Page 65 of Playing the Player

Okay, that's enough, Sash. Get up. Get out of this slump. There’s no point in crying over all these things when you have the power to change them.

I drag myself out of my bed, grab my laptop and charger from my nightstand and head to my dining table. I brew some fresh coffee, pour it into a large mug and add creamer, before settling in front of my screen. If I really want to get out of that demeaning job, I need to get my ass in gear. I need to work towards the dream I’ve always had and the only way to do that is by doing it.

My notebook is overflowing with ideas. Characters, scenes. Half-finished plots scribbled into every spare corner of every page.

Out of all of these ideas, only one has never left me. It’s the only one that makes my chest tighten every time I think about it.

I open a blank document. The cursor blinks back at me, and I begin typing…

Prologue.

27

Sasha

Why the hell is writing so fucking hard? The story is in my head. I know the characters inside out. I know exactly where I want everything to end up. So why won’t the words cooperate?

I keep glancing at my phone, desperate for literally any kind of distraction. Laundry, dishes, scrubbing grout with a fucking toothbrush. I’d happily do any of it if it meant I didn’t have to stare at this blinking cursor.

If I don’t get something on this page soon, I’m gonna lose my mind.

I need more coffee, that’s all. Sure, it’s only 10am and I’ve already had five cups, but one more couldn’t hurt. I refill my favorite mug, drown it in creamer, and settle back in front of my laptop.

Fingers to the keys, Sash. Empty your mind. Let it flow.

I was meant to start this weeks ago, but then Liam came and writing was the last thing on my mind And then there’s Conor… He has become one giant, six-foot-something I can’t seem to get anything done when he’s around and that’s a lot. Not that I’m complaining. I love his company and the orgasms that come with it. That man is skilled at everything.

I stayed up for hours last night writing the prologue. Now I’m on chapter one and my mind has gone blank again. Maybe I’m doing this backwards. What if I start on the important chapters? The first time they meet, the first kiss, the first time they… Actually, yeah. That one.

The words finally come.

I begin typing, getting lost in the sound of the keys tapping rhythmically, the way the ideas just float through my fingers and onto the screen. It’s such a powerful feeling, being able to write freely, write whatever you want, make it all your own. Damn, I wish I did this sooner.

The sound of my apartment door swinging open has all my focus draining in a split second. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

Conor chuckles as he walks in, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. “Well, hello to you too, Angel.”

“Sorry, sorry.” I murmur, running a hand down my face and turning back to my laptop and… nope, all the bookish thoughts are gone. Shit. “I was in the groove and you interrupted it.”

“Well then, I’m sorry.” The smile that tugs on the corners of his lips says that isn’t sorry at all.

“What?” He’s just standing there, staring at me. It’s kinda creepy.

“You’re actually writing.”

“I am.” I smile back, my cheeks heating at the adorable look on his face. He’s proud.

He walks over to me and places a gentle kiss on my lips. It’s sweet and it lingers. Friends don’t kiss like that. And friends definitely don’t look at each other like that. “I’ll let you get back to it.” He moves for the door, but I stop him.

“You don’t have to go.” It comes out rushed, desperate. “I mean,” I clear my throat and shrug, “you can stay for a bit, if you’d like?” Real smooth, Sash. I internally roll my eyes at myself for being so uncool.

“I did come over to ask you something but it can wait.”

“No, it’s okay.” I save my work and close the laptop. “I could probably use a break anyway.”

We move to the couch, settling at opposite ends. Conor pulls my feet onto his lap and starts absent-mindedly rubbing soft circles along the bottom. Thank God I’m not ticklish or he’d get a boot to the face any second now.

His hands freeze and his eyes blow wide. “What the fuck is this?” Shit. The angry red burns peek out beneath the hem of my joggers. I knew this moment was coming but I still hadn’t decided whether or not to tell him the truth.