Page 92 of Play The Game

They all snicker at me like smug fucking dicks, and I huff at them, stomping over to set up camp on the mats in front of the ring. I should have brought coffee and ice cream because this is better than any TV show ever.

Harley swoops down to kiss me, dirty and raw like the urge to fight is thumping in his chest alongside his heart already, and I bite his lip in protest because I don’t know what I want more; to watch him fight or to wrestle with him myself.

Oh, God.

Yes, please.

Ash smirks at my stupefied look and kisses me too, then joins Harley in the ring. He’s wearing the tiny shorts again because apparently, he wants my brain to melt and leak out of my ears. They don’t wait for a bell, one of us to call out, or anything, they just throw themselves at each other, fists flying and grunting when they hit their mark. Watching them spar and grapple is just… porn. It’s porn.

Blaise sprawls out next to me and roars with laughter when I get my phone out to record them. I ignore him because, well, a girl’s gotta do.

The second Ash gets Harley on the mat, I’m sweating and panting harder than they are. Harley rolls him off easily, but his size isn’t as much of an advantage as you’d think. Ash is fucking quick and brutal, completely unconcerned with getting hurt. I guess those’re the real lessons Joey and Senior taught him. I shiver and try not to follow that thought. It’ll just ruin the high of watching them.

Blaise grabs me around the waist and pulls me into his lap, one hand creeping under my oversized tee and grunting when he finds my hard nipples pushing against the thin lace of my bra.

“Are they turning you on, Star? We could fuck on the mats right here if you want to. I could eat that sweet pussy while you watch them,” he whispers, then bites down on my shoulder as I groan.

“I’ve just had my suspension lifted, I can’t get caught doing shit again,” I mumble, and he hums against my skin as he marks me up until I squirm in his arms.

“Get off of her, dickhead. There are cameras in here,” Harley calls out and Blaise curses, pulling away and glaring viciously at him. I slide out of his lap and away from his temptation. Harley shoves Ash out of the ring and glares at Blaise until he sighs, kissing me again before taking his turn.

Ash slumps down next to me; sweaty, bleeding a little, and looking fucking delicious. I hand him a bottle of water.

“We need to talk about Atticus,” he says, and I groan at him.

“Why? His background check came back clean so he’s Avery’s business, not ours. Why are you so fucking against him? I know he’s hurt Avery before but… he’s clearly not a creepy pervert trying to touch underaged girls. That’s a mark in his favor and you know it.”

Ash’s jaw clenches. “His father buys girls like Senior does. They have similar tastes, but Crawford doesn’t murder his girls. Just breaks them and puts them back in the auctions. I don’t want someone like that around Avery.”

I nod and watch Blaise and Harley jab at each other for a second. Sweet lord, it’s a fucking sight to see.

I clear my throat. “I think we both know that having a piece of shit for a father doesn’t automatically make you the same.”

Ash shakes his head. “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. You can decide for yourself at the Gala next week.”

Fuck. I groan. “I forgot about that. For fuck’s sake, what the hell do you think Avery is going to make me wear to a Gala?”

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

The Gala is the same night as Harley’s swimming competition, and he’s pissed we’ll be in the Bay for a night without him. When he tries to convince Avery not to go, she threatens him with her knife. I go take a shower to get the hell away from their spat.

I’d put money on Avery in that fight.

Once I’m dressed again, I text Illi for backup because the thought of leaving Harley without someone to watch his back gives me hives. I might not throw a tantrum like Harley is, but I’m just as pissed off.

I’ll watch the little mobster. Have fun in your pooffy dresses and flower crowns. You know that’s what they wear to those fancy parties, right?

I stare down at my phone in horror. Now, he could be fucking with me, but he’s also lived in the Bay his whole life and there’s every chance he’s been to a Gala before. He’d have been there to kill someone, but he could’ve seen the dress code.

I feel sick.

I must look fucking bad when I step out of the bathroom, because Avery stops mid-rant and says, “What’s happened?”

I look up at her and croak, “What’s the fucking dress code tomorrow night? I refuse to wear anything flowery or that wouldn’t look out of place on a Disney princess. Avery, I have a reputation to uphold.”

She blinks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I would never make you wear a flowery dress. I’ll have to tell Morrison to stop planning your wedding though. I’m sure he’s plotting to get you into a full skirt.”

She cackles like an evil witch at the face I pull, but I let out the breath I was holding and send Illi a savage text back.