Page 20 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

M y mind keeps bouncing back to Connie and the soft pink of her cheeks after I gave her the croissants this morning. I return to it again and again, the memory like the moon, and I am the tide.

Things are going smoothly between us lately, mainly because I haven’t bitten her head off or acted like a complete fucking jerk.

Anger and alienation are a heavy armor I’ve grown fond of carrying.

It takes a lot more effort for me to act casual and at ease, but I won’t let Connie know that.

If pretending to be someone I’m not makes Connie finally warm up to me, then fine—I’ll play the part.

I softly rap on Connie’s office door to signal my presence. It’s open, but I lean in the doorway just as her head pops up from staring at her laptop.

“Hux,” she says with a smile. I mentally file away her smile with all the others I’ve kept in memory. “What’s up?”

It’s the first time she’s shortened my name, and I get hit with an odd sense of glee at the sound.

I try to keep my face straight as I reply, “I know it’s only two, but Whit told us to go home, the snow is only getting worse.”

“Is it?” she says.

She uselessly looks around her windowless office, seemingly as a reflex, then down to her phone, most likely checking the weather app.

“Is everyone gone?”

I stuff a hand into my jeans pocket, still leaning against the doorframe.

“Not yet, but close. The tech crew is wrapping up, too.” She hums distractedly, still looking at her phone. “Figured we should leave with them.”

We.

The word hangs in front of me, taunting and mocking.

Connie doesn’t seem to register the weight of the word, still stinking up the place when she looks up and smiles.

“I still have an hour or two here,” she says, her brows creasing as she looks at her computer, then she adds quickly as if remembering herself. “You should go. No need to wait after me.”

I scoff, pushing off the doorframe. “I’m not leaving you alone here.”

She snorts a laugh. “The place isn’t haunted or anything.”

I stroll into her office. It’s a pretty cramped room, but there’s enough space for a small couch in front of her desk next to a row of filing cabinets.

I drop my backpack on the floor next to the couch and plop down into the cushions, legs wide and arms folded across my chest.

“Who said anything about ghosts, boss?”

Connie’s laugh tickles my nape.

It feels good. Making her laugh.

Her lips are quirked, but her gaze is cast down, typing something on her computer.

“Don’t call me that,” she says lightly.

“What should I call you then?”

She’s still smirking when her hazel eyes lift to meet mine. But when they do, her expression shutters as if suddenly trying to conceal her thoughts. Her gaze dips to my open legs, then quickly back up, her cheeks turning pink, just how I like them.

She laughs off her blunder as if I didn’t witness any of what just happened. My throat turns dry, wondering what thoughts took over during her obvious moment of weakness.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t waiting for another chance to make her squirm.

Although, was it even about me that night? Or was I just at the right place at the right time?

“You can keep calling me Connie,” she says, looking back at her laptop.

“Everyone calls you Connie.”

“Yeah?” She smirks. “And you’re not everyone?”

“Aren’t I?”

Connie’s smile slowly fades as if turning apprehensive, her gaze slowly lifting back to study me from across the small space. I don’t know what I’m playing at, but I don’t care enough to figure it out.

The moment turns tense, and something about it makes my skin electric. I always feel the most comfortable when there’s a whiff of unease in the air.

Feels familiar. Feels like home.

Connie licks her lips before she speaks, and my head starts to spin before I even hear the words come out of her mouth.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something to call me.”

She cocks her head, her eyes narrowing just a breath. She’s challenging me. But I’m not a hundred percent sure why . It almost feels like she’s playing chicken with me. To see if I have the balls to push our game even further.

She takes my hand and squeezes it. She leads me down a dark-lit corridor, pushes me against the wall, and kisses me. Her lips are warm and hungry. She tastes like wine and sugar. And I’m fucking starving.

I don’t want to be careless this time. I suddenly feel like playing chess instead. I crave calculated moves pushed across the board. I hunger for a satisfying, well-deserved win.

“I’m sure I will,” I say slowly.

Her teeth sink into my bottom lip. I groan into her mouth, pulling her hips harder into me. Her laugh drips with lewd promises I ache to have come true. We stumble into the bathroom. The door locks behind her.

Connie matches my stare for a few seconds longer before she clears her throat and returns to her computer.

Silence settles between us like a blanket of snow.

Eventually, I pull out a book from my bag and settle deeper into the couch, hyperaware of Connie’s every move as the minutes tick slowly by.

“Oh ... My ... Fucking ... God.”

Connie says the words slowly, spacing them and filling the silence between all four words with shocked horror. Her mouth is hanging wide open when she turns to look at me, but I’m still busy staring at the apocalypse happening outside through the glass doors.

The snowstorm is raging, I can barely see the building across the street. Whatever cars are still parked outside, including Connie’s, have been completely buried. The street itself is nowhere to be seen.

“You should have told me it was this bad,” she grumbles.

That has me turning my head to glare at her. “ I should have told you?” Pointing to my chest. “ Me ?”

She turns sheepish, her gaze darting away, then back. “Well, yeah.”

I chuckle sardonically. “You’re not pinning this one on me, boss.”

She smirks, and the urge to trace the curves of her lips overwhelms me. Luckily, just like life itself, the feeling is fleeting.

“Fine, it’s nobody’s fault,” she says with pursed lips.

“It’s yours,” I deadpan.

She barks a laugh but still shoots me a worried look, dragging her hands down her face. “What the hell are we going to do? I can’t drive in this weather.”

I shrug my shoulders, backing away from the door. “I guess we’re stuck here for now.”

Connie’s eyebrows dip as she crosses her arms. “You don’t seem that alarmed by this.”

I want to say, “ It’s because I get to spend more time with you.” Instead, I give her a dry smile and turn to the auditorium doors. “I’ve been to prison, being trapped inside is kind of my modus operandi.”

I hear her puff out a laugh behind me, and I can’t help but feel the sound somewhere deep inside my chest.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh about that.”

There’s still levity in her tone, but her comment falls much too close to pity for my liking.

“I want you to,” I say as I keep the auditorium door open for her. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise. ”

Her eyes lift to meet mine as she passes through the doorway, a soft smile on her lips. Her body is inches from mine, the hem of her coat sweeping across my thighs, and it’s as if she’s pressed her palms flat against my chest.

My internal reaction is the same.

Flames licking through my veins.

Venom just as sweet as how her lips once tasted.

Eager hands pull my sweater over my head. Our lips crash together again, and those damn eager hands now unbutton my jeans. She takes off her shirt, and I push her against the bathroom door. Fingers digging into her warm skin. A desperate palm wrapped firmly around her breast.

I watch her skip down the main aisle.

“What are we going to do?” she asks innocently as she trots up the stairs and takes center stage. “I wish we had —”

Her mouth drops as she whirls to look at me. My gaze is questioning while I walk down the aisle to reach her. Connie’s expression is one of mischievous delight.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

My chin lifts the more she walks toward the end of the stage, her feet now at the height of my chest. I could very well be kneeling at her feet, the feeling is just as intense.

She looks down at me and smiles devilishly.

“Follow me.”

Her big revelation was a half-empty bottle of tequila in the staff lounge. She then dragged me up to the balcony to sit and share the bottle between us.

We’ve been taking swigs back and forth for the past half hour as we quietly stare down at the auditorium.

“I can’t believe this is mine,” Connie says with an awed sigh.

She has her feet pressed up against the guardrail, her arms over her thighs, the bottle of tequila hanging loosely between her legs. Her red hair is down, almost disappearing against the color of her black knit sweater.

I’m too wrapped up in drinking her in to say anything of substance, so I stay silent.

She looks at me with a sated smile, handing me the tequila bottle. I keep picking up on the warm florals of her perfume anytime she offers me the bottle, and I can’t stop imagining myself burying my nose into the crook of her neck anytime I get a hit.

“You know …” she starts, looking for her words.

“Money has never been an issue for me, most of the things I’ve ever wanted I’ve gotten, but —” She looks back down at the stage and her smile widens.

My heart swells with it. Her eyes meet mine again.

“Buying the Remington feels different. It’s not just another frivolous purchase simply because I could , it feels … ”

She falls silent again as if considering her next words. I decide to finish her thought for her.

“Meant to be?”

I take a swig of tequila as her face turns pensive, slowly nodding.

“Yeah, meant to be,” she repeats softly.

I smile but don’t say anything. We fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Her fingers graze mine when she takes the bottle back. I pretend I don’t feel it all the way up my arm.