Playing the Game

Cover Copy

She expects dinner with neighbors, but gets sex with a side of safewords.

Mechanical engineer Alice still drools over her sexy neighbors a year after she’s moved in. She can’t decide whether they’re roommates or partners, but either way, they spark a wanton desire in her that has her imagination–and vibrator–working overtime.

Henry, director of everything around him, studies human nature and applies philosophies to his paintings as well as his relationships. Quirky, polite to a fault, and formal, he follows his own code of honor even when it means denying himself.

Flirtatious and playful, Jay needs stability, guidance, and to please others. His antics counterbalance Henry’s stuffy ways while he brings a level of vulnerability and fun to everything the trio does.

BDSM play with the enigmatic artist and flirtatious joker across the hall allows Alice to put aside the linear thought processes which have kept her unsatisfied and distant with other lovers. She must dismiss her preconception of love, sacrificing her independence, if she’s to find a permanent place in their beds and hearts.

CONTENT WARNING: Explicit sex, graphic language, BDSM, bondage, spanking, M/M/F menage.

A Lyrical Press Contemporary Erotic Romance

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He glanced at her with one eyebrow raised. “My treat, my dear.”

“No, this is your birthday present. If we’re going to dinner, I’m buying.” She was prepared to be stubborn. Recipients didn’t pay for their gifts.

“Ah, but this isn’t within the scope of your gift to me, Alice. This is the transparent ploy of a man feeling his age, enjoying the attentive company of an attractive younger woman and hoping to extend that time in a public setting to boost his own ego. Please, allow me to take you to dinner.”

They stepped out into the cloudy chill of early March. She fumbled to get her mittens on, and Henry tucked the ends of her scarf at her throat. His fingers, encased in dark brown driving gloves, smelled of leather as he raised the scarf over her nose.

She blinked, shivering from his touch rather than the cold, and forced a laugh. “Fine. Your treat. Do people ever tell you you’re honest to a fault, Henry?”

“Honesty is important to me, Alice. Lies can be dangerous, painful things, both for those who lie and those to whom they lie.”

Playing the Game

By M. Q. Barber

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Dedication

For all of the encouraging voices that pushed me to believe in myself, but especially for Dee, who read every word along the way.

Chapter 1

Three flights separated Alice’s apartment from the ground floor, but she didn’t notice a single step Friday morning. She raced the daylight, as if getting to work sooner would make it end sooner, too. Warp time to deposit her at the dinner with friends she’d anticipated for days. With Henry at the helm, dinner couldn’t be less than divine.

She emerged from the stairwell with a growing grin for the man crossing the lobby with sketchbook in hand. A suit and tie, sans coat, though it wasn’t eight yet and he didn’t have an office to go to. Did he not own jeans?

“Morning, Henry.”

“And a good morning to you, Alice. What a beautiful vision for the end of my walk.”

She shook her head. He could charm a thief out of robbing him and call it common courtesy. “Out people-watching?”

“Yes, the sunrise first–the sky offered up lovely hues this morning–and then the early morning joggers. Exercise for them, and an exercise in the movement of light and shadow for me. Now it’s time to see if Jay has slept through his alarm. Are you off to work, my dear?”

“Got it in one. What gave me away, the basic black pantsuit or the overloaded satchel?” She twirled, knowing he wouldn’t take her flirtation as an invitation. Henry had whatever he had with Jay.
The safest sexy guys I know.

“Simply the time of day and knowledge of your schedule,” Henry demurred, his gaze flicking over her form. “Though you do look quite striking in basic black. Have you any plans for the evening?”

He managed to look innocent asking. As if he hadn’t left a note on her door a week ago asking for the pleasure of her company.

She lowered her voice to a faux-secretive whisper. “Yeah, with my crazy neighbors. Can you believe this guy? He not only remembers the first anniversary of my move-in date, but he offers to cook dinner to celebrate.”

“He sounds like quite the catch.” He waggled his eyebrows. “The sort of gentleman who might also remember you often neglect to eat breakfast.”

He held out a brown paper bag with a folded-over top.

“You got me breakfast?” She took the bag and peered inside. Apple fritter. Her mouth watered. “My favorite. Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”

“Oh? And if I declared my undying devotion?” He clasped his sketchpad against his chest. “Here in the lobby, at this very moment? I suppose I could get down on one knee.”

She snorted and adopted an airy tone. “Don’t be absurd. I insist you don’t wrinkle your trousers for me, good sir. Why, it’s entirely undignified.” She broke off a piece of fritter and took a bite.
Yum.
“Besides, I dumped the last guy who tried that romance crap on me.”

“I suppose that would make declaring my love inadvisable.” He released a heavy, mocking sigh. “The fritter, however, is acceptable?”

“Delicious.” She reached for another bite. “And real. Love’s fake. The convenient excuse people give for making stupid decisions. I have a strict no-love policy.”

“Ah. Is that why Jay and I haven’t seen beaus knocking at your door in months?”

“It’s not like I have a no-sex policy. I just keep things short. Simple. Well defined.” She popped the fritter piece in her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “A couple of months, max. After that, you have to worry about moving in together. Awkward proposals about moving across the country to stay together. Pretty soon, you’ve been married for years and forgotten how to be your own person.”

She wasn’t going to end up in that situation and call it love. The word was a four-letter excuse, a chemical reaction tricking the brain into thinking it wanted something it didn’t. The way Mom thought she wanted to watch Dad pop pills and forget they’d ever been a happy family. The way her college boyfriend had thought she’d finish her degree at a different school once he graduated.

“Not me,” she said. “I avoid love altogether. Thanks for the pastry, though. That, I’m happy to accept.”

“You’re quite welcome, Alice. Have a lovely day. We’ll see you at dinner.”

“Seven sharp. I’ll be there.” She darted outside, waving over her shoulder.

Henry was a nice guy. A good friend. Definitely fuckable. So was his roommate. Boyfriend. Whatever Jay was. She sighed.

That chest. Mmm. Thank God for finding this apartment.

* * * *

Her old place had screamed slum in a shithole neighborhood waiting on urban revival. The charming atmosphere had kept her tense every night from subway stop to front door. She’d split the rent with three near strangers and squirreled money away.

Leases lurched from August to August in a college town like Boston, and moving day meant a mad scramble for scarce resources. Her roommate’s quasi boyfriend coughed up his van with conditions. Fuck if she’d pay the blowjob fee for failing to get the van back on time and undamaged.

The hungry parking meter, though, sucked down quarter after quarter. The faster she got everything upstairs, the less money she’d spend. A few cars puttered past at school-zone speeds, and even fewer pedestrians meandered by on Saturday strolls.

A guy on a bike turned the corner down the block. He rode slow, lazy maybe, or cooling down after a workout.

She pulled open the van, its innards packed to the roof, and hoisted a box in both arms.

“Soonest started, soonest finished,” she muttered, hustling toward her new home from the closest parking spot she’d found, about three buildings down.

The grinding
whirr
of backpedaling heralded the cyclist on the far side of the parked cars lining the street. She looked away, passed four more cars and glanced left. The cyclist had kept pace as she approached her door.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Looks the other way around to me.” He hopped off the bike, hefted it over one arm and joined her on the sidewalk. “Moving in?”

She wasn’t above ogling bike boy’s tight shorts and the sweat-wicking shirt hugging his biceps. Telling a strange man where she lived and inviting him up, however, contradicted common sense no matter how much his body reminded her she hadn’t gotten laid in months.

She yanked open the outer door and resettled the box as it rocked in her arms. Stepping into the mailbox vestibule, she fumbled for the keychain dangling from her belt loop.

“Here, let me.”

Alice stepped back against the bank of mailboxes, about to go off on this arrogant ass who thought he’d follow her in and charm his way into feeling her up. Until he produced his own key and unlocked the inner door.

“We can prop that open, you know, so moving won’t be such a hassle.”

She envied his athletic grace as he balanced the bike over one shoulder and held the door.

“Thanks. That’s, umm, I’ll do that.”

He nodded. She stared.

“Ladies first.”

Oops. He’d been waiting on her.

“I mean, I can hold the door all day. I don’t have any plans, and my muscles are totally up to it. I don’t want you to doubt that, but eventually somebody’s gonna need to open their mailbox.”

“Sorry, I was…yeah. How about I go in now?” She hurried past, catching a whiff of clean male sweat. How far had he ridden this morning?

The stairs beckoned, back and to the right.

The door clicked closed, and footsteps on the stairs echoed her own. They followed her down the hallway toward her studio, where she’d left the door cracked. She pinned bike boy with an over-the-shoulder stare.

“I’m giving off stalker vibe, right? Sorry. I’m across the hall. Jay. I’d offer to shake hands, but, well, bike.” He jostled the bike on his right shoulder. “And you’ve got–” He gestured at her with the other hand. “Whatever’s in the box, so…”

“Alice,” she said. “Ignore me, I’m paranoid. But I should get going. I have to finish moving before the van’s owner decides I owe him an overage charge.” She repressed a shudder. No way in hell was she paying the on-your-knees fees. “Nice meeting you, though.”

“Of course.” He grinned and winked. “It’s always nice meeting me. People tell me that all the time.”