His Cosplayer (Love Games)

by Allyson Lindt

  The revelation hit him hard. She really was that one person. Thinking he might have to give up her company—or worse, that he might be the reason she felt unhappy—was enough to crunch his chest into a tight ball. He had to answer her question. He had to let her know there were no regrets about his past. That the only thing he’d regret would be screwing things up with her. “It’s—”

  “It’s okay.” The sadness in her voice belied the reassurance. “Or it will be, one way or another.”

  His heart gnawed at his ribs, frustration and concern warring for attention. How was he going to make this better?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tori tried not to count her steps, as she strode toward the Too Goode corporate offices. The weekend at Archer’s had been tense at first, but things calmed down on Sunday. She didn’t make it home until this morning, and she was only there long enough to get ready for her meeting with Brad. When she asked for his time, he agreed without hesitation. The cloud that lingered after she’d spilled her guts about her ex to Archer, was nothing compared to the dread enveloping her now.

  She forced her feet forward, one in front of the other, toward the office at the end of the hall. The door was open, but Brad’s attention was on his computer.

  He didn’t look up when he nodded to the chair across from him. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you shortly.”

  She meant it when she said she was tired of running away. Regardless of how much she needed to set things straight with Brad, she wasn’t going to roll over and play dead, either. She had every intention of being polite, but she was also going to be heard.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Brad finally turned to her. “I’m glad you reached out to me.”

  “Of course.”

  He leaned forward, hands clasped. “I know we’re both busy, so I apologize if I seem abrupt, but I’d like to cut to why we’re here.”

  The cold tone in his voice and the stone mask, meant to draw the other person out and let them expose their thoughts before he showed his hand, gnawed at her. This was the same thing Gwen did with her nephews, in Archer’s shop, and she learned it from Brad. “Don’t do this to me.” Tori tried to ignore the churning nerves in her gut. The rush of knowing she was going to do this was incredible but nauseating. “Don’t turn this kind of manipulation on me.”

  “If I’m more direct, will you answer my question this time, instead of insisting you’re fine? What’s going on with you?”

  Tori spent the morning rehearsing in her head every direction this conversation could go as well as her possible responses. The moment he asked the direct question, any answer she had vanished.

  Her mind whirred for a response, while Brad continued. “I don’t want to do this with you, Tori. We’re supposed to put on a united front, not bicker like children.”

  You don’t like it? Fire me. The same thought as Saturday. And the moment it crossed her mind, an odd calm coursed through her veins. “Maybe we can’t do it. You’re good at this. I’m not. It’s time to stop pretending.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.” Brad scrubbed his face and let out a long sigh. “If you were having problems, why didn’t you come to me?”

  This was her chance to make things right, though. He was offering an olive branch. “I didn’t think I could.”

  “You always can.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Damn it. She swallowed and searched for something stronger. Something to make herself understood. “The conversation never changes. I tell you I’m not comfortable with confrontation and discipline, and you tell me I’ll learn.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand—”

  “And that’s the problem.” Something inside Tori snapped, as if the tight line running through her had broken and slapped her with the recoil. “You can’t see this from my perspective. I want to be creating. I thought that’s what I’d be doing when we set this up.”

  “You are. And we can get you more of that. You don’t want to manage anymore? Fine. We’ll move those people under someone else. Mary, maybe. She’s anxious to talk to both of us right now. This’ll make her happy.”

  “But I’m not creating. Not free-form. This isn’t me saying, ooh, pretty, let’s do that. It’s some corporate asshole in Phoenix saying, I saw this on Adult Swim. It’s popular now, right?” Tori smiled, but she didn’t feel any joy.

  “Corporate asshole like me?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She was saying that a lot. Why was he twisting her words? Or maybe she was doing that poor a job of expressing herself.

  Brad drummed his fingers on the desk, as if collecting his thoughts. “I want to find a happy middle ground here, but this is a business. We have to make what people are buying, or we don’t sell. It’s also our business. I can’t do it without you.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” She saw his point, but it didn’t change the way she felt about the situation. That her dissatisfaction with the entire arrangement had grown over the past few years, festering.

  “Figure it out. Tell me what it is you want. Not what I think is best or this vague notion of I’m not happy or what you assume I want to hear, and we’ll make it happen.”

  The offer rolled around in her thoughts, nudging all her complaints. Bouncing off frustration. Collecting everything that had built inside.

  “I heard you met Gwen’s nephews the other day.” Brad’s out-of-the-blue comment knocked Tori off kilter.

  The memory of that day in the comic shop added to the churning inside. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “She and her brother have a really shitty relationship. Worse, since she had his kids sent to Juvie. Watching them for the day was kind of her last attempt to reconcile with him, but he’s not interested in that.”

  “I didn’t have any idea.”

  “Because she doesn’t talk about it. They were best friends growing up, and it kills her that they’re not anymore. They lost their chance.”

  A dim light clicked on in Tori’s skull. “We haven’t. Have we?”

  “God, I hope not. We had a fight at a company picnic. We’ll make it better. But I don’t have any desire for that to be us. Tell me what’s going to make you happy.”

  “I can’t.” Her choices warred inside. Quit. Walk away from this and go do her own thing, and leave Brad stranded. Or stay on and stay miserable.

  “You keep asking me to fire you. Is that what you really want?”

  Why was he forcing this on her? “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  His frown made the gears in her head spin faster. Work harder for a solution. She didn’t want to be stuck in this rut anymore, but she didn’t want to let him or anyone else down. The circular thoughts almost ripped a scream from her throat.

  “You still own half the company, regardless of your job title or lack thereof. If it’s not going the way you want, resign.” Brad slid a pen and a piece of paper across the desk. “Put it in writing, make it official, and give yourself the room to move on.”

  She grabbed the offerings and poised her hand to write, a formal note already building in her head. Something polite about how they had different goals, she was sorry to see their time together come to an end. When she dropped the pen instead, the question on Brad’s face reflected the ones in her head.

  What am I doing? “I have a different idea. Hear me out?”

  “Always.”

  It was true. She liked to blame Brad when she let the world bowl her over, but he was always there for her. “Let me consult. I’ll come in with new ideas on designs, but I can’t work here. Not managing, and not being driven by someone else’s inspiration. You’ve got talented artists who can do that. I’m not your only designer anymore.”

  “It’s going to hurt to see you go”—

  His words almost broke her resolve. “I—”

  —“but I think it’s best for both of us. Well, maybe not as much for me, but I’m still going to use the hell out of your talent. I like my paychec
k.” He winked.

  She gave a light laugh. “Do you still want my resignation?”

  “Still? Never. I’ll talk to HR and switch your paperwork over. I need you to help with the transition, though. Teach someone else the managerial side of things. Don’t do it for them.”

  “All right.” A nervous tension gurgled in her belly. She was walking away from a sure thing. About to toss aside a job many designers would kill for, so she could be whimsical and artsy. She wasn’t worried about money, but she did wonder if it would be everything she hoped for. “Thank you for making time for me today.”

  Brad stood, stepped around the desk, and wrapped her in a tight hug. “You’d do the same for me. And I never doubt it.”

  They made small talk a little longer—about the wedding, about life, random things—and then she had to let him get to his next meeting. She promised to write up a job description.

  As she headed outside, her heart hammered so hard in her ribcage, she thought it might break free. But she’d done it—figured out a way at a second chance most people never got. She’d already lived her dream once. Maybe she could do it right this time.

  Her confidence sapped away as she stepped outside. By the time she collapsed in her car, her hands and legs shook. Oh, God. She was going to throw up. She leaned back against the headrest, taking deep breaths until the wave of sickness passed.

  She pointed the hatchback toward home and navigated almost in autopilot. Twenty minutes later, she pushed through her front door, typing out a text as she kicked off her heels.

  Can I come over? She sent the message to Archer.

  She hadn’t finished stripping off the rest of her work clothes, when her phone buzzed with a response. Always. Early lunch?

  Amusement whispered through her, making an odd mix with the lingering adrenaline. Indefinite lunch.

  She stashed the suit in her closet, pulled on a pair of cutoffs and a T-shirt, and slid into the flip-flops by the front door.

  Archer’s reply tickled her pocket. Explain?

  Maybe she would regret this tomorrow, but now that the nausea had faded, she felt incredible. When I get there.

  ARCHER STRUGGLED TO focus on work, but Tori’s messages had his thoughts in a knot. He finally turned to Derrek. “We’re slow. I’ll probably duck out.”

  “’S cool. Whatever.”

  Archer’s neck tightened when he saw Tori’s car out front. He braced himself for bad news. If she was coming over this early, her meeting with Brad couldn’t have gone well. It wasn’t even nine thirty. How was she finished already?

  When she pushed through the front door, her smile caught him completely off guard. Was she still stuck in fake mode from her time in the office? She nodded at Derrek as she crossed the room.

  What the hell? Archer’s curiosity and confusion was derailed and slammed into the back of his mind when she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him deeply.

  Derrek’s whistle echoed through the room.

  She broke away but didn’t let go. Instead, she pulled him closer, her whisper brushing his ear. “Can we go upstairs and talk?”

  His rigid cock didn’t want to go anywhere and talk. It wanted to push her onto the counter, strip her those shorts off her, and make her moan. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he settled for nodding.

  She looked at Derrek again. “We’ll be back.” She grabbed Archer’s hand and held it on her shoulder, as she tugged him behind her and prompted him to follow her up the stairs.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her hips moved in her shorts, but he did manage to find his voice. “What’s going on?”

  “I quit.”

  “Do they know that?”

  She made a noise he could only describe as an irritated grunt. “Yes, they know.”

  What was he supposed to say now? Congratulations? I’m sorry? Are you feeling all right?

  She stepped into his apartment, and twirled to face him, leaning back against the door to close it. She draped her arms around his neck again and pulled him close. She rubbed her body against him and sent his blood pressure soaring.

  She was testing the limits of his self-control.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. I promise.”

  She shouldn’t be like this. Why had she quit her job? And why was this bizarre giddiness so contagious? “Tell me what’s going on?”

  “I told you, I was tired of running. Of hiding. I wasn’t happy with what I was doing, and neither I nor the job were going to change, to make things right, so I walked away.”

  It was what he’d wanted her to do for so long. The throb below his waist insisted he stop talking and use his mouth for something else, but the conversation wasn’t over. “You look happy.”

  “I am.”

  He dipped his head to kiss her. He didn’t want to hold back anymore.

  “No.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but all he could manage was, “Hmm?”

  “I need to know something first.”

  He nodded, laying tiny kisses along the tips of her fingers.

  She let out a light laugh. “I need to know I’m not sharing you with Riley’s memory.”

  He pulled away. She still thought that? He needed to change her belief in any way possible. Maybe telling her would be a good place to start, dummy. “Of course you’re not. Nothing in my past could ever hope to compete with you. You’re all there is.”

  “Promise me. Swear, whatever else happens between us, it’s between us. No ghosts or skeletons.”

  “I promise. No Riley. Nobody but us.” He kissed her again.

  She sank into him, her palms on his chest and digging her fingers into his skin. He could get used to this. He cradled her neck and rested his thumb on her cheek, falling into the sensation of her lips working against his.

  He slid his fingers down her spine, and she arched her back, pressing closer. Every inch of him reacted to the seduction, his skin burning for more, and his cock perking to life. He cupped her ass. She moaned against his mouth and shifted her weight.

  The soft scent of her shampoo, combined with her gasps, made it difficult to think about anything but tasting her. He swept her hair aside and then shifted his attention to the seductive curve of her neck. He trailed his lips along her pale skin, drawing a line to her collarbone with his tongue.

  She gripped his arm and squeezed tight, moving against him. He wanted to see her squirm with pleasure until she was spent. Friction built between his palm and her skin when he shoved her T-shirt up.

  He caught the elastic of her bra on his journey and pushed it out of the way as well. Her breast bounced free. He wrapped his lips around the supple nub, flicking his tongue back and forth, and feeling her nipple harden under the attention.

  He missed the banter and some of the incredible things that usually came out of her mouth when she was turned on, but her light gasps still had him as hard as he’d ever been.

  He yanked off her top and tossed it aside, so he could get to her other breast. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and she held him tight when she scraped the sensitive flesh with her teeth. He growled against her skin, sinking into her heat.

  He slid his hand down her stomach and dipped under the waistband of her shorts, but not lower, tracing along her stomach and hip.

  She scraped his skin with her nails when she reached for his shirt, and in turn he sucked harder on her nipple. He broke away long enough to let her pull his clothing off, and then pushed her back until she hit the door.

  There were still too many clothes in the way. He yanked at her shorts, and the button and zipper gave easily. He pushed the shorts and her panties to the ground, and she kicked her clothes and sandals aside.

  She fumbled with his pants, and he pressed nearer to her touch. He grunted every time she brushed his rigid shaft through the denim. Seconds later, his sneakers and the rest of his clothes joined hers in a discarded pile. A sharp jolt o
f need spiked through him when she wrapped her fingers around his dick.

  He grabbed her butt and pulled her forward, his cock between them, rubbing against her stomach. He traced over her ass cheek and between her legs. She whimpered when he dipped between her folds and brushed her opening.

  He kissed along her jaw. “You’re so wet.”

  She nudged him away, and raw disappointment filled him. He reached for her, but she held a hand against his chest and pushed him back. He started to protest, until he realized she was directing him toward the couch. She should’ve said so.

  He grabbed her fingers and tugged her with him. “Sitting sounds like a good idea.”

  He dropped onto the cushions, and the rough plush dug into his bare skin, adding to his desire to bury himself inside her. He pulled her forward, but she stopped before she reached him.

  She studied him, bottom lip caught between her teeth. God, she was gorgeous, full hips curving into a seductive waist, round breasts, the taunting V between her legs, and the teasing smile dancing on her face.

  She straddled his legs, but she sat far enough back to keep him from doing anything except rest his hands on her hips.

  “What are you up to?” He struggled to keep the question playful.

  Her smile grew, but she didn’t say anything. A pained groan tore from his throat when she wrapped her hand around his shaft and stroked slowly. Most delicious torture ever.

  She hovered a few inches above his legs. She glided the head of his cock up her slit, and he dug his fingers into her waist at the exquisite tease. Her gasp mixed with his, when she bumped her clit with his cock.

  He expected her to let him thrust inside. Instead, she continued to stroke him, using his cock against her swollen sex. Her eyes were half closed now, and her head leaned back.

  He watched in heated fascination as she worked herself over, using him. She was definitely incredible.

  Chapter Seventeen