Page 55 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

“And I’m not trying to come on too strong, but the thing is, I see you.

The real you. Not the escort, not the performance.

I see the incredible father who’d do anything for his daughter.

The good man who stands up for what’s right.

The person with the best heart I’ve ever gotten to know.

” I’m on a roll now, all my thoughts spilling out.

“I know it’s a long shot, but I think if we figure some stuff out, we could have something real. But…only if you want that too.”

The silence stretches between us, but somehow it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like he’s really listening.

“Okay, so you’re going to stay in character. That’s fine.” I push off from the wall, walking toward him. “But just know this next kiss isn’t for research, okay? It’s just a girl kissing the guy she’s falling for.”

I reach up, carefully lifting the bottom of the Scream mask just enough to reveal a pair of lips.

Without hesitation, I press my mouth to his, but something feels…

off. These aren’t the lips I’ve come to know so well.

They’re thinner, stiffer, and they taste like chew tobacco masked by cinnamint gum.

Forrest doesn’t dip. And I’ve only ever tasted spearmint on his breath.

Before I can process what’s happening, the doors burst open with a thunderous bang.

“What the fuck is going on, Sora?”

I whirl around to see Forrest— the real Forrest —standing in the doorway, in dark jeans, a hoodie, and leather jacket on top, holding a different mask in his hand. His face is a storm of emotions.

Oh, shitastic hell.

I leap away from the masked stranger as if he’s suddenly burst into flames. “ Forrest ! You said you’d be in a Scream mask. I thought I was kissing you,” I blubber up, overly defensive, before I narrow my eyes at the Ghostface in front of me. “What the actual hell, dude? You didn’t stop me?”

The stranger slowly reaches up and pulls off his mask, revealing a sheepish young man who can’t be older than twenty. “I’m just an actor, ma’am. I’m supposed to stay still. Part of the haunted house experience.”

“You can’t even break character to let a woman know she’s kissing the wrong guy?”

He shrugs innocently. “I mean…you’re hot, and I’m interested. What’s the problem?”

“I’m your problem, fucker,” Forrest growls out as he storms across the room, his eyes blazing.

I catch him by the wrist before he can buck up on Ghostface. “What happened?” I ask.

“I found a cooler mask.” He holds up a black mask with red exes for eyes and a smile made of stitches, proving his point. “I thought I’d surprise you. I didn’t realize I’d have to worry about you making out with the first Ghostface you came across.”

“Don’t you victim-shame me, sir.” I throw my hands up in exasperation.

“ Victim ?” the actor grumbles out.

Ignoring him, I point my finger at Forrest’s chest. “You said, and I quote , ‘Look for me in a Scream mask.’ This guy”—I point accusingly at the now-unmasked actor—“is wearing a Scream mask!”

“I’m just gonna…” the actor mumbles, his eyes fixed on Forrest’s balled-up fist. He edges toward a side door. “I have other rooms to haunt. Sorry for the confusion.”

“Don’t you dare move,” Forrest growls, but the actor slips through the door before Forrest can stop him. “Coward.”

“Calm down,” I say, though I’m fighting a ridiculous urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “This is your fault for not updating me on the costume change.”

“My fault?” Forrest rakes a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I turn my back for two seconds and you’re kissing another man?”

“I thought it was you. How much did you see?”

“Enough,” he bites out.

A rush of heat burns my cheeks. “So you didn’t hear anything?”

“No, hear what?” His voice drops, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “What did you say to him?”

The humor of the moment dissipates, replaced by the weight of my heartfelt confession that’s now lost with the whispers of this hell house. “Nothing.”

Forrest takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are you mad at me?”

“For the mask mix-up? No.” I shrug. “Hard to stay mad when you’re this hilariously jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You just scared off a minimum-wage haunted house employee because he got a peck on the lips.”

“It was more than a peck,” Forrest barks out, closing the distance between us. “And fine, yes, the thought of anyone else touching you, even by mistake, quite frankly pisses me off. But is that fair? I don’t own you.”

“Since when have you played fair?” I whisper.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I hold his gaze, then pump my brows suggestively. “It means you can own me a little if you want.”

Something changes in his demeanor then. The playfulness vanishes, replaced by something darker, more intense. “Is that what you want?”

I nod slowly, convincing myself while I try to persuade him.

His eyes harden, and when he speaks again, his voice is dangerously soft.

“Run.”

I blink, not sure I heard him correctly. “What?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs that glint in the candlelight. “I said run, Sora. Because if I catch you, I’ll actually own your ass and do whatever the hell I want to you.”

A thrill shoots through me, part fear, part anticipation. “Are you kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His face is deadly serious. “You have a thirty-second head start. I suggest you use it wisely.”

Something clicks in my brain, and suddenly dark romance makes more sense. It’s not about the horror or the fear—it’s about the edge. The suspense. The delicious uncertainty of being pursued by someone who awakens both your flight and your fight responses simultaneously.

I don’t need to be told twice. I bolt for the door, excitement surging through my veins as I sprint down the corridor, through the foyer, and out the front door into the cool night air. Behind me, I can hear Forrest counting loudly.

“Twenty-eight…twenty-nine…thirty. And now you’re mine, cookie girl.”

The grounds outside the mansion include a sprawling garden and, beyond that, a small wooded area. I head for the trees, heart pounding in my ears, a ridiculous smile plastered across my face despite my breathlessness. He’s unhinged. This is thrilling. This is the most alive I’ve felt in years.

The night air is crisp against my flushed skin, carrying the scent of damp earth. My exhales are visible puffs, clouds of vapor betraying my location. Not to mention I’m breathing loudly enough he could hear me over a parade.

I duck behind a wide oak tree, clamping my hand over my mouth as I inhale through my nose.

The rough bark presses against my back, tiny pieces flaking off and catching in my hair.

My pulse is thick in my throat, a rapid staccato beating in time with the distant sound of what might be footsteps—or just my imagination.

In the distance, I can hear Forrest calling my name, his voice carrying through the night.

“Sora…where are you hiding?” His tone is playful but cut with something primal. “Bet you’re tired, baby. Is it time to stop running and face your fate?”

The forest floor is carpeted with fallen leaves that crunch beneath my feet, no matter how carefully I try to step.

Each sound seems amplified in the quiet darkness, announcing my position like a beacon.

The temperature has dropped further, and goose bumps pebble across my arms—not just from the cold, but from my twisted eagerness to be found.

I peer around the tree trunk, trying to spot him. Nothing. I decide to make a break for a denser patch of woods to my right, but as I step out from my hiding place, a twig snaps under my foot.

“Got you.”

Forrest appears seemingly from nowhere, his hand clamping around my wrist like a bear trap. His eyes glint in the moonlight, predatory and fierce.

“That wasn’t much of a chase,” I manage to say, my breath coming out in short pants again, now for a different reason.

“You were never going to outrun me.” He tugs me closer, his free hand still clutching the handcuffs. “That was never the point.”

“What was the point, then?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“The hunt.” His gaze descends to my lips. “And the capture.”

He backs me up against the oak tree, one hand pinning my wrists above my head, the other cupping my face. “Is this what you want? To be shown you’re mine?”

The weight of the question hovers between us. This isn’t part of the game anymore. This is real.

“Yes,” I whisper, surprised by my own boldness. “I want to be yours. Only yours .”

“Good girl. Don’t ever do that again. If I catch another man kissing any part of you, I’ll rip his lips right off. You got it?” Something flares in his eyes—desire, possession, need. I think he’s acting, but I wouldn’t mind if it were real.

I nod, unable to find my voice.

“Say it,” he demands, his thumb dragging across my lower lip. “I need to hear you say you understand.”

“I understand.” I swallow hard. “I only want…you.”

That’s all it takes to unleash him. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss—it’s all teeth and tongue and desperation. I arch into him, matching his intensity, letting myself surrender to the sheer force of what’s between us.

With graceful ease, he spins me around to face the tree, my cheek pressed against the rough bark.

I hear the metallic clink of a belt buckle being undone, then the rustle of fabric.

His hands slide down my sides, peeling off my tight leggings.

Abandoning his grisly demeanor for a minute, he carefully helps me kick off my boots and pull off my bottoms.