Playing Hard to Get(85)

“I don’t even want him to try. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Has he tried to message you anywhere?”

“I blocked his phone number, remember?” I’d done it in a fit of rage, and I don’t regret it. It kept him from contacting me—and kept me from trying to reach out to him. “And I unfollowed him everywhere else.”

“Check your DM’s.” She waves a hand at me.

I pull out my phone and do as she says, opening my requests inbox.

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach when I see it.

“He sent me a message.” I jerk my head up to find Nat watching me with huge eyes.

“Read it,” she whispers.

I open the message, hating how shaky I feel. I don’t want him affecting me anymore. It’s annoying, and honestly, so unnecessary. I don’t care about him, not like I used to, but he still has this way of getting to me.

More like it makes me nervous, how he’s trying to reach out to me. Why? What are his motives?

Clearing my throat, I read the message out loud.

“Hey Jo. I hope you’re doing okay. I was thinking about you and just wanted to reach out, but couldn’t since you basically blocked me everywhere. Hopefully you see this message and if you do, maybe we could talk? I’d love to hear your voice.” I drop my phone onto the chair cushion and lean back with an irritated sigh. “I didn’t really block him. I just unfollowed him.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t want to hear his voice. If I had the choice, I would never hear from him again.” I stare at the ceiling, trying to calm the tumultuous feelings swirling deep inside me. “I wish he would leave me alone.”

“If you ignore him, he will,” Natalie suggests.

“Yeah, you’re right. If he reaches out to you again, tell him I’m not interested in having a conversation with him ever again. I don’t care how harsh that sounds.”

“It’s not harsh at all. It’s what the asshole deserves, if you ask me.”

My phone dings with a text notification, and I grab it, half-believing it’s going to be another message from my shitty ex. But it’s not.

It’s from Knox.

Smiling, my heart eases, and I open the message to read it.

Knox: I’m about to start practice but wanted to ask if you’d like to go out to dinner tonight?

Me: Are you asking me on a date?

He responds quickly.

Knox: Yeah. I realized we don’t do that enough. Go on real dates. I want to take you out.

My heart threatens to burst out of my chest.

Me: I’d love to.

Knox: Get dressed up. I made a reservation for eight.

Me: You made a reservation before you asked me? Am I that much of a sure thing?

Knox: You were the one who used to play hard to get. Now that I’ve got you where I want you, yeah. You’re a sure thing.

Me: Rude.

Knox: I don’t think you’re protesting.

Me: And what do you mean, you’ve got me where you want me?

I wait nervously for his reply.

Knox: With me. All the time.

“Who are you texting?” Natalie asks.

“Knox.” I’m giddy, tapping away at my screen.

Me: So possessive.

Knox: Fuck the patriarchy?

Knox: Or just fuck me?

Me: KNOX.

Knox: Stop pretending you don’t love it. You’re a lot dirtier than I thought you’d be.

Now I’m blushing.

Me: The more appropriate word is filthy.

Knox: And hot?

I send him a bunch of fire emojis to let him know I approve of his word choice.

Knox: Make sure you wear something hot and filthy to dinner.

Me: I can’t wear something slutty to a restaurant.

Knox: Fine, just don’t wear panties then.

Oh, this man…

“You’re blushing.” Natalie’s voice is smug.

And Knox leaves me feeling warm all over. Forget Bryan. He lost out when he tossed me away like yesterday’s trash.

Best thing that could’ve ever happened to me.





THIRTY-TWO





KNOX





The moment I see Joanna in that dress, I swear I almost swallow my tongue.

It’s dark red with long sleeves and covers her almost completely, save for the circle cut-outs on either side, right at rib level, revealing smooth, soft skin. She can’t wear a bra with those cut-outs and my gaze drops to her tits, where I can just make out her nipples straining against the fabric.

Shit.

The skirt is short and she’s wearing boots that hit right below the knee.

Double shit.

“Hi.” Her smile is confident, her gaze sending me a secret message that says, I know I’m destroying you with this dress and that was my plan all along because I’m an evil queen.

“You look…” My brain can’t find the right word to describe her.

“You like the dress?” She turns in a circle, offering me a quick view of her ass and the way the fabric clings to it.

“It’s—hot.” I’m literally breaking out in a sweat the longer I stare at her.

She laughs, and it’s the type of laugh a woman makes when she knows she’s got a man wrapped around her finger.