Page 28 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

CONNIE

F rom the corner of my eye, I see Huxley stroll into my office, but I keep my head down, busy finishing up an email to my publicist. He doesn’t say a word, just plops himself onto the couch facing my desk. He must be done with his workday.

It’s been a couple of days since I took our game a little further than I wanted.

I still don’t know what came over me. Oh, who am I kidding?

I know exactly what came over me. The reason is sitting right in front of me casually scrolling on his phone like he didn’t watch me fuck a dildo in my shower two days ago.

The thought should embarrass me.

But looking at him now. The subtle landscape of muscles down his forearms, honed by hours of working with his body.

The casual wear and tear of his clothes, with paint smeared here and there.

I linger on some rogue droplets of paint on his neck, imagining trailing my finger down his skin and finding his quickening pulse.

God.

There’s no embarrassment in sight.

Somehow, whatever transpired between us that day has alleviated the tension between us.

Just like that, our little game of chicken is no more.

It’s now replaced by a confounding sense of ease and casualness.

And I can’t help but wonder if it’s because we’re both far too adept at navigating meaningless flings.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?

Deep down, I’m running out of excuses for why he and I are a bad idea. I list them in my head like a hymn, protecting me from my impure thoughts.

He’s younger than me.

He’s Ozzy’s brother.

I just had my heart broken.

He’s …

I don’t know?—

An ex-con?

Please. Like I give a shit. As if I’d ever want to hold that mistake against him. Plus, his bad boy aura, hard exterior, and permanent scowl are probably what led me to sleep with him in the first place. Come to think of it, I don’t think he’d be all too pleased to know that.

I give my head a small shake when I realize where my thoughts have gone. Sighing, I rub my eyes with my index finger and thumb. I hear the tell-tale sound of an incoming email ding, and I glance back at my computer screen.

My heart skips a beat.

“Oh my god,” I giddily say out loud, as I hurriedly open the email.

Huxley stops what he’s doing and looks up, but I’m too busy skimming through the email to give him any attention.

“Oh. My. God,” I repeat, my smile widening.

“What is it?” Huxley asks as he sits up straighter on the couch.

Meeting his gaze, I let out a small chuckle.

“I think I finally found a place!” I look back down, finishing the last few lines of the email.

“An apartment?” Huxley asks, and I nod enthusiastically, my gaze back on my computer.

“Oh shit,” I add. “She wants me to come visit it now.” I glance back up, hesitating for half a second. “Do you mind coming with me before I drop you off? It’s kind of time-sensitive.”

Some cryptic emotion passes across Huxley’s face, but he quickly erases it and smiles. It’s one of his genuine smiles. The one that makes his green eyes sparkle and shows off his dimple.

His effortless charm has me feeling like I’m slipping under his spell just by staring at him.

I can’t imagine the effect he’d have on me if he actually tried .

“I don’t mind.” He claps his hands once while he stands up as if geared up to go.

“Great!” I grin and close my laptop. “Then we should leave right now.”

The potential condo is a twenty-minute drive from the Remington in one of those skyrises lining the Marsford Bay boardwalk.

I considered buying a house instead of another luxury condo, but even though I’m twenty-nine and just bought a theatre, something about owning a house felt too permanent. Too grown-up.

I settled for a penthouse with amazing amenities instead.

It took driving all the way here and meeting with Dusia, my real estate agent, to realize that maybe bringing Huxley along was a mistake.

This is a couple’s activity.

Dusia certainly thought so .

Huxley turned bright red at the assumption, and I would have laughed at his spluttering reaction if I wasn’t so busy trying to hide my own flaming cheeks.

But Dusia is a professional and navigated through the blunder with charismatic ease. She jumped right into the showing and slowly led us through the penthouse, pointing out feature after feature.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dusia says with an assured smile.

Dressed head to toe in Prada, she’s the picture of class with her minimal makeup and straight black hair tucked behind her ears.

“Look around. Take all the time you need.” She points to the door while clutching her phone. “I have a few calls to make, so I’ll be right outside when you’re ready.”

I nod and thank her, waiting for her to step out before looking over to Huxley, standing near the kitchen island. I watch him idly drag a finger over the countertop, his gaze upward as he looks around the spacious living area.

It’s late afternoon, but the sun is already setting, the rays glowing orange against his face, the shadows slowly extending over the hardwood floor.

I have an inexplicable urge to capture this moment.

Without much thought, I pull out my phone and take a few pictures of Huxley in the afternoon light.

“Did you just take my picture?”

I take another while he’s looking straight at me just for kicks.

“Maybe.” I pocket my phone. “So? What do you think?”

He appears to be considering what to say.

“I can’t imagine being this rich,” he finally mutters, his gaze back on the professionally staged decor.

A strange guilt flutters across my conscience, and I suddenly feel gauche to be flaunting my generational wealth to Huxley like this. Then again, I shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for a reality I was simply born into.

Not wanting to dwell on the feeling, I let out a small puff as I strut closer to him.

“Not the question, do you like it? Could you imagine yourself living here?” Realizing I misspoke, I stumble to fix it. “I mean me — me living here.”

Huxley watches me with what I think is curiosity. His expression has softened since Dusia stepped out, and I’ve never wanted to know what another person was thinking more than I do now.

Huxley is a mystery. Especially right now, while he’s studying me with an intense gaze. My heartbeat quickens under his attention. Finally breaking eye contact, he heads toward the large sectional facing the living room windows.

“You’d be a fool to pass this place up,” he says over his shoulder before sitting on the couch. He gives the cushion an experimental bounce as if testing out the furniture. “Did you see the size of the bedroom?”

I laugh under my breath, but the sound dies halfway out of my mouth when his eyes slowly slide up to meet mine. The sight of his cocky grin has my mind cycling through all the other things we could be doing in that bedroom.

I pretend not to notice his loaded gaze as I sit close to him … but far enough that we’re not touching. I turn my body so I can face him, an elbow resting on the back of the couch as I rest my head on my closed fist.

From the side, I gaze out the windows and let out a pleased sigh. “Can you imagine those sunsets?”

A crooked smile pulls at the corner of Huxley’s lip, but he says nothing as he watches me with a casual ease I rarely see on him.

“What?” I can’t help but ask, craving to know what’s happening behind those broody eyes.

He smiles. “Nothing.” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, and a pleasurable shiver skitters down my spine at the unassuming sound.

We fall into a comfortable silence as we look out over the harbor.

“I’ve never seen Marsford Bay from this high up before,” he mutters. “Almost feels like I’m in another city.”

“Yeah …” I say pensively. “I guess I take these things for granted.”

We share another beat of silence before Huxley speaks.

“What don’t you take for granted?”

I furrow my brows and look straight at him, feeling slightly insulted by his question, but his innocent expression stops me in my tracks.

He appears curious, as if waiting for me to answer; his body language is open. He’s leaning back into the couch with his fingers loosely laced over his stomach while his head is turned slightly to the side, watching me.

“That’s a genuine question?”

He nods, his expectant gaze roving over my face.

I suddenly feel vulnerable. As if he’s asking for more of me. As if he’s asking me to strip naked, but this time he wants to see the inside of me.

I chew on my lip and look away.

What don’t I take for granted?

Love, friendship … life .

But all those answers sound so flat when I rehearse them in my head.

Generic. With no real meaning.

After a few seconds, I glance back at him.

“The moon.”

Huxley bursts out laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He shoots me a look full of amused shock, clearly not expecting my answer. In all honesty, I wasn’t expecting to land on the moon as my answer either.

“The moon ,” he repeats, his whole body shaking with laughter.

I realize then how nice it feels to make Huxley laugh. The feeling blooms behind my chest.

I could get used to this.

“Okay, hear me out.” I straighten on the couch, now ready to defend my answer at all costs. “I know it’s cliché, but you know how they say, no matter where you are in the world, if you look up, we’re all gazing up at the same moon?”

Huxley chuckles while shaking his head. “You’ve watched one too many romcoms.”

“ Listen ,” I say. Leaning over, I grab his forearm with both hands as I scooch closer.

I notice his eyes dip down to where I’m touching his sleeve, but I’m too busy needing to prove my point to really care.

“Don’t you agree that’s a beautiful sentiment?

That,”—I look up to the ceiling for half a second while thinking, then back down—“that something so much bigger than any of us can make us feel a little less alone? That the moon, in a weird mystical way, can connect us to the people we love?”

“ You’re weird and mystical.”

I playfully slap his arm. “I’m being serious .”

Huxley’s laugh rumbles in his chest, and he smooths his tongue over his teeth, flashing his black barbell, as if getting ready to mock me again. But then his expression softens for the second time today, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close my body is to his.

He slowly falls serious, his eyes roving over my face just like they did earlier. As if seeking something I’m not privy to. I wait for him to speak, my cheeks growing warm under his pointed attention.

“I guess I’ve never craved that kind of connection with someone before.”

One by one, his words slowly drift down between us like delicate petals falling from a cherry tree. His penetrating gaze is locked on mine.

Our chests rise in unison.

One deep breath until finally?—

The kiss is burning hot the second his lips touch mine, and I scramble up to my knees.

Huxley catches me as if he was expecting me all along, his hand holding on to my waist as I quickly straddle him.

Pressing my hands against the sides of his face, I deepen our kiss, relishing the unexpected feel of his tongue piercing, mindlessly grinding my hips against his.

He groans into my mouth, pulling me harder onto him.

My lust spikes to a feverish degree, and I stop thinking clearly.

My mind narrows into one singular thought.

Never breaking the kiss, I slip my hands between us and fumble with Huxley’s studded belt, but his hands quickly find mine. Wrapping his fingers around mine, he stops me.

“You’re not getting me that easily,” he says in between kisses.

His tone is playful, but his hands tighten, holding me captive.

I straighten on his lap so I can look at him.

I smile coyly. “I thought you wanted this?”

Teasing him, I grind my hips against what I’m pretty convinced is his hardened cock.

His smile is dark and steamy, but he doesn’t let go of my hands.

“Not like this,” he says, his voice nonetheless dripping with want.

“Why?” The word is close to a whine. I nibble at his bottom lip. “Because Dusia is right outside?” I lean down and pepper his jawline with kisses. “We can sneak quickly into the bathroom, for old times’ sake?”

Huxley’s body stiffens under me, and I realize too late that I’ve said the wrong thing. My head pops up, and I study his facial expression.

But Huxley has retreated, and his expression is giving me nothing.

“I’m not something you can use and throw away whenever you feel like it.” His voice is soft like a whisper, a small thread of pining woven throughout his sentence.

“Who said anything about —”

He gently pushes me off him, and I don’t resist, too stunned by the shift in mood to protest.

“I thought I could do this with you, but I can’t,” he says as he stands up. He paces up to the windows, swiping his hand over his buzzed head, the other against his hip.

“Do what exactly? What just happened?” I’m annoyed, but try to keep my voice calm.

He lets his hands fall to his sides; he’s still facing away from me, but I catch his defeated shrug before he turns around. I’m not ready for the vulnerability I find in his gaze when he faces me. The pain that he’s trying to hide under such nonchalance.

It makes me hate myself.

And the way we’ve both been toying with one another.

“I can’t do meaningless with you, Connie. You — you’re —”

The door opens behind me, and reality snaps back in place like a well-tuned string.

I jump up from the couch and swivel to face Dusia as she walks back into the penthouse. Her eyes survey us both, quickly picking up on something, but she simply shuts the door behind her and smiles.

“So what do we think?”