Page 33 of Play Me

I don’t want to change the subject. I want to apologize until she hears it and believes it, because the locker room ordeal now makes perfect sense.

Before, I was sorry for being mean. Now I’m sorry for being unknowingly cruel.

But as I start to speak again, I remember something my therapist once told me: an apology is for whoever I hurt, not for me.

If I’m truly remorseful for what I said, then I must prioritize what she needs over what I feel like I need.

So I have to let it go for now.

“I thought you might like to see Sugar Creek,” I say, ducking as a strand of thorns whips at me from the side.

“It runs through your property?”

“There’s a joke that the creek touches everyone’s property somehow. But, yeah, it runs just a little way down this path.”

She shifts in her seat. “There was a time not long ago when this would’ve been dangerous.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I would’ve wanted to drown you in the creek.”

I laugh. “You mean you don’t anymore?”

“Maybe not today,” she says, fighting a grin.

We round a large pine tree, and the water comes into view.

It’s a bit wider and deeper here than in most places.

A handful of trees have fallen in the vicinity, and by the looks of the rope swing hanging off a limb and the leaf litter covering the picnic table we hauled down here as teenagers, it doesn’t look like Hartley comes back here anymore.

“This is beautiful,” she says, hopping out with her water bottle in hand. “ Wow, Gray. Look at this place.”

I shut the engine off and climb out, too. “Do you like it?”

“What’s not to like?”

“We used to hang out here all summer. Mom or Cathy would pack us a picnic basket and a cooler full of lemonade, and we’d bring a little radio that I got one Christmas. We’d swim and shoot the shit. It was a good time.” No, it was the best time.

I let my gaze roam around the land, chastising myself for not truly appreciating life here. Sure, I have great memories with my family, and Brooks and I had a ball, but I had one foot out the door from as far back as I can remember. I was convinced the small-town life wasn’t for me.

But I’ve seen the world now and all it has to offer.

And, while I’ve had a lot of experiences—both good and bad—I realize it’s not for me, either.

I’ve pondered whether coming back home would make me feel like a failure or inadequate in some way, or if Hartley would have feelings about me coming and going as I see fit.

But being here? It’s the most contentment I’ve had in a long fucking time.

Astrid peers off the edge of the embankment into the water. “It sounds magical.”

“They write about this in books. I could suggest some, if you’d like.”

She glares at me playfully before turning back to the water again. “There are little fishes. Look at that.”

“There’s a heron on your right just upstream.”

“I can’t get over this,” she says, looking toward the bird. “Is that a rope swing?”

I nod. “Yeah. This is one of the only places in the area where it’s deep enough for that kind of thing. The water pools here and gets lazy instead of flowing steadily.”

“One of my childhood dreams was to use a rope swing. I saw one on— ah !”

Astrid’s foot catches on an exposed tree root and slips out from beneath her. In slow motion, she falls forward, eyes wide, hair trailing behind her, and water bottle pressed to her chest.

She lands with a thud.

“Are you okay?” I ask, racing to her side and kneeling beside her. “Does anything hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” She groans, turning onto her side and looking up to me with gold-flecked eyes. The crushed plastic water bottle squeaks as she moves off it. “Nothing besides my pride, anyway.”

I brush a lock of hair off her cheek, my knuckles swiping against her smooth skin, and a zing of heat rips through me. It doesn’t stop until it reaches my toes. Her gaze pierces mine as her lips part, and I can’t help but wonder if she felt that, too.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask as she sits up.

“Yeah.” She glances down at the front of her shirt. It’s soaked from the water that was in her hand, and a dark smudge streaks down the right side of her chest. She groans again. “Oh, great. What is that? Mud?”

I shove my tongue in my cheek and decide if I should tell her that the streak isn’t from mud.

Astrid pulls the fabric away from her body, giving me a clear view of the tops of her round tits.

Heat creeps up my neck as I try to look away. Suddenly, she’s not a shrew, and she’s not the woman I work with. She’s a verifiable fox. I can’t stop myself from imagining my hands on her body, her nipples in my mouth, and the sound of her voice as she moans.

“What is that?” she asks with a shrillness to her tone that snaps me right out of my daydream.

“What’s what?”

She points. “ That. ”

I try my absolute hardest not to laugh. “That? That’s rabbit poop.”

She scoots back like it’s a pile of poison with the ability to reach out and bite her. The color in her face drains. Her fingers lose their grip on her shirt, and it falls against her again. She squeals, pulling it away from her skin.

It’s fucking adorable.

“Can I get rabies from this?” she asks.

“No, you cannot get rabies from this.” I twist my lips together, but the laughter comes anyway. “You’ll be fine.”

She hops up and backward, putting more distance between herself and the small pile of shit. “Seriously? I might throw up.”

“Hey, at least it’s not dysentery,” I joke.

“This isn’t funny, jackass.”

I clear my throat, trying to be serious. “You’re right. We’ll head back to the house, and you can get cleaned up.”

“I can’t wait that long. I have … poop on me.” She shivers. “What am I going to do?” she whines. “If I had a sports bra on, I’d just take my shirt off.”

“Not a bad idea.”

She cocks her head to the side and glares at me.

“Hey, leave it on and risk rabies,” I say, holding my hands at my chest. “It’s up to you.”

“Remember when I said I hated you less? I didn’t mean it.”

I grin smugly at her as I reach for the hem of my T-shirt. “I’m pretty sure you clarified that then.”

Her eyes drop to my waist. It feels like trails of lava are left on my skin as she drags her gaze up my body along with my shirt. Over my abs, up my torso, and across my shoulders . Her lips are parted when I ball it in my hands and smirk at her.

“Take your shirt off and you can wear mine,” I say, holding it out to her.

She swallows. “Then what are you going to wear?”

“Are you offended by me being shirtless?”

She rolls her eyes but takes my offering without touching me. “Turn around.”

Sure. Take the fun out of it. I twist on my heel. Taking the fun out of things really is her forte.

I watch the afternoon sun shine through the trees, casting shadows on the forest floor—and try to forget that Astrid is topless just feet behind me. I’m only a man, after all. One who just realized today that his assistant is fucking hot.

“Okay,” she says. “You can turn around.”

I do and find her shirt and bra hanging off her fingers. My tee is tied in a knot at her belly button, the fabric drawn to her middle, showcasing the natural shape of her tits. They’re rounded and hang in a sexy drop. Her nipples strain against the cotton.

Thank God I wore gray and not black today.

“Don’t make this weird,” she says, trudging by me to the side-by-side.

“There’s not a damn thing weird about this.”

“You’re making it weird.”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling and climb into the seat beside her. She places a hand over her chest and lifts a brow at me.

“Try not to Indy 500 it back to the house, please,” she says. “As you’re well aware, I don’t have a bra on.”

“Who said I was aware of that?”

I look at her over my shoulder and find her fighting a grin, too.

“Thanks for telling me.” I shift the transmission into drive. “That’s good to know.”

“Gray!” she squeals, breaking into a fit of laughter as I stomp on the gas.

The sound of her laughter follows us all the way home. And despite thoroughly enjoying that Astrid can laugh at the situation, it also causes a knot to form in the bottom of my gut.

My assistant is not only a smoke show, but she’s also really fucking funny. Fuck me.