Page 30 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

D K is meowing at my feet as I boil water for my instant ramen. I made an effort tonight and boiled two eggs to go with it. DK lets out another long whine as if he’s never been fed in his entire life before. He’s gotten so much bigger in the past month.

“Dude, I just fed you,” I tell him. “I can still see food in your bowl.”

He looks up at me with big watery eyes and meows again, throwing himself on his back to show me his stomach. We stare each other down for a few seconds, but I finally crack. I slowly shake my head and open the pantry, pulling out his treats.

“You’re so spoiled,” I say as I drop a few kibbles on the floor.

DK lunges for them and barely chews before swallowing them whole.

Leaving him to it, I pad to the living room, carefully holding my steaming bowl of ramen with the tips of my fingers. DK follows me from the kitchen but beelines right in front of me, almost making me trip. I sidestep, the noodles dangerously sloshing around.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re an absolute menace,” I curse under my breath but make it to the couch all in one piece.

Unpausing the show I’m watching on TV, I absentmindedly check my phone for any notifications.

My stomach sinks.

Missed call: Connie

The timestamp says I just missed her phone call. The feeling of seeing her name flash on my screen is confusing; I’m not sure if it’s aversion or excitement. Maybe both.

I don’t have time to dwell more on how this makes me feel before my phone lights up with three back-to-back notifications.

It’s Connie again—texting me this time.

Placing my bowl of ramen on the coffee table, my knee starts to bounce nervously as I bite at the skin on my thumb.

What would she even have to say after almost two weeks of silence?

To be fair, I’m the one who called it off, but she didn’t even protest. It’s as if my sudden absence in her daily life was a non-issue.

I’m such a fucking loser to lose sleep over this girl when I’m obviously nothing to her.

Feeling myself get riled up all over again, I drag my hand over my face as I deliberate if I should even read her texts.

The safest option is to ignore her. It’s been working pretty well for me until now.

I stare at my phone some more, my ramen getting cold as I continue to chew on my thumb, my knee bouncing, bouncing, and bouncing.

Finally, I sigh, pick up my phone and tap on her name.

Can we talk?

I hate that you’re ignoring me.

Can you pick up please?

Her messages irk me; she’s assuming I’m not busy, and I’m just sitting here screening her calls. She’s not wrong but it pisses me off nonetheless. My phone vibrates with another incoming call.

It’s her.

I groan out loud and hesitate. Finally, I cave.

“Yeah?”

“Hux, uh … hi.” She sounds surprised.

As if she didn’t expect me to pick up.

“What is it?” My voice is curt, and she falls silent for a few seconds.

“Look, I — I’m sorry, okay?”

My heart unexpectedly squeezes at her rushed apology.

It pisses me off more than anything. It’s as if she’s just trying to get it over with.

“Sorry for what?” I say slowly, my jaw tight with withheld irritation.

“For …” It takes a few seconds for her to continue. “For being a jerk, I guess.”

“You guess,” I repeat with a mocking laugh.

“You weren’t necessarily a perfect little angel either,” she volleys back with a hard bite to her words, and a grin inexplicably forms on my face.

I lean into the couch, my head falling backward against the edge.

“At least I know what I want.”

I hear her sigh through the phone, clearly annoyed by my pushback.

But the thought of me irritating her only makes my grin widen.

Spoiled brat.

Probably so used to always getting her way.

“Can I make it up to you?” The nervous hope in her tone takes me aback, and my smile fades. But her next sentence surprises me even more. “Can you come over? Like, now? I want to show you something.”

My throat bobs on a hard swallow, and I lick my lips before replying, “To your hotel?”

“No, uh, to the penthouse actually. I’m not moved in yet, but … Can you just meet me there?”

What would she want to show me at the penthouse? Memories of the last time I was there dig their claws into my brain, robbing me of any rationality. I consider refusing her invite just to get back at her, but the ache to see her stirs alive inside of me.

Reckless curiosity wins.

“Okay.”

When Connie opens the door to her new place, I’m racked with nerves. I’ve gone over multiple scenarios in my head, and I still have no idea what to expect.

“Hey,” she says softly with a timid smile.

She’s dressed casually in white jeans and a knit sweater. When she opens the door wider to let me in, I’m left even more perplexed about the visit.

“There’s no furniture in here.”

I take one step inside. Just enough for her to close the front door. She laughs nervously, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, like I said, I’m not actually moved in yet.”

She doesn’t add more to her statement, as if it’s perfectly normal to invite me to an empty condo. She leaves me to take off my boots, casually strolling into the kitchen.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?” I ask while I peel off my coat and sling it over the kitchen island.

She rounds the island and faces me. “In a minute.”

Her smile is tentative, and I realize then that I might not be the only one handling their nerves badly. Picking up an open wine bottle from the counter, she pours us two glasses and slides one of them toward me.

“Here — I thought we could have a drink first.” She holds onto her glass in front of her with two hands as if it's some kind of shield. She quirks another timid smile. “Talk a little.”

I nod, feeling equally timid. “Sure.”

The silence turns awkward as we both stand there not knowing how to start this goddamn conversation. I take a sip of the wine just for something to do, the dry bite of it hitting the back of my tongue.

Connie lets out a long exhale through her nose and leans onto the island, perching on her forearms in front of her.

She’s practically bent over, but I don’t think she realizes how suggestive her position is, the curve of her ass on full display.

I try to keep my mind out of the gutter, but I’m not doing such a great job at it.

Connie toys with her glass as she watches me and smiles. “So, how you been?”

“Good.” I pause, looking down at my wine, then back up. “I started therapy last week.”

I blink, suddenly mortified.

What the fuck? Why would I say that?

Connie pushes herself up, straightening a little.

“You did?” she asks, surprised.

“Never mind, I don’t know why I said that.”

Her eyebrows dip. “So you didn’t?”

“No — I mean yes.” I chuckle nervously. “I don’t know why I brought it up.”

She smiles warmly, and I feel it trickle through my ribcage.

“Well, that’s great.” She looks away, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city. “I think therapy should be mandatory.” She says it almost like an afterthought.

“Do you, now?” I place my glass down, resting my hip against the side of the counter and cross my arms. “So you’ve been to therapy, then?”

Her gaze swivels back to mine, and I catch the guilty expression fluttering across her face before it's gone.

“No.”

We both fall silent for a long beat until she snorts, and we both start laughing.

Our laughter slowly wanes as the seconds tick by, but thankfully, the awkward tension seems to have dissipated, and I suddenly feel a lot more comfortable in my own skin.

“So are you going to tell me why you invited me here, specifically?” I tap my index finger on the counter to punctuate the word specifically . “A little weird, don’t you think?”

She smirks while pushing herself off the island.

“It’s a surprise. Just something to show my …” she trails off, fidgeting with her fingers, clearly getting nervous again. It’s as if she doesn’t know how to end her sentence. So she doesn’t. “Anyway.” She waves it off, the nerves back in her short laugh. “It’s in the office.”

Connie signals for me to follow by giving a quick jerk of her head. I scamper behind like a puppy that’s just been promised a treat as she leads us through the hallway.

The first thing I notice when we walk into her office is an air mattress near one of the walls with a throw blanket covering most of it.

If that wasn’t odd enough, there’s a table in the middle of the empty room with an open laptop and what looks like three projectors pointed at three different walls.

I shoot her a quizzical look. “What’s going on?”

Connie simply grins and ushers me to the mattress.

“Sit,” she says expectantly. “I just need to set up a few things.”

Slowly, and with a lot of suspicion, I sink to the floor. I settle myself onto the very edge of the mattress, not knowing what the hell to expect. My heart rate picks up as I watch her fiddle with the equipment on the table. Deep in concentration, there’s an adorable crease in between her eyebrows.

Turning on her heels, she walks to the light switch and flicks it off. The office falls into darkness save for the glow of the computer screen. Promptly, she returns to the table.

Then suddenly?—

The white walls are no more. Transformed into a landscape of blue skies and miles and miles of white sand, the three walls projecting the same video image.

The scenery is so beautiful and nothing like I’ve ever seen before that it catches me off guard.

I’m overwhelmed with the beauty of it all.

From my vantage point, I’m immersed. Transported.

My gaze flicks to Connie as she walks toward me, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. I lift my chin to keep eye contact as she approaches.

My question is unspoken, but she still reads it clearly through my inquiring gaze.

“That first day at the Remi,” she says softly, “You told me you’d always wanted to visit Brazil. It’s silly —” She shrugs her shoulders as if trying to dismiss the grandness of her gesture. “But I thought, the closest thing to actually visiting Brazil was to maybe … bring Brazil to you .”

My eyes are still fixed on hers, a thousand thoughts tumbling over one another in my head.

No one has ever done something like this for me.

No one has ever thought about me long enough to surprise me like this.

Or … cared enough.

I lack the words to express how I feel.

It’s too big—larger than life.

She shifts in place as if getting antsy, waiting for me to react.

“Here.” She hands me a remote control. “The footage is from a drone live stream, you can control where it goes.” Then, she starts to babble.

“I wasn’t sure what exactly you’d like to see, like are you a beach guy?

Or more of an Amazon and waterfalls kind of guy?

Then I remembered about these really cool sand dunes in the Maranh?o state and —”

Slowly, I raise my hand and curl my fingers around her extended wrist. As soon as our skin touches, she stops talking, her eyes wide and penetrating.

“Thank you,” I rasp.

She bites her bottom lip, never letting her gaze stray and swallows hard. Her mouth falls open as if wanting to say something, but it takes several seconds for her to speak. And when she does, my chest cracks wide open.

“You’re not meaningless, Huxley.”