Play With Me (Playing for Keeps, #2)

by Becka Mack

“You’re not getting any of this tonight,” Olivia bites out, pausing to circle a hand around her bottom half. “None of it.” Carter’s gasp leaves him slack jawed, and he chases after her. “Ollie! It was an accident! You can’t cut off access! You can’t!”

Am I impressed by how easy that was or do I just wanna go home and devour a box of Pop-Tarts?

“Uh, yeah. Totally. I’m good at zippering.” I’m good at zippering? Holy fuck, you dipshit. Shut up.

BIRTHDAY TACOS & FUCKBOYS

Poor guy hasn’t figured out that I’m caviar; he can’t afford me no matter how hard he tries.

I’m reminded exactly why I’ve affectionally labeled him Simon Syphilis.

“Unfortunately, I don’t feel like making any fuckboy-sized mistakes today.”

“I just wanna love you out loud. Why won’t you let me love you out

“Living without your soul mate is something no one should ever have to do,”

“I know there’s something extra special waiting for you, Jennie. A love above all the rest. That’s what a soul mate is. Someone with smooth edges to soften our sharp ones. Someone who fits us so perfectly, vibrates on the same frequency, makes all our best parts shine. And together? Together, everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.”

Now, do I think finding that person who makes all the dark spots a little bit brighter might open you up to a side of this world you haven’t seen?”

Besides, who needs a boyfriend when you’ve got a drawer full of battery-powered ones? Men don’t vibrate, but dildos do.

“For the love of God, tell me you slapped Garrett in the face with a dildo named Indiana Bones, please, Jennie.” “I didn’t slap him in the face with it. We fought over the box it was in, the box broke, and Indiana Bones soared through the air and kinda … you know.”

Talk of dildos, dongs, and dickings is put on the back burner as the game starts.

A mental flick pick I can file away in my Flickapedia for future usage. Like tonight. Yes, I’m 100 percent gonna flick it to the image of Garrett Andersen. Sue me.

the weapon this man is carrying is big enough to destroy a small country. It’s been an unholy number of years since I’ve been intimate with somebody, and there’s a part of me—a very minuscule part—that wouldn’t mind being that small country.

Well, that won’t work. Absolutely not. If I can’t have her, nobody else on this team gets her.

I changed my mind. I want her, and I’m gonna have her. Carter walks away, leaving his sister glaring at me, and when she flips me the double bird, I know that only God can help me now. Fuck me, I’m going for it anyway.

“That’s you, sunshine. You’re my favorite dessert.” With my hand on her throat, I haul her into me. Breathless, she clings to me as I whisper my next words. “C’mon, Jennie. Play with me.”

“I didn’t ask to be your boyfriend. I asked—respectfully—to wreck your body in a way that both of us enjoy immensely, based on the way I can’t keep my tongue out of there and you keep trying to detach my hair from my scalp. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit by and let someone disrespect you or your boundaries just because we aren’t dating. I’m still gonna have your back.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But if, in the future, I happen to accidentally punch Simon Syphilis in his smart-ass mouth, don’t think of it as protection. Think of it as karma.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “I call him Simon Syphilis.”

She absolutely can, already has, and I’ll gladly get down on them a thousand more times to taste the sweet spot between her thighs while she yanks my hair and chants my name, begging for more.

Does she not know how mind-blowingly sexy she is? I’d sell my left nut for a VIP all-you-can-ride ticket to her Disneyland. All-you-can-eat works just fucking fine for now, though.

“Carter! Why are my cookies above the fridge?” I prop my elbows on the countertop, watching my tiny, pregnant sister-in-law as she turns into Spider-Woman and tries to crawl up the stainless-steel fridge. “Son of a … goddamn … bitch,” she grunts, slapping at the top of the fridge, which is as high as she can reach.

“Oh wait.” I roll down the window. “I forgot to mention this a couple weeks ago, but your wife wants you to fuck her like you mean it.” Carter stares. “What?” “You cannot poke your baby in the eye, Carter.” He glances at his crotch. “Are you sure? I’m pretty well-endow—” “Stop.” I hold up a hand. “Please stop, my God. Thanks for the car. I’ll take care of her. You take care of your wife. Bye. I’m going now.”

“I don’t know much about your brother, Jennie, but he seems like the kinda guy who wouldn’t be overly thrilled with his friend’s dick saying hi to his little sister’s belly button while riding the elevator.”

“Don’t like that. I licked it. It’s mine.”

But what if I never get the chance to show someone who I am beyond my last name? What if nobody bothers to look? That’s what hurts the most.

“So you don’t wanna hang out with me on my period! I’m hungry and growly like a bear, emotional like a toddler who missed nap time, and you’re not getting any!”

“C’mon, Jennie. Dance with me.” Her grin is a slow explosion, lighting her whole face as all that apprehension fades away. “You’ll dance for me?” “I’ll do anything for you.”

“I think you’re my best friend.” She drops her gaze to my chest, cheeks radiating with heat. “It would really hurt me to lose you.”

Is the connection we share the kind you find regularly? Is it the type of connection you create with all your friends? Or is this connection unique to him? To us? Is it fleeting and rare, the powerful kind that allows a deep and meaningful relationship to bloom? The kind you grab hold of and tell yourself, no matter what, don’t you dare let go?

Because where there’s something beautiful to be found, there’s something beautiful to be lost too.

“It makes sense. It’s just … sometimes it feels like I don’t fit in with anyone.” “You weren’t made to fit in, Jennie. You stand out way too much to hide in the shadows.”

“But you have a quiet side too. A side that craves downtime, that likes to snuggle in bed and whisper about the best and worst parts of your days. You overanalyze everything because you think about every possible ending. You hate that you do, but you care too much about what people who don’t matter think about you. You have a big heart, and you cry at every single Disney movie, even the parts that aren’t sad, because all that love hits you hard. You’re a secret softie, but you like everyone to think you’re a little bit scary, that you’re unshakable. “But here’s the thing, Jennie. You don’t have to be strong and confident all the time. You’re allowed to have insecurities, to be afraid, to feel lonely. Those things don’t make you weak; they make you human.”

“The day we fuck is going to be like lightning, Jennie. I’m gonna light up your entire sky, the same way you do mine.”

She’s beautiful, my best friend. She makes me smile when she’s not even doing a damn thing, and she lives rent-free in my head twenty-four seven. Who had any right making her this magnificent? When I look at her, a thousand emotions swirl inside me, and it’s hard to choose just one to focus on. I wish I could put it into words, but I don’t know how.

“My friend asked you to take your hand off her, Kevin. Do you have a hearing problem or a comprehension problem?”

I just need her here, need her hand in mine to remember that good things happen, that it doesn’t always need to be so fucking rainy when you’ve got a sun that shines so bright.

cannot believe I ever wanted to be a part of your group. What would ever entice me to be friends with you? I am nothing like you. I used to think it was my fault, that I didn’t know how to make friends, that there must be something wrong with me. Now I know I just have fucking standards.” My gaze flicks to Ashley and Ashlee as they step away from Krissy like they want nothing to do with this. “You girls should think about getting some.”

“My brother is funny as fuck, compassionate, and loves harder than anybody I know. I don’t blame people if they see what he has to offer and want to add another Beckett to their lives. Quite frankly, we kick fucking ass. But you …” I lift a brow, looking her over. “You know what you are, Krissy? You’re the type of girl who peaked in high school. Pretty enough, popular enough, with a cute enough boyfriend. You thought it could only go up from there. Then you stepped into the real world and realized you were only one of many. That you didn’t stand out the way you wanted to. That your version of enough wasn’t enough anymore. Everybody else grew up, but you’re stuck wishing for a life that doesn’t exist.”

“So, walk in my brother’s shadow? I don’t fucking think so. The only people who walk in shadows are those who follow you so blindly, who have no idea there’s a life out there that you’re not a part of, one that’s happier, with friendships so much more fulfilling than the ugly way you dictate yours.”

For once in my life, I just want to be loved. Loved for who I am, for what I have to give. I want someone to see everything I bring to the table and eagerly sit down with me. I’ve spent way too many years coming up with excuses, making myself smaller for people who didn’t know how to handle everything I was. I’ve never had to hide with Garrett. There were times when I’ve moved slower, tested the water before diving in, but Garrett’s always been there, waiting with open arms. He takes every bit of me, the shattered trust, the deep, never-ending grief, the bold and loud, the soft and quiet, both the confident and the timid, and he makes a space for all of it, for all of me in his big heart, and he never asks for anything more. Is this what love feels like? Is this what it’s like to be loved by someone with no obligation to be anything other than myself? Warm and fuzzy, like curling up on the couch on a cold, snowy night in my favorite of his hoodies and a mug of hot chocolate after a long day. Like my favorite person smiling down at me, pressing his lips to mine before he lifts the blankets and slides in beside me, pulling me into his warmth, the safety net he casts around me every time he’s near. Because with him, I’m safe. Safe to be myself, safe to feel, safe to want, safe to be. If this is love, I’m in it. If this is love, I never want to let go.

“I’m so fucking tired of pretending.” “Pretending what?” It’s nothing but a breathy whisper as he prowls toward me, matching each of my steps backward. His strong hands cup my face, piercing gaze locked on mine as he looms above me. My heart slams in my chest as his thumb sweeps across my lower lip, and his eyes dip, watching as my lips part on a jagged inhale, before flipping back up to mine. “I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m not in love with you.”

“How do you like your eggs?” I must be some kind of stupid to consider answering fertilized. Instead, I clear my throat, tuck my hair behind my ear, and ask the real question. “Is in a cake an option?”

“I want you to strip me down, render me powerless, and fuck me so hard, until I can’t walk and the shape of your cock is imprinted inside me.”

Spending time with Jennie is like a Sunday you don’t want to ever end. Every moment leading up to it is perfect, a weekend that goes by way too fast. Sunday comes sooner than you want it to, and you hold on to every fleeting moment, every single minute, not ready to put it down, to say goodbye. You think if you just don’t close your eyes, you won’t have to.

But then nighttime comes along, the goodbye inevitable, and you wake up on Monday morning alone, ready to start another tedious week. You tuck your weekend away and become the person you don’t really want to be, pretending you aren’t managing to get by without the person who matters most, the one that makes everything easier, just waiting for the weekend all over again, when you can finally be together. I don’t want to wait anymore, and I’m tired of hiding.

But that’s the way life works after you’ve lost someone to a tragedy. No matter how good things are going, you’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something horrific and life altering to happen, to have your happiness snatched from your hands no matter how tightly you cling to it.

I sure as hell didn’t imagine she’d sweep into my life and become my best friend, my favorite person, in such a short time. Only she did. She’s mine, and I’m hers. I think that’s the way it was always meant to be. I’m not going to let her be just my Sunday night anymore. I want her to be my sleepy Monday morning, my thank-fuck-it’s-Friday, my stay-in-bed Saturday, and all the other days too. I’m not going to force myself to live without the brightest spot in my world.