Page 22 of The Illicit Play

Except tell him the truth.

Scowling at the rows of nail polish in front of me, I try to focus on which color I’m in the mood for, but my mind is still cluttered with complaints.

I had to get out of Football Frat. I told Wily I was popping into town to grab some necessities, making it sound like I had my period or something. He didn’t bat an eye, just kept staring at the TV screen with this glum look on his face.

With a huff, I grabbed my phone and jacket, then bolted out the door. Despite the rain, I decided to walk into town. It only takes about twenty minutes to get to Main Street, and now I’m standing in the drugstore, wasting time prowling the aisles and not really needing anything. I’ve tried out the tester hand cream and checked different shades of lipstick on my hand, but it’s doing nothing to still the restless wasps buzzing in my brain.

What I need is some kind of release.

A decent hookup or getting wasted at a party.

Or maybe… I gaze at the nail polish bottles, twisting the closest one around and staring at the color. The blue shimmer mesmerizes me for a moment as my mind jumps back to Football Frat, running through the week I’ve just had… and the fact that I can’t see an end to this thing.

Putting on a smile, pretending like I’m the studious girl I used to be. It takes a lot of effort, and I’m so over it.

Part of me just wants to bail and head back to Chicago, but I can’t.

I shouldn’t.

Reconnecting with Cleo is a terrible idea. My roommate is nothing but trouble.

Yet I can feel that itch. That tickle that’s telling me to play those games again. To seek that thrill. To go against the grain and break all the rules.

I spent my entire life being the good girl. The child who did exactly as she was told. The one who aced all her tests and got the gold stars. I was constantly accepting awards and accolades, and my parents were so fucking proud.

Yet I’d never felt more alive than when I was in Chicago, ditching classes, getting drunk at parties, having sex in the back seat of Simon’s car. Damn, that boy was a hot ride. I’d never date him in a million years, because he can be a first-class asshole, but I’ll always love his dick… or at least the thrill of having it inside me. Of doing it in dangerous places. The thrill of nearly getting caught. Now that was a rush.

My eyes dart back to the nail polish.

My fingers start to tingle.

Don’t do it, Blake. Just turn and walk away.

But damn, it’s tempting.

I need this.

I’m losing my mind at Football Frat. It’s so fucking boring, and I just need…

Glancing over my shoulder, the good girl in me starts to wail, but it’s drowned out by a flood of temptation that I can’t resist.

Snatching the metallic blue bottle, I slip it into my pocket, my heart rate picking up a notch as I play it cool, pretending to check out other colors, before glancing around me again.

My insides are dancing, my pulse a thick beat that reminds me of that nightclub we snuck into a few months ago. I can’t remember the whole night, but flashes of color and laughter and pleasure make my lips twitch with a grin. A thrill sparks inside me, lighting me up like a fuse running to a stick of dynamite that’s going to explode the second I walk out the door with the stolen item safely in my pocket.

Shit, I love this rush.

I want that explosion.

I need that thrill.

Clamping my teeth together, I force myself to walk calmly, playing the innocent girl I’m not.

It’s impossible to fight my smile, so I let it grow across my face, nearly giggling when I spot the door and make a beeline for the exit.

I’m less than ten steps away when a man appears from the end of the aisle, blocking my path and glaring at me.

I give him a confused frown, the pulse in my neck shifting from a steady thump to an erratic trembling.