The Lover's Game(28)

Eventually, I got into the car. As we drove home in silence, I leaned my throbbing head against the cold window, listening to the soft rain splattering against the windshield, my mind strangely devoid of thoughts. Everything—from the car seat to his cologne—smelled expensive, suggesting that he was someone who knew what he wanted, someone who liked to take charge.

For the first time, I wondered if it was such a good idea to bring a dominant stranger into my home when I was already lost in the jungle that had become my life. I kept my eyes closed against the dreaded sleepiness threatening to creep over me. Before I fell asleep, the car stopped, and I peered into the hazy darkness.

“We’re here,” Check said.

I got out, waving him over. “Let’s go inside.”

Strangely elated, I exited the car and fished for the keys in my handbag. As I tried to push them into the lock, they fell to the floor.

“Let me get those for you,” the guy whispered and picked them up. Before I knew it, he had let us in and we were in the elevator, his strong hands pressing me against him as he steadied me.

Alarm bells began to ring at the back of my mind, warning me of something I wasn’t seeing. It was so obvious that I could almost grasp it, yet the knowledge seemed so far away. But instead of following that worrisome train of thought, I closed my eyes to escape the dim lights and let him follow me into my apartment.





The soft light of the street lamps streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow on the heavy furniture and the rug that covered most of the hardwood floor. We crossed the hall and entered my bedroom in haste, the stranger stifling my giggling and the loud drumming of my heart with his hand grabbing mine. The room was bathed in darkness, but I didn’t switch on the lights. Why bother when I didn’t want to remember the stranger’s face, nor the events that would follow? No attachment, no recollection—nothing that would remind me, so the deeds were best done in the dark.

That night, I didn’t want to be me. I wanted to be someone who was free from pain, free from the past and hopeless dreams of a future that would never be mine.

I liked the idea of sleeping with him and, come dawn, he’d be out of my world. I liked the anonymity, the no-getting-to-know each other, the detachment of it all. It was like confiding in a random stranger, except that instead of sharing secrets I’d be sharing my body in the hopes that it would make me feel better and allow me to move on from my past and help me banish any memories of Jett—if only for a few hours.

“Do you want a drink?” I peeled myself from the stranger’s embrace and turned to face him, my gaze hazy in the night. Ever since I had invited him to my place, he had remained quiet, and not just throughout the drive. Standing near the door, his intense gaze lingered on me as he watched me with an unreadable expression.

His confidence made me nervous, and I lowered my eyes to the floor in the knowledge that a man like him—too assertive, too commanding—who visited that kind of club must have had many one-night stands with countless women. I was certain that was where he’d gained all his obvious experience.

“Lie down,” he said quietly but with enough force to make me follow his command.

Silence ensued again, and for a moment, I just stared at him, unsure of what to do.

“So, um...Is there anything specific you want from me?” I asked when the silence became uncomfortable and the entire situation began to feel surreal. The insecure edge in my tone was evident, but I didn’t try to hide it. I had never had a one-night stand before—at least, not a real one—and I had no idea how they worked.

Already, everything felt bizarre. The room was slightly spinning, and I felt as though I was trapped in a dream. Maybe it was a dream, because in my blurred vision, everything—from my matchbox room to the man standing before me, motionless like a statue—seemed larger, unreal. His size intimidated me, and his stare frightened me, but not to the extent of making me want to run.

Finally, I heard his slow, muffled steps as he moved closer, stopping inches from the bed. “I have to go.”

Even in my ears, his excuse—or lack thereof—sounded weak, dripping with hesitation and something else.

Anger?

Defeat?

You’re misinterpreting too much.

“Why?” Frowning, I stared at him. In the darkness of the room, I couldn’t read his expression.

“Because I won’t take advantage of a drunken woman. That’s why,” he whispered. “The only reason I agreed to give you a ride home was to make sure you got home safely. I didn’t want you to take a cab all by yourself or, worse, to end up going home with the wrong guy, someone without my...integrity. You never know what might happen if you go home with a stranger. Some other guy might use your inebriated state to take advantage of you.”