrina, opened her mouth, her tongue meeting mine. She was familiar and safe. She was easy because I didn’t have to work for her. I didn’t have to second-guess what she wanted or what I wanted, for that matter.

  But I did need to be sure she knew what I was after.

  I broke the kiss and leaned my forehead against hers. “I’m going to be completely honest, Sabrina—this is a booty call and nothing else. You have every right to slap me and walk back out there. But I hope you don’t. I’m sensing you need a release right now too.”

  Was it weird that I hoped that she did slap me? Hoped that she kneed me in the nuts and told me I was a pig before walking away, never looking back?

  She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could there was a rustling outside the closet. Someone walking too closely past, and I leaned even farther away from her than I already was so I could peek out of the curtain.

  Donovan. Fucking Donovan. Checking up on me again.

  “What is it?” Sabrina asked.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t tell her that another one of the execs in the office knew that she was back here in the closet with me—how embarrassing for her.

  And suddenly it hit me—how embarrassing for me.

  What was I doing? I wasn’t into this buddy bang. The only reason I was semi-hard was because Elizabeth had shown up. I was a fucking shitshow, and honestly, because Donovan was out there playing boss—playing father again—it made me wish so goddamned hard that I could go through with this, but I just couldn’t. It was wrong on so many levels. Even if I could get my dick into it, my head was yards away.

  “I can’t do this,” I said.

  Sabrina’s head snapped up. “I was just going to say the same thing.”

  I let go of her, and ran my hand through my hair instead. “I’m sorry.” Then I registered what she’d said. “You were?” That was a surprise. I thought she’d been into me.

  “Yeah. It’s not…”

  My mind filled in the blanks, while she tried to look for the right words. It’s not appropriate. It’s sleazy. I can tell you’re not feeling it.

  Eventually she said, “The timing.”

  “The timing,” I agreed. Fucking timing. Before Elizabeth and after Elizabeth. Was my life reduced to those two time periods forever?

  “I’ll go out first,” she said.

  I waited much longer than I needed to after she left. Three minutes, four. Seven minutes. I didn’t know what I was waiting for—to figure it all out, for my temper to settle down. Something.

  When I finally got myself together and walked back to the table, Donovan, Sabrina, and Elizabeth were all gone.

  I slumped down in the seat next to Nate. “Where did Elizabeth go?” I asked, wishing I didn’t need to know. Stealing a swig of his beer because I did.

  Nate shrugged. “She left when Donovan left.”

  I tensed. I’d been in a closet with another woman, and I had no right to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Did she leave with Donovan?”

  My partner eyed me strangely. “If you think that Donovan would go home with Elizabeth, you’re more fucked up over this girl than I thought.”

  That wasn’t exactly an answer. “So…she didn’t?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “They left the restaurant at the same time. When I glanced out the window, Donovan was putting Elizabeth in a cab.”

  “Good.” I was more relieved than I deserved to be. More relieved than I wanted to let on. “I mean, good someone made sure she got home okay.”

  He swiped his beer out of my hand and glared. “You know that I know about this kind of shit, right?”

  Oh, right! Nate, the god of everything.

  I leaned forward, eagerly, ready to learn. “Yeah, yeah, man. Do you know something now?”

  “I do. I do.” He bent in toward me, as though about to share his best-kept secret. “D is not into your girl.” He paused for effect. “And your girl is into you.”

  I let that sink in.

  “You do know who your girl is, don’t you?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Phew. You aren’t as stupid as I thought you might be after tonight’s bullshit. Now, what are you going to do with this information? Hint: the answer shouldn’t include being in a closet with your ex.”

  I stared at him. “Nate, you don’t know what you’re saying. She can’t stand me.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  There was tension between us—sexual tension. There had been from day one. But Elizabeth had made it clear that there could be nothing between us. Because she was focused on her end goal. Because she wasn’t interested in a player like me. Because she would want a guy she could be proud of.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Weston, get the fuck out of here and find out.”

  I started to argue yet again and then remembered—Nate was my hero. Why the hell would I question his advice?

  Fourteen

  I shut the door of my West Side apartment behind me and headed straight for my room. Friday nights the schedule put us at my place, but I didn’t have any idea if Weston would show up.

  If I were placing bets? My wager would be no.

  Even though I was alone, I slammed things around as though people could hear me. Slammed the door to my closet open, slammed my dresser drawer. I changed quickly into my nightgown, even though I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon. My insides were a storm of emotions—fury, jealousy, want.

  God, how I wanted Weston.

  That’s what it all came down to. How much I wanted him to be here, rubbing his hand on my thigh, to be leaning into my ear, beckoning me to some secret rendezvous. How much I wanted his secret ni
ghttime fantasies to be about me.

  Another door slam.

  But this time it wasn’t me. I stomped out of my bedroom knowing it was him, yet still knocked utterly out of breath when I saw him there, his brow furrowed, his hair a mess from dragging his hand through it so many times.

  He was magnificent. A goddamned hottie. A sight so pretty he almost hurt the eyes.

  He dumped his keys in the bowl by the front door, his eyes on mine. Sparks shot between us. We were both wrapped up in an electrical storm, and I could feel him pulling me toward him, despite everything that happened this evening. I wanted him; I hated him.

  I wanted him.

  “That was fast,” I said, snidely, remembering who he’d disappeared with when I’d last seen him. “I guess your reputation isn’t based on your lasting power.”

  “I didn’t fuck Sabrina,” he said, toeing off his shoes, gaze pinned to me. “Ask me why.”

  I took a hopeful step forward. “Why not?”

  He tugged his cowl-neck sweater over his head and tossed it on the floor behind him, leaving his chest bare. Goosebumps sprouted down my arms and legs. “Because she wasn’t the one I wanted to fuck.”

  My stomach flipped. My thighs started shaking.

  “So, if we’re in a fight,” he continued, “let’s hurry up and get it over with so we can get on to what’s next.”

  It only took two steps before I crashed against him. His lips were firm and demanding, taking my mouth roughly, exploring every part of it. He kissed the way he fought—mean and hot, bordering on explosive. I wondered if he could make me come with just a kiss. The question was enough to make me realize I wanted his lips other places. On my breasts. Between my thighs.

  Without any warning, he spun me around, shifting me so that I was face up against the wall. He pressed up roughly against my backside and lifted the hem of my nightgown so his hands could palm my ass.

  “You’ve fucking teased me for so long, Elizabeth. Do you feel that?” He rubbed his erection in between my ass cheeks. “Do you feel how much I want you?”

  Yes, I felt him.