The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,50

he’d read every single one of my thoughts, maybe even glimpsed my feelings for his cousin.

A moment later, I dismissed the thought.

How could he know when Ever himself hadn’t noticed?

Shaking off Jamie, my parents, and anything else that made me want to crawl into a ball, I got back in line. I didn’t dare turn to see if Jamie was still watching me. I waited five minutes before my turn came, and this time, when I gripped the ladder, I told myself nothing else mattered but ringing that damn bell.

I took my time just like my first try, kept to the edge as I had on my second, but this time, I made sure to alternate, keeping the opposite foot planted whenever my right or left hand reached for the rung above me. I blinked at my right hand in surprise when it actually gripped the top rung, but then the ladder suddenly wobbled even more aggressively than before, desperate to throw me off. As quick as I could, I lunged for the rope and rang the bell a mere second before I was tossed onto my ass. Lying on my back, I smiled up at the clear blue sky and the bright sun that seemed to return my smile.

I’d done it.

I lay there for a few seconds longer than necessary, listening to the round of applause and cheers, my friends’ being the loudest of them all.

“Hey, are you okay?” the pimply-faced operator asked as he came to stand over me.

My friends’ goofy grinning faces appeared above me next. Ever was the first to lean down, helping me stand. My gaze traveled the circle, searching for Jamie’s cocky handsome face, but he wasn’t there.

“Holy shit!” Vaughn shouted before grabbing me up in a bear hug. Trapped in his arms, he spun me around, and I gasped when my gaze landed on the shadowed seclusion behind the cotton candy stand. I’d only had a glimpse, but it had been more than enough. When Vaughn finally set me on my feet, my world spun for more reasons than one. “Shit, sorry,” he said, mistaking my distress. I felt like I’d been hit with a Mack truck, and I was sure I looked liked it, too.

“Congratulations,” the operator offered. “You’re our first winner today. Do you know which prize you’d like?”

Slowly, my gaze traveled back to the two bodies pressed close together behind the cotton candy stand, and I realized my prize had already been stolen.

Present

“THAT’LL BE $103.98.”

After paying for my purchases, I charged onto the busy New York street with my nicotine patches and chewing gum in tow. It had been six days since I quit smoking, and I was already on my second attempt. I thought I could quit cold turkey, but last night, I’d given in to one addiction to keep from indulging in another. Six whole days since my encounter with Bee, and I couldn’t close my fucking eyes without feeling her press against my fingers or hearing her soft, sweet moans. She’d been close, but I’d been cruel.

When I reached the high-rise that housed NaMara’s headquarters, I rode the elevator to the thirty-ninth floor and made a beeline for the men’s room. Once inside, I locked the door, removed my tie, vest, and dress shirt before cleaning the only spot, except my damn ankles, that wasn’t covered by hair or a tattoo. The tiny space between my left collarbone and my arm was just big enough to fit the patch, so after drying it off, I carefully applied it.

I have no fucking clue why I’m even doing this.

Or who I was doing it for.

I didn’t give a fuck enough to do it for myself. My mom was in Ireland, still grieving my father while taking care of my grandparents and raising two hellions by her damn self. Although she cared, her hands were too full to take on my shit, too.

That only left one person, and I hadn’t decided yet if she was worth it.

I told myself it didn’t matter because I’d probably be smoking again by morning. I’ve never been very disciplined, and before now, the flaw had only served me well.

After redressing, I popped one of the gums in my mouth because I’d been feening all damn day and made my way to my cubicle. There were at least three empty offices on the floor above, but my uncle made me work down here with the grunts because he couldn’t help but be an asshole. He