Game On (Game On 1)

“This is all so funny for you, isn't it?” I snapped. “Everyone thinks I'm a slut!”

“Who said that?”

“That’s just it, nobody says anything! They just give me looks, like I’m the most horrible person in the world. Although, Will wasn’t shy about making his thoughts clear.”

“Will acts like he has a pole shoved up his ass,” Radleigh said. “This isn't a big deal.”

“You really believe that?”

“I do. I'm used to causing scandal.”

“Well, I'm not. This is a complete mess. I don't … I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can't. You just have to wait until everything blows over.”

“And how long will that take?”

Radleigh grinned again. “Well, I could always sleep with someone else to speed things up,” he suggested. “Or maybe we should sleep together again and really give them something to talk about.”

“Oh, sod off,” I said, standing up. “This isn't a joke. It's okay for you, people expect you to sleep around. For me, this is torture. I almost lost my job!”

“Still blaming me?”

“I'm not blaming you! I …” I trailed off, and turned my back on him, trying to get a grip on my frustration. When I was more composed, I turned to him again. “You know what you said about me yesterday? About me thinking you'd forced yourself on Taylor, yet I still chose to sleep with you?” He nodded, and I continued, “You were right. I am worse than you. I mean, what kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person that knew I didn't do it?”

My doubts were minimal at best.

“I believed her.”

“Then everyone's right,” he said. “You are a slut.”

I was ready to shout at him again, when his face broke into a smile.

“I never said you were worse than me. But denying the truth is never a good thing.”

“The truth being … what?”

“You were bored with Miguel. I've seen it a thousand times before and you're no exception, Leah. You're feisty, and independent. I'm sure Miguel was very nice and all, but he wasn’t right for you. You need someone who challenges and excites you. Miguel could never give you that.”

I stared at McCoy in shock. He'd summed up exactly what type of person I was and, to my displeasure, what type of guy I needed.

“And I suppose you think you could give me what I want?”

“I thought I did.”

Memories of that night flooded into my brain. The way his hands knew where I wanted them to go, the way he’d kissed me like he couldn’t get enough, the way he’d looked at me as if there was nowhere else he wanted to be. He made me forget everything, made me focus only on him until we were both so exhausted, we fell into a shag-happy coma.

And it was exactly what I wanted.

I couldn't stand the intensity with which he was watching me, I had to turn away. His blue eyes were burning into me.

“Someone who is good in bed is not the only thing I need,” I told him.

“But it’s important. You got on my case because I said I haven’t found anyone who’s good enough in bed to make me want to stick around, but you’re not so different.”

A protest formed on my lips, but what was the point in arguing? I didn’t agree that we were alike, but considering the way I used to be, telling him great sex wasn’t high on my list of vital ingredients in a relationship would have been a blatant lie.