Page 22 of Hating On Riot

“You’re buttering me up,” I accuse, holding back the urge to grab the covers and wrap them around my bare legs and my too-short shorts. I had intended my tone to be harsh and unwavering, but I sound out of breath and unsure.

“For our game, yeah. You remember our card games, don’t you?”

How could I forget? It’s how I learned about all the dirty things Riot wanted to do to me and his plans for us as “adults.” I also understood then how deeply he felt for me, even though we were only sixteen.

He shuffles the cards and places four in front of me and four in front of him, face down.

“Ladies first.”

“Uh-uh.” Going first can put one at a disadvantage in this game. “Rocks, papers, scissors.”

He smirks. “Fine. Best of three.”

Just like old times, I start. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.” I go with scissors. He goes for paper. Ding, ding, ding. Scissors cut paper.

We play another round. His rock crushes my scissors.

“Tied.”

“Why does it always come down to a tiebreaker with us?” he asks.

I shrug.

“What will be the tiebreaker if Cooper falls for you too, Arie?”

“Does that mean he’s already fallen for me?” I test.

He scoffs. “It was a theoretical question.”

“Then, theoretically, there won’t be a need for one,” I point out.

“Just play along.”

“Okay, well, my brothers would decide,” I announce with confidence.

“And here I figured you’d be your own woman and make the decision.” He blows on his nails like he couldn’t care less, but I don’t miss the underlying challenge in his tone.

“My brothers and I are a team,” I growl. “We stick together.”

“Is that what you did when you let them beat the shit out of me?” His handsome face darkens. “You chose loyalty over your goddamn heart?”

He’s angry, and I don’t blame him. We never talked about what happened after the stolen kiss. Instead, we became enemies because our brothers mean everything to each of us. Overwhelmed by the urge to comfort him, I lean forward and rest my hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Riot. If it helps, I was sick to my stomach for days. I reamed them out too, for what they did.”

He blinks, but I don’t miss the surprise in his eyes. All those years, did he believe I took satisfaction in his beating? The thought hurts. I start to get off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep. We both have early mornings.”

“Play the game, Arie.”

“Why, when you think the worst of me?”

He lets out a breath and jams his fingers through his damp hair. I should move my ass out of his room. Or at the very least, stop staring at how his T-shirt pulls taut over his impressive upper torso and six-pack abs with his every movement.

Riot O’Sullivan is mouth-watering up close and personal in his mesh shorts and T-shirt. It would be easy enough to reach out and make the fibers of his muscles dance to my every whim.