Page 60 of Ruthless Game

Done with the top drawer, I moved to the next one, slowly opening it so it didn’t make a sound and wake up Lawson. It was only about a third of the way open when I stopped. How could I keep pulling it open? I’d lost all feeling in my hands.

Because tucked away in a bunch of crumpled up paper was a grey ring box.

I’m going to marry you one day, Starburst.

Stop teasing, Max.

I’m not teasing. You’ll be my wife. Sooner than you think.

I pinched my arm, trying to bring myself back from our bittersweet past. The memory was ripping chunks out of my heart, and I had no interest in cleaning it up. Besides, for all I knew, the ring was for someone else.

The idea of some other woman with Lawson’s ring on her finger made me lose the ability to stand upright. I kneeled down on the floor, gasping for air. But then, if he were with someone else, if he loved someone else, what was the point of breathing, anyway?

Because I was a masochist, I picked up the dusty ring box and opened the box.

The diamond was tiny and had lost its sparkle, the gold band tarnished. It looked like it had been sitting in the box forever.

Forever … as in for the last three years?

Breath came back to me, like someone else had inflated my lungs. I choked on air, coughing. Because if I was right, and I was, then this was my ring. Or at least, had been supposed to be my ring.

And Lawson had kept it.

Why had he kept it? If he’d hated me so much, why not pawn it?

“I kept it to remind myself what happens when you trust someone,” he said from the bed, voice gruff. “So I’d never do it again.”

I jumped.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked, still staring at the ring.

“Long enough to see you snoop through all my shit. Put it on.”

My stomach dropped out of my body and fell on the floor, flopping around like a dying fish. I finally turned to look at him. In the dark bedroom, his blue eyes looked almost black.

“Put it on,” he said again.

“You’re actually certifiable if you think I’m going to put that thing on my finger.”

“Once upon a time, you would have cried happy tears at the prospect, Angel. I want to see it on you.”

He was right. But instead of acknowledging it, I asked, “Why? Why torture both of us?”

He snorted. “Why? Because I’m starting to realize that as much as it fucking hurts to be with you sometimes, at least I feel something. At least I know I’m alive. I’d rather feel everything with you than feel nothing with someone else.”

He joined me on the floor. I tried to close the ring box and crawl away from him—whether to keep him from shoving it on my finger, or to keep him from taking it from me, I didn’t know—but I was no match for his speed, size, or determination. I’d made it part way across the floor but he just grabbed my ankle and dragged me back toward him. Although I fought him, he subdued me quickly, climbing on top of me and straddling my bare hips with his naked thighs. His cock, already half hard, rested on the spot where my belly folded over my skin, prodding my belly button.

“After that night—after you left—I told myself things were better. I went to Reina. I joined the team. I went to class. I partied with my friends. I played hockey. I told myself, every goddamn day, this is living, Lawson. This is what life should be like. But it was a damn lie. I wasn’t alive, I was an automaton, going through every motion mechanically. I made shitty choices that almost destroyed Asher’s life, because I was too busy floating on by without realizing it.” As he spoke, he grabbed my hand, forcing my fist open, one finger at a time. Like he was purposefully drawing it out. “That flight to the UK to come get you was like when you start moving your toes after your leg falls asleep, you know? Pins and needles everywhere as your muscles slowly wake up. And then I saw you, face-to-face, in that bar, and my body, my mind—my fucking goddamn heart came back to life.”

By now, he’d managed to open my whole fist. Extracting the ring box from it, he popped open the box and took out the ring, turning it to the right and left. Even tarnished, it glinted in the dark. I knew what was coming next. I should’ve fought him, but ...

… But.

Oh fuck it. I wanted to know, at least once, what it felt like to wear David Max Lawson’s ring.

He slowly pushed the ring over my finger. It took some work: I wasn’t eighteen anymore, and the ring was definitely too small for my finger.

Without taking his eyes off the ring’s progression, Lawson offered, “We’ll get it resized. And before you think I’m making some dickhead observation of your weight, let me remind you how much I love your body at any size, but especially this size.”