Night Games (The Storm Inside #6)

by Alexis Anne

  His eyes flicked from me to the canvases on the walls in a creepy kind of way. “I’m more of a people watcher at these events, but the art is interesting.”

  And now my skin crawled. Sin might be handsome but he was not sexy. Or sweet. Or even interesting.

  Where was Wes? He needed to show up so I could quit flirting with this asshat before he got the wrong idea.

  “Our artists work very hard. Did you know we have two in residence at all times?”

  “Is that so?” It wasn’t really a question. He was just making conversation. Poorly.

  “Richard is the artist who created these.” I glanced desperately back toward the entrance just in time to see Roman in the doorway, which meant Wes was at least close. “Where do your tastes generally lie?”

  His eyes dropped back to my cleavage and I dared him to say he was a boob man. “Nudes.”

  Okay, so he totally took my secret challenge. I hadn’t expected that.

  “You’re blunt.”

  “Life’s short.”

  Funny how different this same conversation sounded coming out of Wes. Charming, sweet, inconsiderate playboy, Wes.

  “Carrie?” The man in question drawled. He looked too good in Armani. Wes and Armani went together so well it should be illegal. It was my Kryptonite.

  “Wes,” I kissed him on the cheek, not the lips, mind you. “You made it.”

  His eyes locked onto Sinclair and narrowed. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” Then he stuck out his hand. “Wes Allen, and you are?”

  Sin grinned, slow and mischievous. “Sinclair Ryan.”

  “Sin and I were just discussing the different styles of art represented tonight.”

  Wes didn’t look at me. “Were you now. Carrie loves this gallery and she knows what she’s talking about.”

  My resolve slipped another notch. “I was just about to show him the work of our other artist in residence.”

  “Let’s make it a tour, then.” He finally smiled at me. It was fake and didn’t reach his handsome blue eyes.

  On the one hand this was a perfect opportunity to continue flirting with Sinclair and anyone else we might run into. I’d done my job and thrown Wes for a loop by flirting with another man when he walked in. But on the other hand . . .

  “Follow me.” I took the lead, doing my best to sashay my hips so that my dress flowed behind me. And of course so that their eyes were drawn to my figure. “This section here was all created since Elaine began her residency ten months ago. As you can see she has an eye for straight lines and repeating patterns.”

  To my surprise, Wes studied the art while, not so surprisingly, Sin studied me.

  “You introduced yourself as a doctor. What is your role here exactly?”

  Crap, was I scaring him off? I wasn’t supposed to do that for at least five more minutes. “I’m on the board. I help organize the fundraising that keeps this gallery open, our artists housed, and our educational programs growing.”

  “And she’s a fucking brilliant orthopedic surgeon,” Wes said from beside me, all while continuing to study the art. My heart took off again. Why did he have to say something so sweet? “What do you do, Mr. Ryan?”

  “I’m a lawyer and you are . . .?”

  “The starting catcher for the Jacksonville Waves.” He flashed me a real smile this time.

  “Oh, baseball? Does anyone care about that anymore?”

  My anger shot up faster than my sense. “It’s America’s pastime! It’s the greatest game! Everyone cares about baseball.”

  Sin stared at me.

  Wes leaned in. “Did she mention that she’s the orthopedic physician for the St. Pete Mantas and she kind of loves baseball?”

  God, I wanted to kiss him.

  Sin rolled his eyes. “You two deserve each other.” And then he walked straight to the bar.

  I could feel Wes glaring at me so I ignored him and instead scanned the room for Zoe. I found her chuckling at me from the other side of the room.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Apparently Wes got tired of waiting for me to explain. “What was what?”

  “Sinclair Ryan,” he said with an exaggerated accent.

  “My job is to schmooze at these events. I was schmoozing.”

  “You were not schmoozing.” He grabbed a drink off the tray as a waitress walked by and downed it. “You were flirting.”

  “I was not!” Oh thank god he noticed. I was a little worried he hadn’t.

  “You most definitely were indeed flirting. Which maybe you are totally entitled to do. I’m really not sure. But I do know you invited me to this shindig and that makes flirting with other men off limits.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” And then I walked off towards Zoe simply to end the conversation.

  And maybe to piss him off a little bit.

  “What are you doing?” Zoe hissed.

  “He called me out so I told him he was ridiculous and walked away. Now what? Do I flirt with someone else, or is that too obvious?”

  “Too obvious. What about disappearing for a while? Make him wonder where you went?”

  “That’s brilliant. Cover me.”

  “We’re not secret agents.”

  “No,” I agreed, “but I am on a secret mission. Play along. You can even use this in your next book.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I disappeared behind the wall of art and slipped out the back door that led into the garden. Normally we used the garden at these affairs but this week we had a problem with the outside installation. One of the pieces didn’t enjoy the harsh Florida weather and crumbled. Rather than work around it, we closed the garden.

  I wandered through the hedge maze and over to the roses, then back towards the windows so I could people watch. I saw Sinclair flirting with another woman and this time he seemed to have found someone interested in the same things. A minute later they moved to what they thought was a quiet corner and began to make out.

  He was a very handsy man.

  Joan Daniels, Eve’s mom, flitted through the gallery, stopping to talk to different artists along the way. She preferred them to the patrons. It was a huge reason she’d brought me on. I loved the art, but making people help pay for the art was my real gift. It meant our gallery stayed open and our artists in residence were taken care of.

  “How’s it going?” Zoe appeared out of the shadows and sat beside me. “Ew. Is that the same guy you were flirting with?”

  “Yep.”

  “Ew. Just ew. I’m all for public displays of affection, and even the occasional naughty behavior in public, but that’s just gross.”

  “I can pick a sleaze out in any room. It’s another of my many talents.”

  “Yeah? Well Wes is looking everywhere for you. Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Are you saying he’s sleazy too?”

  “Nope. Actually, I really like him. He’s a lovable moron, but he’s lovable.”

  Ah crap. I didn’t want to hear that. Not when I was so deadset on this plan to play with his mind. “So you think I should let him off the hook?”

  “Nope. Didn’t say that either. Guys like him need to wake up. He’s a good guy underneath his immature self-centered stupidity. But to get to that ooey gooey good layer, you’ve got to rip off the shitty top layer.”

  “Like those cakes with the fondant instead of the buttercream frosting?” And now I wanted cake. Chocolate cake. No . . . red velvet. “You know the cake underneath is amazing but they cover it with pretty shit that doesn’t taste good.”

  “Exactly. Wes is covered in fondant right now. You’re doing him and all women everywhere a service by peeling it off. Painfully and with dirty tricks.”

  “So what do I do after this?” We planned on going back to my place. He had to grab a plane first thing in the morning for a three game series in New York.

  “Take him home and have your way with him. That is why you wanted to keep dating him, right? So you keep ha
ving the sexy times?”

  She had a very good point. “And then?”

  Wes appeared near the window. His hands were thrust in his suit pockets, his hair was a mess, and he looked confused. Adorably confused.

  “He’s kind of needy, isn’t he?”

  “Yep.” That was one of the reasons I was upset with him.

  “Then ignore him for a few days. Don’t return his texts or phone calls. Freeze him out. Needy guys go nuts when you go radio silent.”

  Wes would definitely have a problem with this. One day he texted me a hundred times. Another time he kept me on the phone for four hours.

  “Got it. Take him home. Use him. Then ignore him.”

  “Exactly. He’s going to be super confused after this.”

  18

  Carrie, six weeks earlier

  Since the flirting at the gallery didn’t go off as planned I decided to step up my game. Well, I stepped it up after we had all the amazing sex. I mean, he was so amped up and male afterward. It would have been silly to waste raw, powerful sex.

  So the next morning when he was still in my bed—a colossal mistake, I know—I turned the tables back my way by waking him up with all the oral and hand skills in my arsenal.

  Then I kicked him out and I’d been ignoring his phone calls and text messages ever since.

  I was doing really, really well until I decided to peruse social media on my lunch break.

  Hit a game-winning homer today. I should be happy but Snickers and I are sad.

  That was the caption below a picture of Wes, shirtless and holding Snickers, who did indeed look sad.

  The stupid post made my heart beat in triple time and my fingers itched to swipe over to his texts and reply, but I resisted. Barely.

  WES: Hey, Doc. How’s your day?

  That was the first one. Simple. Sweet even. But then . . .

  WES: I picked up another bag of your favorite coffee to keep at my place.

  Fuck. Super sweet. These were the moments that confused the hell out of me. There were just as many thoughtful ones as there were thoughtless. In the last week alone he’d forgotten to meet me in Orlando where I was having cocktails with an old colleague, posted pictures with his hands all over a couple of fans, and did an interview with Sucker Sports Net in which he claimed one of the benefits of being a celebrity catcher was the women.

  If I could carry around an emoji of me rolling my eyes everywhere I went, I would, because Wes was a walking, talking contradiction. Especially when he followed all of that up with texts like this:

  WES: Which laundry detergent do you use? I like the way it smells and how it reminds me of you.

  I didn’t think for one second that it was a line even though it could be taken that way. Wes didn’t operate that way. He said what he meant and he meant what he said, so if he liked thinking of me when he smelled my sheets then it was because he liked thinking of me when he smelled my sheets.

  I wanted to pull out my hair in frustration because he was exactly the kind of guy I’d totally fall for if I were ever going to go that route with my life.

  So ignoring him was the next best game I could play with him, followed by more sex games. I had a deep pocket when it came to pleasure. Medical school was good for many things, my career included, but knowing exactly how the body and mind worked together to create orgasms was my favorite weapon of choice and it would do me well when it came to getting what I wanted out of Wes without the emotional complications.

  Then my phone rang and it was the one person I really didn’t want to talk to, but after ignoring Wes for a week I had twitchy hands. I answered the phone.

  “Hey Mom. What’s up?”

  “You’re alive. Good to know.”

  I glared at my phone and cursed myself for answering. “I am alive. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy. You’re working yourself to death.”

  Normally I’d take this as an insult—whether it was meant that way or not—because that was the relationship I had with my mother. But after a conversation with Joan Daniels in which she pointed out that maybe I was old enough to be an adult and make the first move to building a better relationship, I decided to reframe our interactions.

  So today, instead of assuming she was out to get me, I decided to assume she was worried.

  “I love what I do, Mom. Long hours are hard, but they are so rewarding.”

  “Children are rewarding.”

  Like me? Was I rewarding? I bet my Mom would say no to that one. “And maybe one day I’ll pursue that line. But for now, my work is my life.” I took a breath and then did as I rehearsed for several hours. “What have you been up to, Mom? Are you still in the garden club?”

  “Yes.” Ugh. I hated that she sounded so genuinely surprised. “We have a lovely end of season display we’re putting together. Then all the fall events kick off, of course.”

  My mother’s favorite time of year. “Are you planning anything new?”

  “I’ve upgraded the Gourds of Fall from a side display at the Fall Festival to a contest open to everyone. Something you’d know if you ever came home.”

  That was it. I tried and she couldn’t stop snipping at me for a minute. “Well have fun with that, Mom.”

  “It’s not like you care.”

  “I do care!” I was so over her passive aggressive bullshit. “But you’re so busy hating everything about me you can’t see past your own nose.”

  “I don’t know why I bother.”

  That hurt. She bothered because she was my mother. I hated these phone calls but how would I feel if they stopped?

  “I don’t know either. All I seem to do is disappoint you.”

  “You are not the daughter I hoped for, but you are the only one I have. I’ve tried to help you back to the right path but since you’re so unwilling to even consider it, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  “Have you ever considered the idea that your path isn’t the right one?” They were so set in their ways. It drove me nuts.

  “Carrie Anne Walker. You know better. You know better but you refuse it.”

  “Because accepting it would mean accepting that everything I am is wrong!” I shouted. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  I ended the call and threw my phone into my purse.

  Why? Why did I keep doing this to myself? It had been over twelve years since I left home and I hadn’t had a conversation with my mother that went any different. I’d run from people like her for years and avoided getting close to anyone.

  Until June and Zoe.

  And then Wes.

  Fucking Wes.

  Was Zoe right? If I ripped off his shitty fondant layer, would there just be an ooey gooey soft chocolate Wes layer underneath? God, I hoped so. I hated him right now. Really and truly hated that he could play with my emotions without even knowing he was playing with my emotions. So very caring one minute and completely oblivious the next.

  But at least he accepted me for who I was.

  I picked up my phone again and this time I typed a text message:

  I’m picking up the laundry detergent right now. I’ll be there in four hours. Be ready.

  USING sex as a weapon was a bad idea.

  A very, very bad idea.

  I only wish I could have gone back in time and told myself that in a way I’d actually understand, but knowing me I wouldn’t even listen to that. My stubborn streak was a mile wide on a good day and when it came to Wes that streak seemed to have grown by leaps and bounds and was surrounded by blind spots.

  So without fully understanding the consequences, I used Wes. I used him to exorcise my demons and to teach him a lesson. I think I accomplished both, but at the expense of my sanity.

  “Hey.” He stood waiting for me in the doorway of his condo. Shirtless and in a simple pair of basketball shorts.

  “How was practice?” His hair was still wet from the shower.

  “Nothing special.” He put one ha
nd around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body, and kissed me carefully once on the lips. “I was surprised to get your message after the radio silence.”

  Dammit all. Why did he have to look at me with those soft eyes full of concern? “Busy week. I just didn’t have time to catch up on anything.”

  He studied me for a moment longer. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Why?” I lied.

  “I thought we were friends. Friends talk. We used to talk.”

  I squirmed. “It was a hard week, Wes. My job is stressful and this relationship is supposed to be easy.”

  He let me go in an instant. “Then by all means, let me uncomplicated it.” His words didn’t match his tone. He was trying for casual but instead he sounded hurt.

  I slid inside and dropped my purse on the kitchen counter. Inside my bag I had a simple change of clothes for the drive back. I was not staying the night.

  “Are you ready?”

  The corner of his lip quirked up. “I’m always ready for you, Doc. But yes, I’ve got everything ready to go.” He snagged my hand and gently led me to his stark white bedroom.

  I loved the white pillows and sheets. It was just like a blank canvas waiting to be painted. Except instead of art and brushes we used bodies and sex. I waited until he stopped at the edge of the bed and spun around before I unhooked the belt of my wrap dress and removed it very slowly.

  “Fuck. You’re not wearing underwear.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Nope. And I’ve been touching myself for two hundred miles.” That was partially true. Sex was distracting and anticipation was exciting—both of which I needed. So the idea of showing up and saying these words to Wes, seeing this exact look of shock and lust in his eyes, was the very reason I’d skipped the bra and panties in favor of the occasional flick of my nipples and clit.

  The dress dropped to the floor. While he was stunned I walked over to the bench beside the bed and opened the tool box, selecting the three items I’d decided I was ready and willing to play with tonight.

  “You have two options Wes, so choose wisely. A plug and Ben Wa balls while I suck you off, followed by you watching me touch myself in your shower with this vibrator, or,” I paused while he dropped onto the edge of the bed, eyes wide. “Or, you may blindfold me, bind my hands, and do whatever you want—but no toys.”