Page 69 of Play The Game

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get my hands on you at this rate,” he grouses, and I kiss him sweetly because I’m just as fucking frustrated.

We all take our usual seats at the table, and Harley has already changed into his swim uniform to leave as soon as he’s eaten. The second I see it I remember the last time I saw him wearing it, and heat floods my body until I’m blushing like an idiot.

I stare at my plate like it’s the answer to all my damn problems because there’s no way Avery won’t notice the puddle I’ve turned into. Dammit, I’m drooling again.

Blaise unwraps one of his hands so he can use his fork, but I’m too busy trying not to ogle Harley to see the new ink.

“Did you get stars tattooed on you? You know that tattoos are the curse of relationships, the kiss of death,” Avery says in a haughty tone, spinning her long strands of fettuccine perfectly between her fork and spoon.

Blaise gives me a look and I smile at him. I don’t think tattoos are the kiss of death for fucking anything. I’m just not that superstitious.

His foot runs along mine under the table, and my smile turns into a grin. His eyes fucking sparkle at me and I flush, glancing back down at my food and refusing to look at him. Great. So only Ash is safe for now, because he’s snarling at his sister.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Joey was coming to the Hannaford Family Dinner?”

Ugh. The stupid dinner all seniors have to attend, even if they’re emancipated orphans, to sit and discuss their bright futures with their teachers and families. Fucking yay.

I glance up and see him glaring at Avery, all fire and rage that I don’t usually see him aiming at his sister.

Oh fuck.

“You know as well as I do that Lips had Senior removed from the picture until graduation, so he’s sending Joey in his stead. There’s nothing I could do to stop it, but why would I tell you about it any sooner than I have to? Harley is already an insomniac, we don’t need two sleep-deprived, grumpy assholes in the family.”

Ash scoffs and downs the rest of his bourbon in one gulp, completely irreverent to the fact he’s got track later. Avery isn’t and she cuts him off. By the time we’re done eating, I practically flee to the kitchen to get onto the dishes.

I finish up as Blaise shoos Avery out of the door for her ballet class and flicks the lock with a little flourish, turning back to me with a cheeky grin.

“Oh, look. I find myself alone with my Star. Whatever shall I do?”

I smirk and point at our textbooks. “Studying is what you shall do.”

He laughs at me and pulls his tie off, popping the first few buttons open on his shirt. Fuck. He’s worked out that little trick too, the one where my brain melts the second any of my guys start showing extra skin.

I’m fucking doomed.

“You have three assignments due next week,” I croak, so fucking ready to cave, and he smirks at me.

“I’m just getting comfortable. Didn’t you want to see my new tattoos?”

Right. Tattoos. Yes.

I nod and he peels the bandages, tape, and plastic away from the puffy, raw skin of his hands and neck. Avery was right, he’s now covered in stars. There’s even a little one inked behind his ear, right where he usually kisses me.

“You’ll have to tape me up again. My hands are killing me,” he grumbles, and I go to rummage around in the bathroom for the first aid kit. I’m especially good at taping hands back together with all of the practice I now get with Blaise and Harley’s boxing, and Ash’s fight club matches.

Once he’s looking more bandaged than a mummy I try to get him to study but he’s too damn jittery.

“I’d concentrate better if you were naked,” he drawls, running a thumb over the swell of my chest. I bat his hand away.

“No you fucking wouldn’t. If you fail this test, I’ll be so pissed.”

He shrugs. “I won’t. I’ve been studying at night before bed too. I’m going to pass these classes and then we’ll go on tour together before you run off to college to become a doctor or an astrophysicist or… whatever the fuck geniuses become.”

I smile at him and close the textbook. “Why would I go on tour with you? Do you need a groupie on hand at all times or something?”

He leans back on the cushions, smug and relaxed. I bite my lip at the sight of him, all bandaged up, secretly marked with me. Maybe I hate my name a little less.

“I like the idea of you being there for my every need, but no. I meant because you’re going to be singing with me. Our song is going on the album, remember? Well, if I ever fucking release it.” He sighs and rubs his eyes.