Page 60 of Playing the Field

I freeze.

No.

No way.

I spin around, my heart slamming against my ribs as I find myself face-to-face with him.

Graham.

Here.

His blue eyes are sharp, hooded, his expression unreadable. But there’s something else there too—something simmering just beneath the surface. Something possessive.

My pulse jumps, a mix of irritation and something else pulsing through me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His grip on my hips tightens slightly, keeping me close. “You tell me. You’re the one who texted me.”

I blink, my brain lagging. “I did not.”

He lifts a brow, then holds up his phone. And sure enough, there it is. A message from my number.

Me: You were right. I wanted you to ask.

What. The. Fuck.

I snatch my phone out of my pocket, scrolling through my messages—and then I see it.

Sent fifteen minutes ago.

By Vee.

That traitorous little gremlin.

My head snaps toward her, but she just grins, sipping her cocktail from a safe distance. She waves, mouthing, You’re welcome, before spinning back into the music.

I turn back to Graham, my body still pressed against his. “She texted you.”

His lips curve slightly. “I figured as much.”

“And you came?”

His jaw tics, his hands flexing slightly on my hips. “Did you want me to?”

I inhale sharply. The club feels hotter, the air between us thick with something I can’t shake. My heart is hammering against my ribs, but I refuse to let him see how much he affects me.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, eyes locked on his. “Did you want to come?”

His expression darkens.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “I did.”

My breath catches.

Because despite the back and forth, despite the games we play with each other, that—that right there is real.

And it terrifies me.

I swallow, my fingers gripping his forearms where they rest against my hips. The music pulses around us, but I don’t hear it. All I hear is the silence between us, stretching too long, too deep.