Dirty Sexy Player

by Laurelin Paige

  After we’d both come, he drifted quickly back to sleep, spooning me from behind. I reached out and set the alarm on his bedside table, then lay awake for quite some time listening to the gentle even pattern of his breaths, wondering what all this would mean for us after. Wondering what would change.

  Realizing nothing would change.

  We’d had sex. That was all. But we were still two people tied to each other only through a business arrangement, nothing else, and even though his body felt good inside mine, even though he turned me on, even though he pushed all my buttons in the best ways—and the worst ways—we had no commitment to each other. Not really. And Weston was definitely not the kind of guy who was interested in more than a tumble or two. I wasn’t naïve. I couldn’t be stupid about him because he’d stuck his dick in me. I’d learned about men like him from my mother.

  I’d learned about men like him from my father.

  I barely slept after that.

  When the alarm went off in the morning, I quickly turned it off, hoping not to wake him, and started to slip out of bed.

  But Weston snagged my wrist and tugged me back down.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked like he had last night, his voice rougher with sleep this time.

  “I have to take a shower and get ready. My mom’s driver will be here in an hour.”

  He lifted his head from the bed, his brows knit in confusion. “Driver? Are you going somewhere?”

  I sighed in exasperation. No, nothing had changed. “My mother’s birthday trip. You never listen to me.”

  He laid his head back down on the pillow. “I remember, I remember. I just forgot.” He stroked his fingers along the length of my arm, up and down. “When will you be back? Friday?”

  I nodded, trying to ignore how much I loved the feel of his fingers on my skin, how this simple touch could make my insides twist and my pussy slick.

  “Let’s have dinner then. Friday night.” He sat up, simultaneously pulling me to him and kissed me. Briefly, but sweetly. “Okay?”

  “Okay. Friday.” That meant I had one week to get my head together. One week to try to forget how incredible our night had been.

  But how did you forget a night that was unforgettable?

  Fifteen

  When I woke up later that morning, I could still smell her in my bed.

  I could smell her in my room. My room that wasn’t even my room—a guest room in her apartment that felt lonely and bare without her. It was an excuse to go to my own place for the weekend, a chance I didn’t get often these days.

  But without her, it would feel just as empty.

  It was fucked up. I was fucked up. I’d slept with her, we’d done the deed, we had the sex. She was supposed to be out of my system by now. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

  I went down to the gym in her apartment building and did twice my usual number of everything—twice the arm workout, twice the back workout, double the time on the treadmill. When I headed back up to the apartment, her fancy maid had come in and changed the sheets, made the bed, and sprayed some kind of scented spray around. It no longer smelled like Elizabeth, which made it better. And worse.

  Maybe it would just take a couple days to get her worked through my bloodstream. It had been so long since I’d had good sex—sex at all, even—that maybe my body needed time to metabolize the endorphins. I gathered my stuff from her place and went home to bury myself in work for the rest of the weekend. There, I put my own glasses in the sink, and tried not to notice how quiet it was.

  Monday morning wasn’t any better. She was still in my head, but in new ways. In the past, everything had been my imagination, which had been frustrating because all I could do was fantasize about what it would feel like to touch her skin and hear her moan and see her face when she completely let go.

  Finally, I’d gotten to enjoy it all, and that was exhilarating. But I felt like a man who’d been to the moon, and was now trying to readjust to life on Earth. It was satisfying and unsatisfying all at once. I found myself equally happy and confused. Jubilant and aching. Longing for what, I couldn’t even begin to know.

  It wasn’t until I was in the elevator headed up to the offices at Reach, and other people were filing in, that I realized I had another dilemma that I hadn’t considered yet.

  And she was now standing next to me riding up to my floor.

  “Morning,” Sabrina said, her eyes shifting, looking everywhere but at me.

  Now this was awkward.

  She was probably embarrassed because of what happened in the closet on Friday night. She’d said it was okay, but it had to be embarrassing, to be standing next to me today. To still have to work with me when I’d rejected her.

  And I hadn’t only rejected her, I’d gone and slept with another woman the same night. An incredible, sexy, amazing, outspoken woman.

  Was this something I needed to tell Sabrina about?

  Considering how I’d told her I wasn’t going to sleep with Elizabeth, and that I’d suggested we could get together when this whole charade was over—yeah, I probably needed to tell her.

  Others got off the elevator on lower floors, and soon we were the only two people left. My gaze focused on the dial as we climbed closer to our destination, wondering if I should do this now or later.

  Finally, I burst out, “We need to talk.”

  She side-eyed me. “If this is about Friday…” She gathered her thoughts and started again. “If this is about the restaurant, I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said.”

  Damn, I’d really stung her hard.

  I had to sting her again. It sucked, but it had to be done. “This isn’t about the restaurant.”

  “Oh.” She rubbed her hands on her skirt. “Okay.”

  We arrived on our floor, and I stepped out of the elevator with her, assuming she would follow me to my office. But she lingered behind me.

  “Right now good? If you’re free…”

  Sabrina’s shoulders slumped. I would have to try to be gentle with her, as she was obviously upset already. “I’m free. I’ll just drop off my bag and be there in a few.”

  I headed to my office, checked in with Roxie, put my briefcase down, unbuttoned my suit jacket, and got settled in at my desk. It was about ten minutes later when Sabrina arrived.

  “He more relaxed than he was the other day, but something has him on edge. Good luck.”

  “I still hear you,” I called out to my assistant, while simultaneously admiring how she’d correctly assessed my mood, and in such little time.

  I stood up from my desk and walked toward her as Sabrina came in, so that I could close the door. The door was for Donovan—because he’d screamed at me about leaving it open while I’d been with her on Friday. But I was aware that Sabrina might think it was for other reasons, so I made sure to keep the windows clear. I invited her to take a seat and then returned to sit behind my desk.

  She sat down and crossed one leg over the other and seemed to be as nervous about this conversation as I was. And no wonder. She was probably expecting that I would give her some consolation, a bunch of reasons why I hadn’t been into her, and she’d have to relive the awkward moment all over again.

  She hadn’t realized yet that it was much, much worse.

  She sighed.

  I inhaled. “Friday night, after you left the restaurant…” I trailed off, not sure quite how to finish that sentence.

  God, I didn’t know how to fix this.

  My silence seemed to urge words out of Sabrina. “Things change, you know, Weston. Things don’t always happen the way we plan and—”

  “I slept with Elizabeth,” I blurted out. Ripping off the Band-Aid. That was the best way to do it.

  She sat stunned. “Uh, what?”

  I straightened my shoulders and met her eyes. “I slept with Elizabeth. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know where things are headed in the future, but I thought you deserved the truth.”

/>   “I see.”

  I studied her face, seeking a change in expression, finding none. It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d expected. It was too calm. Too controlled.

  “Are you upset?”

  “No! Not in the least.”

  Huh.

  Shouldn’t she be at least a little disappointed that I hadn’t held out for her? Or perhaps she was just very good at hiding her emotions.

  She went on. “We didn’t have an arrangement between us. I didn’t expect anything from you.”

  Man, Sabrina was really letting me off the hook here, and I was grateful.

  I grabbed the stapler from the corner of my desk, needing something for my hands to do. “I know, but we were in a closet together. And I know I was acting weird that night, but it wasn’t you.” I pushed the stapler down several times, wasting a bunch of staples. “It was because I was all wrapped up with her, and this bullshit that’s going on between her and me.”

  I searched for the right words to untangle the mess I’d made. Of my desk. Of the situation. Of my life.

  Sabrina narrowed her gaze, watching me closely as I returned the stapler to its original position. “So you and Elizabeth…?”

  It was obvious she was asking if we were a thing now.

  “No. God, no.” I’d answered too quickly. I needed to think about it. I picked up my pen and started flipping it back and forth between my fingers. “I mean.” Were we a thing? We were engaged. We had an arrangement. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. Anyway.”

  Complicated. That was too simple of a word. It was more than complicated, actually. It was knotty. It was convoluted. It was all I could think about.

  Sabrina sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “What does this mean for the pool? I had good money on you holding out.”

  “You placed a bet too?”

  She shrugged, then grinned. “I’m joking. Any bet I would have placed seemed to be against my better interest.”

  I dropped the pen and put both palms flat on the desk. “But you’re really okay with this situation?”

  She smiled again. “I am.” Her smile faded, and I tensed. “Actually, I slept with someone this weekend too.”

  I sat up straighter. This was...unexpected.

  She paused to take a breath. “I slept with Donovan.”

  The air suddenly felt thick between us, my eyes squinting at her, my blood feeling hot, and not in the sexy way.

  “Uh. Say something?” she prodded.

  “I’m trying to decide if I’m jealous or if this relieves me of my guilt.” I was also trying to decide if sleeping with a girl I was still entangled with made Donovan a giant douchecanoe. Well, more giant than I already gave him credit for.

  She reached across the desk and playfully punched my lower arm. “It relieves you of your guilt. Jerk.”

  I nodded. “Donovan, huh?” I inhaled, trying to calm whatever fury was stirring inside me and nodded again. “I have to admit—I didn’t see that coming.”

  But I hadn’t seen much of anything besides Elizabeth in the last several weeks. Correction, last several months. Time was flying by, and I was spending all of it with the woman I was soon going to marry.

  So I couldn’t really say if Donovan was being a bad friend or a good friend. Was he looking after Sabrina? Helping her feel more at home in the city, less lonely, less rejected? Was he really interested in her? Or was he being a fucking prick, telling me I couldn’t have her, and then banging her to prove it?

  Whatever it was, I was cool with it on Sabrina’s end. She was content with her one-night stand, which she insisted it was, as we talked more. And she couldn’t know about all the layers of baggage between me and Donovan.

  So, good for her. And maybe even good for them.

  Definitely good for me and Sabrina. It felt like whatever we’d had was resolved and done. It was probably the most grown-up way I’d ever ended a relationship in my life, much more mature than the dodge-and-delete method I’d perfected over the years.

  If only dealing with the other woman in my life could be as easy.

  * * *

  The rest of the week sauntered by in a state of unease. Each minute ticked by slowly; each hour seemed agonizingly long. Before I’d slept with Elizabeth, she’d been a distraction at work, creeping into my thoughts while I tried to concentrate on what I needed to at the office. I’d often been consumed with my anger, my irritation, and my desire.

  After I’d slept with her?

  I was twice as consumed. Twice as agonized. Each night now, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, even after jerking off. It was like before I’d been so horny and filled with lust, and now I was in need of something else. Something that no amount of alcohol or work or time in the gym or staring at my graphic novels could fill or replace. I just wanted to talk to her, to fight with her.

  I missed her.

  Jesus, I’d never missed a woman in my life. What the hell had she done to me?

  By Friday I was so wrapped up in this new amazing-terrible-wonderful-irritating emotion inside of me that I was anxious for her to return that night. Nervous to see her again, but anxious for it nonetheless.

  In desperation, I stormed into Nate’s office over lunch.

  “You said it would make it better,” I said accusingly as I walked in.

  He cocked his head at me, setting his deli sandwich onto his desk, which was set at standing position. He gestured at the chairs stationed by the windows, indicating that I should take a seat. I strolled over and sat down in one of them, my foot bouncing as I unbuttoned my suit jacket.

  He strolled over and sat down in the seat opposite of me. “I take it you and Elizabeth…” He let the silence fill in the blank.

  “I thought you could tell. You said you’d be able to tell.” I was feeling grumpy, grumpy at Nate specifically since he was the one who’d suggested that sleeping with Elizabeth was the right thing to do, and though I didn’t regret it, it really hadn’t seemed to fix anything.

  “Oh, I can tell. You’ve been much happier.” He reconsidered. “Or, you were earlier in the week. Now it seems you’ve gotten yourself riled up again. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I bent over and leaned my elbows on my knees, noticing they were both bouncing now, and tried to put this problem into words. “Well, we did it, like you said we should. It was supposed to get her out of my system. It was supposed to get me over her. But it hasn’t changed anything. I’m still just as fucked up about this. She’s been out of town all week long, and I’m still thinking about her. She’s everywhere. I can’t get her out of my damn head.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m miserable.” I shook my head. “Except at the same time, I’m not, because I keep remembering that night and all the...things...and the...ways…” I could dish about sex as well as the next guy, but it didn’t seem appropriate to dish about Elizabeth. “And remembering it makes me feel all weird and...good. And shit.”

  Nate nodded. “Right.”

  “I know what I have to do, though,” I said, the idea coming to me suddenly.

  “Of course you do. What is it?” Nate asked patiently, and it didn’t escape me that this felt an awful lot like the therapy sessions I’d tried a couple of times a few years back when I’d first realized my father was an asshat. Minus the rage and the overpriced bill.

  And I’d just had a bigger breakthrough in Nate’s office than anything I could have discovered from that stuffy psychiatrist.

  “I have to have sex with her again.” I jumped up and started pacing the room. This was brilliant, and obviously the right answer. We had to continue to be together through the engagement anyway, and of course, this had been why I had been worked up all week. Because I didn’t know how to deal with the after-things, with women I wouldn’t bang again after we’d had sex once.

  So the solution here was to just keep doing it. That hadn’t really occurred to me as an option for some reason.

  Perha
ps because living together and sleeping together with the same woman—a woman who was wearing a ring that I put on her finger—felt an awful lot like a real relationship, the kind I’d always managed to avoid.

  “All right,” Nate laughed harder than I thought he needed to. “How does Elizabeth feel about this? Do you think she’s open to continuing?”

  I shrugged, not really seeing why she wouldn’t be open to it. It had been pretty damn good sex. “I haven’t talked to her since.”

  Nate’s jaw went slack, his eyes wide. “You haven’t talked to her since you slept with her? Not at all? Not even a text message?”

  My pacing slowed and I began to feel a new sense of dread. Shit. Had I fucked this up already?

  “Look, I don’t usually talk to the girls afterwards. They are usually texting me.” Which begged the question—why hadn’t she texted me? Had it not been as good for her as I’d thought? Had I done something wrong? Did she…regret it somehow?

  Nate frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. Women really like to be reassured after that kind of thing. Especially if you want to have another shot with them.”

  I sank back down in the seat across from him. “Shit, Nate.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Is it too late now? She comes back tonight. We’re supposed to have dinner. What do I do?”

  Nate nodded, thinking. “Your best plan is to make it seem like the space was part of your strategy. And then reassure her. Reassure her, Weston,” he repeated. “Make sure she knows she’s special to you.”

  It was my turn to frown. Special to me? I didn’t like that. To be certain, I’d never wanted to continue sleeping with a woman like I wanted to continue sleeping with her, so that made her special in a way. But I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea or anything.

  This was still a business arrangement.

  Nate seemed to sense my train of thought. “You don’t have to tell her you’re in love with her. Just let her know that you had a good time with her. That you’re not just using her for her body. Are you using her for her body?”