The Game Changer

by Lana Ferguson

“Yeah, but it’s stupid. I don’t know what that guy’s obsession with naming things with just letters is.”

At least there’ll be one good thing to come from all this shit. I’ve definitely missed the kid.

“They make these blueberry scones that are basically better than sex,”

“They must be some really good fucking scones.”

You’ve still got it, Cupcake.”

The man is sex on legs. Always has been, really. The years have only made him better. Ian Chase ages like Gouda, and I love me some fucking cheese.

“How long have you had it bad for the ginger giant?”

@sopuckinghornyrightnow: dude but like they are really hot together #DelIan

Everything about what he just told me sounds exactly like something my Lila would do. My Lila?

“I could play you like a fiddle, Ian Chase.”

“I told you not to play this game with me,” she says coyly. “You’ll lose.”

You can’t argue with someone who won’t entertain the idea of being wrong.

My lips curl in a smile at the image of my massive hockey player tumbling on the ice because of some tiny little boy. Well, not my hockey player, but whatever.

“Such a brat,” he grumbles. My lips curl. Oh, he has no idea.

I’m giving myself a mental girlboss ass-kicking

His hand reaches to let his finger trace along his lower lip, and my eyes are glued to that action, and I’m talking super, not Elmer’s.

“I can handle,” he says slowly, carefully, “whatever you can, Lila.”

Keep your eyes on the fucking ice, Chase. You already know she’s well outgrown those. You have no reason to confirm it again.

“I see you, Lila,” I tell her quietly. Her hand trembles in mine. “Took you long enough.”

still…all I can think about right now is what her mouth tastes like. And I fully intend to find out.

“Let me be clear,” he says firmly. “I have been thinking about this for a lot longer than I probably should have.

And I can’t think of a single fucking thing I want more than to know what your mouth tastes like.”

“You like that, sweet girl?” Oh wow. My imagination should be fired for never offering up that little gem.

“Do it again.” “Greedy,”

“You’re going to ruin me. Aren’t you.” My smile is soft now. “I sure fucking hope so.”

“I kind of like you too.”

“Ditto,”

“Maybe if you’re a good boy today, I’ll let you show me how much you like it.”

“Maybe if you’re good today…I won’t have to spank the brat out of you.”

You’re fucking everywhere, Lila. You’re in so deep that I don’t see how I could ever get you out.”

“Get your ass inside, brat. I have plans for it.”

“But I don’t have a dick.”

So polite, my Ian.

“Oh God,” I moan. “My name,” he practically growls, surprising me in the best way. “You say my name when I’m between your legs.”

“You look pretty edible yourself, Cupcake,”

Little death is right.

The world won’t end if you’re okay, Ian. You know that, right?”

Too soon, my brain says, just as my heart whispers back, Too late.

“Middle-aged,” I laugh instead. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I still think you’re hot”—I lick at his lower lip, humming in my chest—“for an old man.”

“Your groin is important,” she deadpans, and I can tell by her expression that it’s taking everything she has not to crack up. “I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.”

he looks like someone waiting for their first date, which is adorable on a man who looks like a ginger, freckled Thor.

Yuck. If she only knew.

“You’ve spent the entire game watching Ian like he’s got a golden dick and shits saltwater taffy.”

Because I still want him, I still dream of him, I still burn for him—and I absolutely love him too.

“You’re trying to kill me,” she groans. “I’m dead.” “We can get joint gravesites,”

I decide it’s worth it. All of it. No matter what happens.

Because I’m never letting her go.

“Oh shit,” Jack whispers. “Plot twist.”

“Don’t be sorry, be better?” Abby says with a watery laugh. Ian smiles. “Put that on a T-shirt.”

I smack his ass, continuing to ignore Jack as he groans. “Go get ’em, Cupcake.”