The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(35)

“Felix pulled us all into a meeting today. Said he was planning on naming his new assistant designer on Friday morning.”

I bolt upright, my spine so stiff it hurts. “Friday? But I’m not back in until Monday.”

Alice makes a noise that sounds a lot like duh although she’s too nice to say it outright. She’s already a junior designer, so she’s got nothing to worry about. I, on the other hand, am clearly up shit creek without a paddle.

“And since when did he plan on having a new assistant?” I practically squeal.

“Probably after the millionth time Elena mentioned how good it would be for him to have one. She’s been getting really cozy with him this week.”

Alice is one of the few people in the office who sees Elena for what she is, and who vocally disapproves. At least to me. Which makes us comrades of a sort.

“Of course she is,” I say, my blood rising hot over my chest and face. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone on vacation. Shit.”

“Look, normally I wouldn’t say this, but you might want to consider cutting your vacay short. Get in here and show Felix what you’ve got. Something new and not tainted by Elena.”

I’m already up, hurrying to my room as fast as my short legs can carry me. I refuse to look back at the bed I’ve just left. But it doesn’t matter. It haunts me still, like a cold fist grinding down my spine. “Thanks for the head’s up.”

She makes a noise of disgust. “If that little bitch gets a promotion, there will be no living with her. I’m likely to take a walk into rush-hour traffic.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Besides, it’s only a matter of time before she starts copying someone else, and I’m not going to be her next victim.”

“There’s the Alice I know.” I laugh without much humor. “Keep calm; I’m on it.”

But I have the horrible, sinking feeling that it’s already a done deal. So why am I frantically packing my bag? Why am I online cashing in precious air miles so I can get a ticket back to NYC today?

With each decisive action, my jaw grows a little stiffer, my heart a little colder.

You’re running away. You’re just using this as an excuse.

No. I need to protect my job. I’m not running.

Thirty minutes later, when I finally stop moving and planning, I sit in the quiet of the guest room I decorated and think of Dex.

I’ll be leaving him regardless. If not today, then definitely on Sunday. A few days more will only make this worse. I’ve had boyfriends before; I know when I’m in danger of losing my head over a guy. And I know it’s never been as strong as this. Usually the start of a relationship is the best part for me. Attraction is a heady rush, a kind of giddy high—like going out and dancing all night. You know it will end eventually. It’s just part of the process, a little built in fail-safe to keep me from getting too attached.

Only with Dex? I don’t like the idea of us having an end date. At all.

I struggle to swallow past the panic. I’m so deep in my own fear that I don’t hear him until he’s walking into my room.

Fresh from a shower at the gym, his sun-streaked hair is damp and neatly swept back in that Samurai bun. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt with a graphic of a big, green Hulk fist smashing through cinder blocks. I’m betting Gray gave it to him.

I’m also betting Dex is wearing it now because Gray gave it to him. Dex is like that—the big papa bear who makes sure those in his circle know they’re loved and appreciated.

The pain in my throat grows. I have to slip my hands between my knees and press hard to keep from reaching for him.

There’s a smile in his eyes. But he clearly sees that something is wrong, and he halts. Instantly his gaze scans the room as if he knows he needs to search out any possible threat.

His eyes cut to the packed suitcase on the floor and a line forms between his thick brows. “You’re leaving?”

He sounds so incredulous, his voice lighter with shock, his body visibly recoiling like I’ve slapped him. I did that to him. I hate myself for that.

Talking proves harder than expected. “Work emergency.”

The line between his brows gets deeper, and he puts his hands low on his hips in the way guys do, his stance wide. His fists are clenched tight enough to make his knuckles white, and I get the feeling he’s trying not to grab my bag and hurl it back into the closet.

I want to do the same. But I’m cutting and running like a coward instead.

Dex’s eyes meet mine. Already he has such power over me. One look and I want to walk into his embrace, beg him to f*ck me, make me forget about everything and everyone. It would be so easy. I know he’d do it.

His low voice slides over the distance between us. “Why are you really leaving?”

Am I that obvious? Apparently so.

“I… Shit.” Standing, I take a deep breath and blurt it out. “I think we made a mistake.” My voice is overloud and desperate.

“Why?” His question is stark, as if ripped from him. “It was good. I know it was better than good—”

“Oh, God.” I hold up my hand to stop him from saying more. “It’s not that. Ethan…” I run hand through my hair. I’m so clammy, my skin snags along the strands. “It was too good.”