Page 2 of Game Misconduct

Even when all I want is to fall face-first into a container of white chocolate macadamia nut cookie dough.

When I wrench open the door, it’s to find Nick on the other side. He’s slouching, his hands in his pockets, his gaze averted.

“Can we talk?” His voice is pitched low, as if he’s afraid of being overheard.

“Why would I want to talk to you?”

“Bex. Please.” Wide eyes full of alarm dart up to mine, before settling somewhere south of my face.

He’s not staring at my chest, but he’s not not staring at it. I get the feeling he isn’t actually seeing anything. Disassociating.

“Fine.” I open the door wider and then retreat into the bungalow. My skin feels tight, sticky with sweat from dancing at the party. Grabbing a bottle of water off the small dining table, I wrench the top open and gulp it down to avoid looking at him. I force myself to be impolite and not offer him one. He doesn’t get a gracious, perfect hostess. No, he doesn’t get anything from me.

The door clicks shut, and then he puts his back to it, almost in the same position as I was only moments ago. Except he doesn’t crumple into a ball.

“Well? You wanted to talk.”

The sound of him swallowing is loud. “I didn’t know.” His dark green eyes meet mine, intense. “I swear, I didn’t know you were Whitney’s sister.”

“Or Elsy’s best friend.”

“Yeah. That too.” He winces, then runs a hand through his short hair, the color a deep brown, nearly black. It was longer two years ago, the perfect length to run my fingers through. “I should have called.”

“How? I never gave you my number.” Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “Let’s not pretend it was anything more than it was. One night only. That was the deal.”

His face falls. “That’s it?”

“What, you want me to fall to my knees, begging you to love me?” My laugh is short and bitter. “That’s not me, honey. That will never be me.”

Guys like him aren’t interested in women like me. Plus-size. Full-figured. Call it what it is: fat. I’m fat, and I own it. Men don’t like that. They’ve tried to make me doubt myself over what I look like, and I played that game for a while, but I won’t do it again. It’s taken a lot of therapy to love myself, and I’m still not all the way there yet, but I don’t have time to assuage the fragile egos of insecure men.

On top of that, I’m smart as fuck. While I may be a novice at romantic relationships, I have two master’s degrees and a PhD, and I’ve yet to meet a man who isn’t intimidated by that. Even men entrenched in academia don’t like smart, ambitious women.

It’s my lot in life to be alone, and I’m fine with that. I stick to one-night-only situations, guys I meet on apps or in bars, and that works for me. They see up front what I look like, so there’s no misunderstanding. And there are no repeats.

I don’t know what Nick is looking for, but if it’s sex, he’s barking up the wrong tree.

“I’m certainly not about to beg,” he huffs.

“Whatever. Can you leave now?” I make a shooing motion with my hands.

Everything about him sets my teeth on edge. How dare he show up here and ruin my vacation? How dare he barge into my room? How dare he make me feel seen, and wanted, and cherished?

It was a one-night stand. It was never supposed to be more than that.

Doesn’t keep me from feeling like crap over the way I walked out. I treated him like shit, and I’ve never been able to forget it.

He pushes off the door, taking two steps toward me, then stops in his tracks and shakes his head.

“Are we cool? Can we coexist for the next five days?”

“You know, they’re getting married. It’ll be a lot longer than five days.” There’s the wedding to consider. Elsy’s already said Mitch—Nick—will be her man of honor, and I’m Wyatt’s best woman.

Oh, fuck. We’ll have to deal with each other for much more than the rest of this trip. There will probably be more trips like this, and holidays, and⁠—

My breath comes faster now, and I have to consciously unclench my jaw and regulate my breathing. I can’t let him see any weakness. I can’t be weak.

Can I do this? I honestly don’t know.