Play the Game

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

SLOANE

“ Y ou have got to be fucking kidding me,” I hiss out at the dashboard, nearly seething as I wait for my husband's response through the Bluetooth speaker. Snow flurries flit around the windshield endlessly as yet another storm begins to brew towards our colder mountains, forcing me to grip the steering wheel even tighter than I already was due to my agitation at my dearest hubby .

Get married, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

I sigh at the thought petulantly.

Okay, it has its plentiful perks, and I love him with everything I have in me. This man is somehow, equivocally, everything to me. We match each other in ways that some people only think about—all the way from our love of gaming and sports, to our metal music, to the emo tattoos and clothes we always sported.

Hell, even our wedding rings are identical.

He’s my best friend.

But, my best friend is currently and profoundly pissing me the fuck off.

"Babe…" Simon's deeper, smoky voice drawls. I glare down at the console once again, knowing the puppy dog pleading gaze plastered on his face, even if I can’t see him. “Please? The photographer that was supposed to take our candids bailed for the night, and we're already in our full gear.”

I huff obnoxiously as my hands grip the steering wheel tighter. I was going to break it if I kept at the wringing war I currently find myself in. But after the day I’ve had, I’m ready to choke something.

Better the steering wheel than another human, I guess.

“Simon, I am muddy, sweaty, disgusting, and even a bit wet. I cannot be seen in public like this. Can’t you get someone with a smartphone to take your photos instead? It’s probably just as good as anything I could do."

I know that’s a lie, but fingers crossed it pacifies him.

"Wet, you say?" he asks, ignoring my point entirely.

I glare at my dashboard again, knowing the man who gave me his last name is smirking uncontrollably. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You beg me to help you, and then you go pervert mode, too? I am going to murder you in cold blood.”

He sombers slightly, though I know the lilt in his voice from our years of dating all the same. “I’m sorry you had a bad day, baby girl. You can tell me all about it later, and I’ll give you the best back rub of the century. You have my word.”

I pause.

Okay, that…sounds promising.

I sniff. “With the heating oil?”

“Yes, baby.”

“And your tongue fixing my attitude towards the end?”

I can hear the smile in his voice as he responds. “Yes, baby.”

My hands relax against the steering wheel slightly as I breathe in deeply.

I could help him. It truly wouldn’t take me long at all to shoot, edit, and manipulate only four good candids—even more so knowing they would all be hiding most of their features. All of my bitchiness is well and truly just from having a bad day, where my bride-to-be begged me to get close to a waterfall for her fourth set of engagement pictures, only for me to fall in, due to the weird angle.

I felt like Fiona from Shrek , dragging my ass out of the water, smelling like a swamp.

At least my camera, somehow, didn’t take the damage.

Just my ego. And my good mood.

Simon speaks again, snapping me out of my haze. “Do I have a deal with my beautiful princess?”

“I don’t know. Am I on speakerphone?" I ask. Simon has the habit of sharing his screen and personal conversations just a little too much, and I was curious if all of his best friends could hear my bitching…and the plans for future tonguing. That would be the icing on top of the cake.

The man is a green flag with his open-phone policy, and yet a red flag for the exact same reason. Is that what kids are now calling a beige flag?

“Yup.”

“I am going to kill you, for real."

“Baby…” the word rolls out of his mouth smoothly, “you love me too much for that."

My eyes roll. He’s lucky for being correct. Though, since I now know I am on speakerphone for the enjoyment of his best friends, I have a vendetta to get him to blush bright red. “Oh, just you wait, pretty boy. You're gonna be calling me Mommy very soon with that quip."

This time, it’s another man's voice on the phone, who sounds distinctly like Asher. His voice is nearly as deep as Simon's, but it has a different lilt, likely due to his younger age.

The poor baby has yet to truly drop his balls.

“C'mon, Sloane. Please? I even put on my fancy ski-mask.”

“Asher," I growl, seeing his bright blue, puppy dog eyes in my head. They pair too nicely with his sweet, deep, yet innocent voice, and I do not need his pleads added to the conversation.

“I'll beg for you,” he offers, a teasing tone added to his voice. “You can call me a good boy inste?—”

“Alright, alright, shut up," Simon intervenes, right as my face grows extremely hot from Asher’s suggestion. Or… flirting . "Please, baby? You're the only one I trust, anyway. You do good work."

I sigh deeply, my resolve tumbling.

The cons of marrying your best friend?

He knows how to make you all warm, gushy, and full of butterflies.

I should've let my butterflies stay rotting and decaying like they were as a traumatized teenager.

“Fine,” I grunt, flipping my turn signal as I check my mirrors to merge to the right. My exit is coming up, and even with being in the middle-of-nowhere-Colorado, it would be my luck to get a terrified driver in the snowstorm who refuses to let me merge over for my exit.

“Yes!” I hear a collective whisper-shout from all four people who have apparently been hearing more than my preferred allowance. All of Simon’s best friends, who somehow also happened to live in our apartment complex, have slowly grown on me, as well.

Because who needs personal space?

I’m surprised none of them have walked in on Simon and I fucking. Or if they have, then I’m glad I don’t know about it.

With annoyance laced in my voice, I speak again. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Simon, make sure everyone is ready and in full gear, or they can suck my left tit.” I then address the group of friends, lovingly annoyed. “Nyx, Asher, and Rhodes…that’s not an invitation. Be fucking ready.”

Asher’s sweet voice comes through again. “Oh, c’mon! But I could leave the prettiest marks. I told you that I could be the goodest boy fo?—”

Simon interrupts Asher again, just as my lips begin to tilt upward. “Alright, baby, I’m going to kill him. I’ll see you soon.”

The disconnected phone call sounds through the speakers…just as a car honks at me for going the speed limit…in a snowstorm.

It’s going to be a miracle if I don’t get through the rest of the day without doing something utterly and profoundly stupid.

Even as my thighs shift uncomfortably closer from the odd feelings blooming in the back of my skull at Asher’s begging, Simon’s possessiveness, and Nyx’s and Rhodes' soft, goading laughs.