Playing, p.1
Playing, page 1
Playing
Crystal Kaswell
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
PLAYING
Copyright © January 1 2018 Crystal Kaswell.
Written by Crystal Kaswell.
Cover by RBA Designs
Photo by Wander Augiar
Model Jacob Cooley
Contents
Also by Crystal Kaswell
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Tempting
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
56. Epilogue
Sing Your Heart Out
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Have You Read Sinful Serenade?
Strum Your Heart Out
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Stay in Touch
Also by Crystal Kaswell
Also by Crystal Kaswell
Dangerous Noise
Dangerous Kiss - Ethan
Dangerous Crush – Kit
Dangerous Rock – Joel
Dangerous Fling – Mal
Dangerous Encore - series sequel
Sinful Serenade
Sing Your Heart Out - Miles
Strum Your Heart Out - Drew
Rock Your Heart Out - Tom
Play Your Heart Out - Pete
Sinful Ever After – series sequel
Inked Hearts
Tempting - Brendon
Playing - Walker
Pretending - Ryan - Coming March 2018
Sign up for the Crystal Kaswell mailing list
About This Book
Walker Williams is my f*ck buddy.
I get his carefree smile.
I get his inked arms.
I get his massive ahem.
It’s the perfect arrangement. The cocky playboy makes me c*me. I hold onto my secrets.
No getting lost in his dark eyes. No melting into his soft embrace. No falling head over heels.
We’re playing. That’s it.
I need to think about his lips on my neck, his hands on my skin, his hard body against mine.
If he unlocks my heart, if he finds out the truth…
There’s no way he’s staying.
A standalone romance with a friends with benefits theme
More books about the men of Inked Hearts coming in 2018
Note from the author: For a limited time, Tempting, featuring tattoo artist Brendon is included with your copy of Playing. Playing ends at 35% on your Kindle.
Sing Your Heart Out, a friends with benefits romance with a rock star twist, is also included with your copy of Playing. Sing Your Heart Out starts at 71% on your Kindle.
This book contains subject matter that some readers may find triggering.
Chapter One
Walker
"Thanks for letting me know." My stomach drops like a stone. This is inevitable. Obvious. But it feels like a surprise.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Williams."
"Don't worry about it." My fingers curl into a fist. I press my cell to my cheek. There's nothing else to say. Nothing that will change this. Still, I'm not going to shoot the messenger. "Thanks for your help." I end the call and slide my phone into my front pocket.
The cool air gets hot.
The sounds of the party flow into my ears. Laughter. Conversation. Booming bass.
Bullshit.
It's all bullshit.
This isn't fun.
It's toxic.
The loud music fails to fill my head.
To drown out the thought running through my mind.
Again?
She pulled this shit again.
I'm surprised again.
My heart is a lead weight again.
I'm not taking this anymore.
She's on her own.
She wants to destroy herself. Fine.
I'm done being collateral damage.
I take a deep breath and let out a heavy exhale. Peel my shoulders from my ears. Perfect my poker face.
I step through the open door. Back into Sandy's living room.
She's over the moon. Dancing with her boyfriend, amber beer bottle pressed to her bright pink lips.
We're here to celebrate their new place, them moving in together. I'm happy for them. Really.
Love is great for other people.
I'm not interested.
Don't get me wrong. I love women. I love planting between a woman's legs, throwing her on my bed, getting her screaming my name.
But that's where my relationships stop and end.
Sandy's eyes catch mine. She pulls the bottle from her lips. Mouths you okay?
I nod of course. I will be. As soon as I find someone to get me out of my head.
I grab a plastic cup from the bar and fill it with room temperature whiskey. It's not good shit. It burns my throat.
Someone is behind me. Pressing her chest against me. "Are you okay, Walker?"
I turn to face a pretty woman with a red pout. One of Bree's friends. An old one. Her name escapes me.
"Fine, yeah." I take another swig. Let the drink sand off the rough edges. I'm a hypocrite, yeah, but it's necessary.
"How is Bree? I haven't seen her in forever."
"She's Bree." And this conversation is over. I nod a goodbye and move through the makeshift dance floor. The song flows into the next one. I think. I can't tell this music apart.
Friends chat on the couch.
A couple is sitting in the arm chair, making out.
A woman is leaning against the wall, her fingers wrapped around her plastic cup, her lips curled into a frown.
She looks as miserable as I feel.
And as desperate to be somewhere else.
Perfect.
I move closer. She's curvy. Pretty. Dark hair in one of those asymmetrical cuts. Like Leighton's, but shorter. Blue eyes. Soft lips.
She looks smart. Serious. Like a suit.
But there's something else about her. The tight jeans, the leather jacket, the purple gem hanging between her tits.
Fuck, she has nice tits.
There goes my train of thought.
Good riddance.
I move next to her. Copy her stance.
She looks to me. Gives me a long once-over. It's slow. Deliberate.
I bring my glass to my lips. "Let me in on your secret. This is where the cool kids hang."
"What makes you think I'm a cool kid?" She taps her glass with her purple fingernail.
"I don't."
"You don't?"
"Not yet. Just want to make sure I'm in the right place."
She laughs. "Because you're cool?"
"You think otherwise?" I run a hand through my wavy hair. This is easy mode shit, but I'm not in the mood for a challenge tonight.
"I spend most of my time with PhD candidates. My cool scale is skewed."
"What are you studying?"
She stares back into my eyes, assessing something. She nods like she's sure. "Psychology. If you want a fighting chance don't make a dumb comment about it."
"A fighting chance?"
"At taking me home."
I laugh. "You have me figured out?"
She takes a long sip of her drink. "Just that."
"You don't like people making comments about you studying psychology but you guess their motivations."
"Are you suggesting there's a correlation?"
"It's possible."
Her lips curl into a smile. Her eyes fix on my chest. My forearms. My eyes. "And you…"
"And I…"
"What do you do?"
"Does it matter?"
She laughs. "No."
"How do you know Sandy?"
"I live next door."
"You want to get out of here?"
She finishes her glass. Her eyes fix on mine. She nods. "Yeah."
I take her hand and lead her to the door.
Chapter Two
Iris
The cool air is a welcome reprieve from the heat of the party.
My heels click against the walkway. What am I doing in these things? They're job interview heels. They're comfortable, yeah, but they're something Mom would wear. I'm pretty sure Mom has this exact pair in her closet.
It's only a few dozen steps to my apartment.
Thankfully, it's quiet.
I pull my key from my purse and slide it into the door. I don't want to be at that party. Going home is the right call.
But inviting a stranger with me?
I press my lips together.
I turn back to… him. "I never asked your name."
"Walker." He offers his hand to shake.
"Iris." My palm presses against his. It does something to me. Makes the air feel hot again.
His dark eyes fix on mine. They light up with desire. Anticipation.
He seems like a good time.
And he's hot.
Obscenely hot.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Strong arms covered in ink. And I mean covered in ink. I've never found it appealing before—Lily and I used to argue about that all the time, back when she spoke to me—but it looks good on him. It makes him seem even more carefree. Even more like a perfect distraction.
God knows I don't want to listen to the thoughts racing around my head.
I turn the key and press the door open. "Come in." I suck a breath between my teeth. It's been a long time since I've slept with anyone. And that was Ross. I've never slept with a stranger.
Am I out of my mind?
"Thanks." He steps inside and presses the door closed behind him. His eyes move over my apartment slowly, like he's assessing every detail. His gaze stops on the bookshelf. His lips curl into a smile.
"What?"
"You read extended universe books."
My cheeks flush. I've been trying to re-connect with all the things I used to love. It's not going well. "Star Wars is mainstream now."
"You're embarrassed by it?"
"No." Maybe. Definitely.
He laughs as he pushes his t-shirt up his arm. He taps his shoulder with his finger.
Oh.
Right there, on his shoulder, that's a Star Wars tattoo. It's part of a sleeve of movie and pop-culture themed tattoos.
It's cool too. Well, as far as nerdy tattoos go.
Okay, who am I kidding?
The framed scene of Luke on Tattooine, looking out at the setting suns, is the coolest ink I've seen in forever. And I've been staring at ink nonstop for the last few months.
"You're a nerd?" I ask.
"And you are too."
"Maybe." I pull my cell out. "Hold on." Walker seems like a normal, non-ax-murderer, but safety first.
I text Sandy.
Iris: I invited your friend Walker over.
Shit. How does this go? I'm telling her where to find me. And him. That's it. I think.
Sandy: OMG! Girl, get some. He's fine. If I wasn't with John, I'd be first in line.
Iris: He's safe?
Sandy: He's a good guy. I've known him forever. But he is a slut. Make sure he wraps it up ;) Have fun xoxo.
I set my cell on the dining slash coffee slash studying table.
My apartment is a decent size for Brentwood, but that isn't exactly huge. The main room is cozy.
He raises a brow. "Someone you want to talk to?"
"Checking in with Sandy."
"Did she tell you to sleep with me?"
"Yeah. How did you know?"
"It's not the first time."
I can't help but laugh. "You're that irresistible?"
"You did invite me here."
He is. And he knows it.
Usually, that annoys me.
But I kind of like it on him.
Walker.
The tattooed, slutty sci-fi fan.
He's intriguing.
Too intriguing. I'm not opening myself up to heartbreak again.
I know I shouldn't stereotype, but the tattoos and the man-whoring don't suggest stable, supportive boyfriend material.
Then again, clean-cut guys haven't exactly been good to me.
I move to the kitchen—it's on the other side of the coffee table—and grab a glass. "You want water?"
"Sure."
I pour two glasses and hand one to him.
He's smiling.
