The Play Mate (Roommates, #2)

I cleared my throat. “It was a long time ago.” And not something I wanted to get into with Evie-ever.

“And what, you’re older and wiser now?” Her eyes narrowed further into the shape of slivered almonds, and I felt my stomach tense.

“Yes, and more importantly, I know how to show some restraint.”

“What does that mean exactly, Smith?”

“It means you have nothing to worry about.” That part was true.

“Why would I be worried? There’s nothing between us, right?”

“The truth is, she and I have a history. Let me go smooth this over. I’m afraid she’s got some old hang-ups, and this really isn’t about you at all.”

Evie shot me a now wide-eyed glare, curiosity written all over her features.

“She and I were connected in the past. And she might be trying to sabotage you to punish me. I’ll handle it.”

“No way. You’re not fighting my battle. And what kind of relationship?”

“It was purely physical.” The words felt sour in my throat. I hated admitting this to Evie, but I wouldn’t lie to her.

“So you slept with her?”

“Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I hated myself. The look of disappointment that flashed on Evie’s features was brief but unmistakable. A few seconds of silence passed between us, and I was left feeling like even more of an asshole than I was.

I shook my head slowly and took another long look at the collage of campaign elements. “If Arabella doesn’t like the campaign you created, then she’s a fucking idiot, Evie. This is brilliant.”Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

And it was. She’d struck the perfect balance between sensuality and class, each image showcasing the pieces to their best advantage. One teddy in particular caught my eye and I cocked my head, imagining Evie in that very outfit.

“That color would look amazing on your skin,” I murmured softly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You’d look am-”

“Fucking horrible in that outfit,” a low voice chimed in sharply from behind me. “Ew, Smith. Don’t be imagining my little sister in this shit, or I’m going to have to fire you both,” Cullen said, stepping between us.

Evie’s cheeks turned the color of cooked beets, but I managed to keep it together.

“It’s a pretty color, buddy,” I said with a grin. “It would look great with her hair. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

Cullen grunted and then shrugged. “Whatever. Still gross. The three of us need to have a quick discussion about the new line with manufacturing in an hour, so clear your schedules, all right?”

Evie gave her brother a thumbs-up, and I nodded. “Sure thing.”

He turned on his heel and left, already on to the next thing, seeming to forget all about the fact that I’d been imagining his sister in a peach teddy. That didn’t help either Evie or me, though, because we were left gazing at each other guiltily.

“I’m going to go see if I can talk Arabella down,” I said, breaking the tension. “And if not, don’t stress. I know that once she sees this, all will be forgotten anyway.”

Evie gave me a grateful smile and waved. I’d made it all the way to the door before I couldn’t stop myself from turning back.

“You would look super hot in that lingerie, though. Just saying.”

A pair of satin panties whizzed past my face, hitting the door frame. When I looked back at Evie, she was casting a scowl in my direction.

• • •

Once at home, I felt the stirrings of a headache forming. Huffing out a deep breath, I sat down on the side of my bed. I just needed a fucking minute here. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of all this new pressure on my shoulders.

Reaching into the drawer of my nightstand, I pulled a worn slip of paper from inside a familiar envelope. The paper’s edges were soft, and the faded ink reflected its age. As much as it evoked memories of my less-than-desirable beginnings, it was almost comforting in a way too.

I was left at four years old with just the clothes on my back-a size too small and fraying at the edges-along with this note in the parking lot of an emergency room downtown. My fingers traced the barely legible scrawl absently. I remembered nothing of my life before, and my adoptive mom said that was a good thing, but I wasn’t so sure. Even some sad memories would have helped me piece together the fragments of my early childhood.

The blank space was left to fester, growing wider, deeper with each passing year. It was an emptiness inside me that nothing in my life had been able to fill-and believe me, I’d tried. Booze. Women. Fast cars. I’d tried it all.

Now I’d resigned myself to live with that hole in my chest. I kept my head down, throwing myself into my work to compensate for the missing puzzle piece inside me. But what else could I do?

I stuffed the paper back inside its resting place, knowing I was about to get deeper into my own issues before I found my way back out again.