Play With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 2)

JENNIE

Should I pay attention to the glaring neon sign in my head, the one blinking BAD IDEA!?

Maybe.

Ideally.

Am I going to though? Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous.

When I step out of my bedroom, Garrett’s shocked stare lands on me. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“What, this?” Fluffy, microfleece robe between my fingers, I spin. “My robe and slippers.”

Not sure what reaction I expected, but it wasn’t him keeled over, slapping his knee while howling with laughter.

“You look like my mom,” he chokes out. He points at my outfit, my robe covered in ballerina dogs, my dog slippers with floppy ears, and opens his mouth. Instead of speaking, he shakes his head and laughs again, loud, obnoxious, and irritating. “Holy fuck.”

“Yeah, well, your mom must be hot as hell then.” I stomp by, chucking the hat he left here post–dildo debacle at his head. “Here’s your hat, Gare-Bear.”

He cackles some more, following as I strut to the elevator.

If I thought my condo was incredible, it’s nothing compared to Garrett’s. His penthouse is flawless, open and sprawling, a breathtaking mix of old industrial and modern, with high exposed ceilings, brick walls, and slate marble counters. With the east-facing wall made entirely of glass, he must get amazing natural light and one hell of a sunrise.

“Ready?”

I spin, stopping short when I spy him.

“Oh my God,” I cackle. “What the hell are you wearing?”

His grin is electric, dipped in mirth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the sheepish half smile I normally get from him. “My robe and slippers,” he parrots back. The man even punctuates his sentence with a smug hip pop.

“My robe actually covers my body. You…that…” I gesture at his sky-high silk robe, the way it shows off too much—and yet somehow not enough—of his muscular thighs. “I can’t. You look ridiculous.”

“I look hot as fuck.” He ushers my still-laughing ass into the hall. “Carter got us these as a joke for their wedding. We had a photoshoot.”

“I need the pictures.” I tug his elbow. “Please.”

“No way, sunshine. I’m never letting anyone see them.”

“But I’ve already seen you in this,” I argue, ignoring the nickname as he leads me up one flight of stairs. I’m pretty sure he only calls me it to get under my skin. The smell of chlorine fills the air as the floor opens to a beautiful pool, the city below us lighting up the dark Vancouver skyline through the endless windows.

“And with any luck, you’ll forget what I look like in this.”

“Nope. Not happening. Burned into my memory, where it will remain, forever.” Along with another image, which is Garrett de-robing while staring at me with a goofy, lopsided smile.

I swallow my groan as he reveals the most immaculate body I’ve ever laid eyes on.

He’s pristine, all corded arms and carved muscles, leading down to a lean, tapered waist, and a bathing suit that does nothing to disguise the fact that Cara was, unfortunately, very correct: the weapon this man is carrying is big enough to destroy a small country. It’s been an unholy number of years since I’ve been intimate with somebody, and there’s a part of me—a very minuscule part—that wouldn’t mind being that small country.

Sliding off my robe and slippers, I set them next to Garrett’s things on the bench. When I turn back to him, I find his eyes locked on me.

His throat bobs, gaze heating as it falls, slow to come back up. In a moment of weakness, I reach for my robe, desperate to cover myself back up.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he whispers, halting my actions. “You definitely do not look like my mom.” His eyes widen, head wagging, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. He gestures at me with one hand, the other in his hair. “I mean, you have a belly button ring.” He smashes his lips together. “No. No, that’s not what I…I wasn’t…” He covers his face with both hands, dragging them down in slow motion. “Aaah…”

Well, this is interesting. Also, I’m no longer feeling insecure. Thank you, Mr. Andersen.

To most people, I’m simply Carter Beckett’s little sister. I see the struggle there, the expression Garrett wears. I’m my own person, but he’s reminded that I’m untouchable by nature, because of my brother. There’s a physical attraction, one he’s battling with.

Still, when I climb into the hot tub, Garrett’s head moves between me and the pool, five whole damn times, like he can’t decide how close he’s allowed to be to me. I rest my head and close my eyes so that he can make the decision without whatever pressure he feels he’s currently under, and a minute later I hear the quiet lapping of water.

Cracking a lid, I watch Garrett swim up and down the length of the pool, and I resist the urge to snort. Not a workout, my ass.

Content in knowing he’s not going to die, I turn the massage jets on high, enjoy the way the pain in my ankle dissipates, and relax with a happy sigh.

I don’t know how long it’s been when a cool, damp hand lands on my shoulder, jolting me awake with a gasp, and Garrett’s turquoise eyes peer into mine.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You fell asleep. I called your name a couple times.”

My brain begs me to formulate a response. Instead, I study the shape of his lips, the way the bottom one is slightly puffier, the perfect bow that sits on top, the bit of scruff that surrounds them and makes his jawline a hundred times more rugged than it needs to be.

Towering above me, he stands there in all his flexed muscle glory, soaked to the bone, shaggy hair a rich golden color, like honey, droplets of water pooling at the tips until they drip down his face. In fact, I watch a particularly fat droplet hit his top lip, watch the way Garrett’s tongue darts out to catch it. Then I find the one rolling slowly down his chest, a river etching a path through his muscles. That bad boy keeps on rolling, right until it disappears into the waistband of his bathing suit shorts.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve hit the Holy Grail in flickpick material.

Garrett’s gaze drops to my chest, then ricochets back to my face. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I manage, super croaky.

His eyes bounce down again, then back up. Down, once more. Up. Jesus Christ, down again? Seriously? I know I have boobs there, but has the guy not seen enough sets of perfect tits? What’s so interesting about these ones?

Looking down at myself, I inwardly groan. My nipples are rock hard, saluting him through the bathing suit that does absolutely nothing to disguise that I’m turned on right now. Stupid fucking nipples. Stand down, soldiers.

I roll my eyes and flick water at him. “We get it, Garrett; you’re hot. You don’t have to stand there half-naked and soaking wet and rub your hotness in our face.”

He beams with pride before his forehead creases. “We?”

“Yes, we.” I gesture at my nipples. “Don’t act like you haven’t noticed. Your eyes can’t stay on my face for more than two seconds.”

“Well, I didn’t…I mean, they’re…hard,” he finally finishes with a sigh, followed by a barely audible fuck.

This guy is the most terrible combination of godawful at flirting and horrendously awkward, and part of me wants to bury my face in a pillow and scream. The other part of me finds it intoxicating, adorably charming, notching his fuck me factor up to a full ten.

Highly annoying. I don’t like it.

Garrett claps his fist into his opposite hand, rocking back on his heels. “Um, should we…are you…let’s…” He points to the door. “Bed?” His jaw hangs as he quickly attempts to backtrack, eyes full of fear as he waves his hands in front of his face. “I didn’t mean together. Not, like, you and me, in bed, together. That’s not what I meant.”

“Right.”

“I meant you in your bed and me in mine. Fuck. Gross.”

My brows rise slowly. “Gross?”

“What? No. Not gross.”

“You said gross.”

“But I didn’t mean…it wouldn’t be gross. It would be great. No. That came out wrong too.” He squeezes his eyes shut, head wagging frantically. “I have a concussion,” he finally spits out, then holds his hand out. “Can I help you out?”

“Are you sure you want to touch me? You might get my cooties. Imagine how gross that would be.”

Garrett cracks a grin that turns into a soft, hearty chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I deserved that. I’m ready to go, but if you want to stay longer, I don’t mind hanging—”

“No.” I dislodge my ass from my seat, wading through the hot water. “I’m ready for bed.” I take Garrett’s outstretched hand, letting him help me out.

I sink down to the bench, sliding into my slippers while Garrett fetches us some towels. Exhaustion hits me like a brick to the face, and I rest against the wall. The deck is humid and steamy, slatted bamboo walls reminiscent of a sauna, and sleep begs to pull me under.

When Garrett returns with a towel, I stand and yawn, stretching my arms overhead.

“What the—” I spin, trying to slap at my back where I feel my strap pulling, like it’s caught on something. My weak ankle buckles under the pressure of the sudden movement, slipping from underneath me.

My life flashes before my eyes as I tumble face first toward the hot tub. Garrett flies forward, arms coming around me, sandwiching me between his glorious body and the wall.

“That was a close one.” His chuckle dies as quickly as it starts. “Holy fuck.”

His labored breathing washes over my face as he holds me tight to him. My chest heaves at the contact as my body reminds me for the umpteenth time that the man is fine as hell and battery-powered boyfriends can only satisfy so much.

He feels so nice, his skin hot on mine, the feel of his bare chest pressed against my bare—

“No,” I whisper-gasp, shaking my head, fingernails biting into his shoulders.

His eyes hold pity and so, so much fear. “Yes.”

My gaze falls, landing on my bikini top on the wet floor, halfway between us and the hot tub. My body reacts before my brain has time to catch up.

With a scream that echoes off the tiles, I shove against Garrett’s broad chest, pushing him off me. Not my smartest moment. Now I’m topless and my nipples are so hard, they’re sharp enough to cut ice.

But perhaps worst part of all is what Garrett wears: a massive-as-fuck hard-on, stretching his bathing suit so far that it’s gaping from his waist. I’m not kidding, but I wish I were.

So I keep screaming, and pointing, one arm slapped across my boobs, the other flailing wildly in the direction of his junk, and now Garrett’s screaming, too, eyes ricocheting between his tented shorts and my boobs.

“Tuck it away!” I shriek at him.

“You tuck those away!” he shrieks back.

“Stop looking!”

“You stop looking!”

“Garrett!”

“Jennie!”

We must cover our eyes at the same time, because one second I’m staring at his erection, and then next I’m running aimlessly. I bounce off his solid chest, and something hard pokes me in the belly button.

“I’m so sorry!” Garrett shouts. “I’m sorry, Jennie!” His hand slaps at my arm, then my shoulder, before wrapping around my neck. He turns me around and pushes me against the wall. “Just stay there, please!”

He releases me as I stand frozen, face smooshed against the bamboo slats that created this whole mess when they somehow managed to capture the knot in the end of my bikini string.

Slowly dropping my hands, I peek over my shoulder. Garrett reaches into his shorts and adjusts himself with two squeezed eyes and a hiss. He nabs my top off the ground, and I quickly turn back to the wall.

“Here.” He shoves my top into my hand. I quickly slip it on, covering my boobs and still-erect nipples. “It’s really, it’s…it’s not a big deal, ya know? I didn’t even see anything.”

“Really?” The erection just appeared out of thin air?

“Yeah,” he lies, and not at all convincingly. “Nothing at all.”

“Hey, do you see my nipple ring anywhere?” I spin toward Garrett. He’s got his robe back on, though the thin silk does nothing to disguise that he’s still hard, and still gigantic. “I can’t find it.”

“Nipple ring? I didn’t notice a pierc—” His face pales. “Oh shit.”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, oh shit, Mr. I-didn’t-even-see-anything.”

He rubs his nape, cheeks pink. “Well, I…I…” With a resigned smile, he lifts a shoulder. “I’m a weak man, and they’re nice tits.”

My stubborn nose points to the ceiling. “Yeah, I know they are.”

His shy smile blooms into a megawatt grin. “I’m sorry, Jennie.”

“You really look it.”

“If only you could’ve seen something equally as embarrassing.” He punctuates his sentence with an exaggerated eye roll. “Then we’d be even.”

“Oh, trust me, buddy. I saw it, and I’m still seeing it.”

He plants his hands on his hips, drawing my attention south. “Can’t miss it, huh?”

I shove my hand in his face as I strut over to my robe. “Go back to being shy. Your arrogance is not wanted here. I have enough huge egos in my life.”

Garrett chuckles softly. “Are we okay? I really am sorry.”

“We’re fine. This day needs to end though.”

“Agreed.” He points down a hallway. “Just gonna wash my hands and grab a water. Want one?”

“No thanks.”

Garrett meets me at the door a minute later, slurping down his water. He screws the cap back on as he follows me out, an easy smile on his lips, much more welcome than the terrified look he normally wears.

“I’ll ride down with you,” he tells me, calling for the elevator.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s late. I should make sure you get to your door okay.”

“Thank you.” I study him carefully from across the elevator. The bruising around his eyes has become more prominent in the last two hours, and he looks nearly about to pass out. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he answers too quickly, then grins at my arched brow. “My head hurts and I’m tired as hell.”

“Do you need help? Like…” I wind my damp braid around my fist. “Do you need me to check on you in the middle of the night or something?”

“Nah.” Palm pressed to my lower back, he guides me into the hall. “Adam’s calling me every couple hours, and the guys are gonna check in in the morning.”

I nod, pausing at my door. My gaze goes to Emily’s apartment across the hall, and Garrett’s eyes follow.

“Look, Jennie. I’m not gonna sleep with her again.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Your friendship is more important to me.”

“We’re friends?”

His face falls. “Well, I didn’t mean…I mean, I thought that we could be…friends? Or we don’t have to be. If you don’t want to be. Whatever.”

I smile when he looks to the ground. I don’t know why I find his awkwardness so endearing, especially when minutes ago he boldly asked if it was hard to miss his XL erection.

“Garrett?”

His cautious gaze rises. “Yeah?”

“You should work on saying exactly what you’re thinking, all of the time, not just some of it. It’s nice when people are honest, don’t you think? There’s no guessing.”

“I guess I struggle with that sometimes when I’m getting to know someone.”

“Well, I’m a Beckett. We don’t censor our thoughts.”

He laughs, a hearty, warm sound. “You guys really don’t, do you?”

I press up on my toes and peck his cheek, smiling as it warms beneath my lips. “Thanks for the second most awkward night of my life.”

“What was the most awkward?”

“The day you found my box of dildos.”

Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face so red. He buries it behind his water bottle as I open my door. I turn back to him once more.

“Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry Indiana Bones slapped you in the face.”

“Indiana Bones?” His brows tug together as he lifts his water back to his mouth, cheeks like a chipmunk as he guzzles.

I see the exact moment realization dawns as the wrinkle in his forehead smooths, followed promptly by the fountain of water that bursts from between his lips as he keels over, gripping his knees, choking for air.

Smiling, I slink backward into my apartment. “Sleep tight, big guy.”

I leave him rooted in place in the hallway, gaping, and I strip down to my birthday suit as I head for my bedroom. Tugging open my favorite drawer, I hum to myself as my fingers flutter over my extensive collection of rubber and silicone.

I wrap my fingers around the perpetrator himself, pulling Indiana Bones from his spot in the drawer, and carry him into the shower. Slapping the suction base against the tiles, I crank the faucet with a happy sigh.

“All right, big boy. Let’s raid some temples tonight.”