Game Saver

by BJ Harvey

  “Would rather you think I’m hot, sexy, and impossible to resist.” He waggles his eyebrows, and I giggle. Seriously cute . . . and dangerous

  “You’re those, too. In fact, when I clocked you at Throb that first night I thought all of those things.”

  He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I thought you were the sexiest woman I’d ever seen.” His voice drops low, that same raspy tone he gets when he’s deep inside me and telling me—in graphic detail—all the things he wants to do to me. My gaze drops to his lips and I find myself no longer hungry, at least not for food.

  “Stop looking at me like you’re thirsty and I’m a glass of water.”

  “I’ve got a drink right here,” I retort smugly, picking up my glass of the wine Cade ordered as soon as we arrived and bringing it up to my mouth for a sip.

  “That won’t sate what you’re craving. It won’t quench the thirst; you need to be—”

  “Wet. You’ve already succeeded in that department,” I mutter.

  Cade groans and bites his lip, his fingers raking through his hair and his dark eyes dropping to my chest. “You’re not helping my self-control here. We’re supposed to be having dinner in public, with clothes on, and talking.”

  “We’re talking, aren’t we?”

  “And my cock will drill its way through the table if you keep thinking those thoughts.”

  It’s then—thank God—that the waiter arrives with our starters.

  “So tell me about yourself,” Cade says once we’d finish eating, making me burst out laughing.

  “What’s this? The fake girlfriend interview?”

  “No,” he says with a wry grin. “It’s me getting to know the beautiful woman I’m having dinner with.”

  Well, that got a tingle in my happy place. I pick up my glass of wine and take another sip. “What would you like to know?”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Colorado. Dad got a transfer here when I was ten.”

  “And college?” he continues, lifting his own glass of wine to his lips and distracting me wickedly as he takes a slow, measured sip.

  “Business Management at Northwestern.”

  His eyes widen in surprise and he nods. “Impressive. So hotel management was always the goal?”

  Seems Dani has been talking about me, or Cade has been asking. I’m not sure which is better or which I’d prefer. “Not initially, but I’ve always liked dealing with people and tourism has a lot of that so it has been a good fit.”

  “And the stripping?” he asks, his eyes looking straight into mine, and for some reason it reassures me that he wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass on Sunday when he said he was fine with it.

  “I was living with a guy in my early twenties who totally conned me. Lost his job, got into debt, then got me into debt. I was young, naïve and cock-dumb, or that’s what I like to think, but I honestly thought I loved him and—despite his many faults—that there was a good guy still under there. I kicked Bryce out when I discovered he didn’t have a job because he was a drug addict, and I had effectively been funding his habit for a year.”

  Cade’s face grows dark, and his jaw tightens. Needing to say something—anything—to break the silence, I sally forth. “So in order to pull myself out of the hole I dug myself in, I went into the Pink Monkey and asked about getting a job. And voila, four years later, here I am. I’m only dancing one night a week now, not because I need to anymore, but because I like my boss, I like the other girls—and if I’m honest—it’s a bit of fun.”

  His expression softens, and it scares me more than his dark and brooding look from before. “You’re fucking amazing, Abi.”

  Say what now? That is so far from what I expected him to say.

  “And what about you Mister Hotshot Doctor?” I ask, needing a subject change so that I don’t do something completely inappropriate for a date ‘get to know you’ dinner.

  “NYU undergrad, then Northwestern for med school.”

  “Nice. Why New York?”

  “I wanted to stretch my legs a bit and get out of the Carson family shadow.” He frowns but quickly hides it. “That’s where I met Daniel, Noah, and Thomas.”

  “Thomas? I don’t think I know him.”

  “He was at Throb on Saturday with us. Blond hair, preppy-looking. One of my best friends, and currently my roommate.”

  “Ah yep, I know the one.”

  His eyes widen, and he nods. “Checking him out, were you?”

  I gasp in mock offense. “What kind of woman do you take me for?”

  “One who is not ashamed of the fact she checks men out. You’re just lucky I’m confident enough in my own looks and performance to know I’ve got nothing to worry about when it comes to you and Thomas,” he says with a wink and a smile.

  I shake my head. “Is that so?”

  “You know it.”

  “You don’t think I’m weak? I ask, thinking again of Bryce and what an idiot I’d been.

  “Fuck no,” he bites out, and my head jerks at the weight of his denial. “You did what you had to do to get yourself out of that mess. There is not one thing you should be ashamed or embarrassed about.”

  “Wow.”

  “What? You thought I’d think badly of you for finding yourself in a situation and doing whatever possible to get yourself out of it? That shows more strength than most people have in their little finger.”

  “I—”

  “And, just saying, if you ever see that asshole and I’m with you, don’t tell me because it won’t look good for the future mayor if one of his sons is facing an assault charge—again.”

  “Again?”

  “Let’s just say that my brother, Cameron, went into the army for a number of reasons.”

  I lean forward onto my elbows. “Now this sounds juicy.”

  He chuckles, taking another sip from his wine glass. “Together we prove that the adage that twins can be polar opposites is true when it comes to Cam and I.”

  “Twins,” I say dreamily, a smirk playing at my mouth. “Is he the yin to your yang?”

  “More like the oil to my water.”

  “You don’t get on?” I ask. My own twin brothers are closer than anything.

  “We do, we’re just different in a lot of ways, although we do look alike.”

  “Identical?”

  “Yep. Five minutes between us.”

  “Younger or older?”

  “I came first.”

  “Lucky you got out of that nasty habit when you grew up.”

  His eyes widen before he bursts out laughing, drawing the attention of diners around us. When he composes himself, he pins me with a heated stare and lowers his voice, the carnal undertone doing downright delicious things deep inside me. “There’s no way I’d give up hearing you scream ‘oh God’ for anything, Spitfire,” he replies, a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

  I cough loudly just as the waiter appears at our table. “Your mains.”

  Cade doesn’t miss a beat. He looks up at the waiter and grins, directing the plates onto the table.

  “So this mother-buffer assignment of mine. What should I expect at this fundraiser?” I ask after we’ve both finished eating.

  “Lots of men trying to prove they’ve got the biggest balls and women trying to outshine each other,” he explains flippantly.

  I study him for a moment, seeing for the first time that he’s not at all that he seems—in a good way. “Not your scene?”

  He snorts. “Nope. Don’t get me wrong—my father’s money meant I could go to any college I wanted without loans or debt.”

  That must have been nice.

  “But with wealth comes status and—in my parents’ minds—responsibility to uphold the Carsen family name.”

  “And that’s not your deal?”

  He looks out the window toward the Lake Michigan beside us before returning his attention to me. “I’ve always wanted to be my own man, do my own thing. You know?�
� I nod in agreement. “And for the most part, my mom and dad leave me to it. But when things like a mayoral campaign come around, it’s ‘all Carsens on deck.’“

  It’s as if I’m seeing a whole new side to him and damn, I’m fucking liking it. Shit. Fake girlfriends are not supposed to like their fake boyfriends. Friends with benefits, Abi. Nothing more.

  I decide we need to go back to light and easy, not deep and serious. “Any arranged marriages on your horizon then?” I ask with a wry smile.

  “My mother has tried, starting with wrangling a date with her best friend’s daughter a few years ago. Hence the need for a mother buffer.”

  “With a side of hot sex?”

  “Is that a request or a requirement? Because either option works for me.”

  Oh God. We’re back here again and damn, if it doesn’t hit me right in the money spot. “Definitely a requirement,” I reply. “Fair’s fair, Dr. Carsen. I scratch your back—”

  “I get you to lay you flat on yours.”

  “Check please,” I whisper, and my entire body hums at the sight of his devilish grin, one that guarantees multiple orgasms in my future.

  Cade waves his hand up for the waiter and gives him his credit card to settle the bill.

  I’ve been on dates before, but this date—I mean, dinner—has been an education, a torture session, and drawn-out foreplay all in one.

  Cades leg slides against mine sending tingles everywhere. My body is a dirty slut needing her next Cade fix—preferably involving a warm meat injection from the man in question. I used to have a ‘take it or leave it’ attitude when it came to sex. After spending that second night with him, I’ve turned into an addict with Cade being my drug of choice.

  “Your eyes darken when you’re turned on,” he says quietly, his foot inching higher beneath the table.

  Two can play at this game. I slip off my black patent pump and glide my foot up his leg, running my toes along his inner thigh before resting lightly on his straining cock.

  He slouches down in his seat, pulling his leg sideways and pushing my foot firmly against his hard-on. A flex of my toes sees him groan, his eyelids going half-mast. “We really need to get out of here, otherwise I’ll be dragging you to the bathroom.”

  “I will if you will,” I shoot back.

  He growls under his breath, his expression turning predatory. “Let’s go.”

  “Your credit card?”

  “Let them keep it.”

  “Cade!” I say on a laugh. “I’m sure you can wait five minutes for the waiter to come back.”

  He gets up from the table and walks over to me, stopping in front of me and holding out his hand. Guess he really is in a hurry.

  “Just saying, this gentleman act of yours is totally working for me.”

  “Give me twenty minutes and you’ll be the one working me.”

  I’m coming off a long shift and making my way to my car in the hospital staff parking lot when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I swipe the screen and bring it up to my ear. “Hey Mom.”

  “Caden,” she says warmly. “Can you talk?”

  My mother never shortens my name. I’ve always been Caden to her; Cade is the name reserved for my father.

  “I just finished my shift and am about to drive home so yep. How are you?”

  “I’m good,” she replies. “I wanted to check in with you to make sure you have a suit for your father’s fundraising dinner next week.”

  My father, Cade Carsen II, will announce at his ‘fundraising dinner’ that he is running for mayor of Chicago.

  This isn’t a closely-held secret. In fact, it’s been rumored in the press and political circles for weeks now. Unfortunately for me, that means that my sister Callie and I are going to be called upon on a regular basis over the coming months to join him at campaign events.

  My brother Cameron—the lucky bastard—gets to miss out on all the fun because he’s currently stationed in Afghanistan. Of course that doesn’t stop my father from using him for political fodder .The three Carsen children—a doctor, a lawyer, and a soldier—have all provided him with the perfect family image.

  I may be a little resentful, but that’s only because my parents are all about reputation and perception. It’s not what they can do for you but what you can do for them.

  We had a good childhood—it’s just that it was steeped in high expectations and pressure to excel. It’s probably why Cameron enlisted at nineteen—one reason, anyway—and has served two deployments so far.

  “Yes, I have a suit, Mom.”

  “I was talking to Emily Gregory’s mother a few days ago. She’s going to ask Emily if she’ll be your date for the evening.”

  Emily is a family friend and was my high school girlfriend for all of two weeks. That’s how long it took for us to realize we had a) nothing in common, and b) were not interested in anything more than friendship. As we’ve gotten older, we’ve become more acquaintances than anything else.

  “Mom, I already have a date for the dinner.”

  “You do?” She gasps. “Do I know her? Who are her parents?” Her voice is a high-pitched shrill and I can’t help but grin, knowing that Mom won’t like my answers to her questions. “You don’t know her.”

  “And you’re in a relationship with her? How come I don’t know about this?”

  “It’s new.”

  “How did you meet?”

  Shit.

  “Through friends.” Kind of true.

  “You should introduce her to us beforehand. You could bring her to the house this weekend, make sure she knows what’s going to happen during the campaign.”

  The words “hell no” spring to mind right about now. “No need. You’ll meet her at the dinner.”

  “But—”

  “Mom, no. Just stop,” I say with a laugh. “She’s nice, and I like her. That’s all that matters, surely?” I don’t mention that I really like banging her brains out, though.

  “Oh,” she says, her voice now cold. “Will we be seeing you this weekend then? I know your father would want you to visit.”

  “I’m working this weekend, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  I almost hear the Stepford wife persona click into place. “That’s okay, dear. I know how busy you are. We’ll catch up next week at the dinner when we meet your lovely new girlfriend. What was her name again?”

  “Abi. Her name is Abi.”

  “That’s a lovely name. What’s her family name?”

  Shit. Um. How the hell don’t I know that? Think, Carsen. “You’ll meet her next Saturday, Mom. We’re both really looking forward to it,” I lie. “But I’ve gotta go. I’ve just gotten to my car and I’m beat. I’ll call you next week.”

  “Okay, dear. I have to call your sister now anyway. Take care.”

  “Bye Mom.”

  “Bye Cade.”

  I hop in my car and realize I really do need to find out more about Abi if this ruse of ours is going to work at all. Putting my cell in my Bluetooth cradle, I pull out of the parking garage and head towards home. I press the button on my steering wheel to activate my phone and say “Call Abi” to the car at large. Moments later, the sound of the call connecting fills the cab just before she picks up.

  “Hey. For what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Don’t talk about owing pleasure you less you plan on following through, Spitfire.”

  “I’m not the one who doesn’t follow through. Need I remind you of that little teasing manoeuver you enacted before dinner last night?”

  I chuckle, remembering how fucking amazing the sex between us was last night once we got home from the restaurant. I was so hard that I could barely walk straight, let alone wait until we got back to her apartment. That was why I’d shifted my seat back, she’d hauled herself into my lap, and we proceeded to dry-hump each other into explosive mutual orgasms in the parking lot of Chicago’s swanky restaurant.

  “I can’t help it if I believe in delayed gratification. I was mo
tivating you to get through dinner and take me home.”

  “Is that right?” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “I also thought you might’ve been nervous so I figured it would distract you.”

  “Oh, it distracted me alright. I couldn’t think straight.”

  “You seemed fine at dinner. Especially afterwards.”

  “Are we talking about the frottage in the car, the blow job in my elevator, or you turning me into a contortionist on my dining table?”

  “Hmm . . . I can’t remember. We might have to do a step-by-step reconstruction to jog my memory.”

  She laughs, low and husky, a sound that reaches down and wraps itself around my dick.

  “Are you at work already?” I ask, having a brilliant idea of swinging by her place for a quickie.

  “Yeah, I’m sitting in my office.”

  There goes that plan then.

  “Is the door closed?” I ask, a rather nice image of Abi taking care of herself in her chair and describing it to me in vivid detail flashing through my mind.

  “Cade . . .” she warns, but her tone is not cutting. There’s a vein of amusement and a raspy undertone running through it.

  I chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave.”

  “Good, because after last night’s efforts, I can still feel where you’ve been and that’s had me at level five all day. You instigating phone sex in my office when I can’t do anything about it for eight hours is just cruel.”

  My mouth goes dry, and my groin tightens. “You can still feel me?” I ask gruffly, thinking phone sex is a fucking fantastic idea as I scan for the next exit.

  “Cade, my vagina has had more of a workout in the past week than it’s had in the ten months between visits.”

  That grabs my attention. “Ten months?”

  “Shit,” she mutters. “Forget I said that.”

  “There’s no way I’m letting you out of this one. Are you saying you didn’t sleep with anyone else after me?” Why the hell do I like that so. fucking. much?

  “I was busy! Doesn’t mean I didn’t give my toy chest a good workout.”

  “Yes. The toy chest. Guess what just got scratched onto our to-do list?”

  “You mean the to-do-me-with list?” she says with a giggle.