Worth the Risk (The Game #4)(2)
Author: Emma Hart

The crowd suddenly closes in on us, my senior class a mass of grinding bodies. The mixture of probably too many shots, the pounding music, and the muscular body against mine becomes heady, and I let myself go.

My body moves with the guy’s, his hand trailing down my back to the curve of my ass and cupping it. My pelvis pushes into his, and as we move I feel him steadily get harder. And bigger. Holy shit. His growing erection pushes into my hip, and I resist the urge to lick my lips and leave the party already.

Damn, two out of three for one night won’t be bad. God knows Selena is on my case tonight, so it looks like whoever this guy is will have to be my drug of choice.

Just, for the love of God, let this guy know what he’s doing in bed. Please.

He dips his head towards mine, touching his lips to mine. They’re warm and probing, and he wastes no time slipping his tongue across the seam of my lips. My hand curls around his neck, pulling him closer to mine, and I open for him. Our tongues meet in an easy dance, stroking and searching the other’s mouth. I feel the familiar clenching and warming of my nether regions as I imagine what else he could do with that tongue, and I push my hips into him without realizing.

His lips leave mine, traveling along my jaw to my ear. “What’s your name?”

I laugh. “You don’t really need my name, do you?”

“Good answer.” He smiles against my hair, running a hand along my side and down to my thigh. His finger creeps under the hem of my skirt, tickling my bare skin. “In that case, I have a room at the B’n’B around the corner.”

“As long as we sneak in round the back,” I reply. “My Aunt owns that place.” And wouldn’t that be a story for the next family dinner?

“A girl who takes a risk,” he murmurs, looking at me. “I like that.”

I look up at him through my lashes. “That’s not all you’ll like.”

He grins like the cat who’s just got the cream and we step into the hall. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Give me two minutes.” I find Selena in the kitchen and tap her shoulder. “Hey, I’m leaving.”

“What…” Her eyes glance over my shoulder. “Oh. Okay, I guess. But text me later, promise?”

I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Leney. Okay, I promise to text you and tell you I’m not gagged and bound in a river somewhere.”

“You’re a bitch, Roxy.” She shakes her head. “Who is he?”

I walk backwards, my lips quirking. “I have no f**king idea.”

~

I ignore the pounding in my head as I sneak out of my house earlier than usual. In hindsight, maybe half a bottle of Jack with… whatever his name was… after we left the party wasn’t the best idea. Actually, no maybe about it. It definitely wasn’t the best idea, not when I know Mom is gonna give me another talk when I get home.

Verity Point is dead. At eight in the morning, everyone is still in bed. If it wasn’t a Saturday, I would be too. I’d be snuggled under my covers, either escaping in dreams or trapped by nightmares.

My feet drag, feeling as heavy as my head, as the big iron cast gate to the graveyard comes into view, just like they always do. I hesitate with every step I take. It’s pointless and unnecessary. My feet and I both know we’ll pass through the gate, follow the path, and sit in front of Cam’s grave like we do every Saturday morning. Like we have every Saturday since his funeral.

And we do. I slip through the open gate and take the path that leads to where he is. The branches of the trees lining the gravelly walk reach out over me, shading me from the rising summer sun and the heat it brings. The short walk is as full of heartache as always, and I still wonder if one day Cam will appear from behind the trees and tell me it was all a joke.

I hope he will. I hope the same way I once hoped he’d stop treating me like a little kid. I hope with everything I have, with all that I am. I hope one day I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a terrible dream. But I know it won’t happen… The same way he never stopped treating me like the six year old he wished I still was. I swallow and look up as I enter his section of the graveyard.

And stop, because for the first time, I’m not alone here.

Kyle.

Of course he’d be here – I knew he was coming home yesterday, so he would make Cam his first stop first thing. He’s crouched in front of the headstone, his face in his hands and his brown hair flopping over his fingers. I can almost taste the pain coming off of him, and it wraps around me, making me hurt even more. Me? I can deal with the pain of losing Cam, but I can’t deal with seeing Kyle suffer that same pain.

I wasn’t the only person to lose a part of myself that night.

My heart climbs into my throat, skipping almost painfully. And it’s wrong. So, so wrong, but it’s an automatic reaction to him. It’s the same reaction he’s elicited from me for the last four years – not that it matters, or even that anyone knows. I’m just Cam’s kid sister, and I always have been. I always will be, and I’ve accepted that. I just wish that acceptance would drown out the ever-present feelings I have for him, the ones that are roaring up even now. This time, though, the spikes of attraction are mixed with a hint of anger.

Anger because he wasn’t here then. He wasn’t there when Cam was dying in the hospital and he wasn’t here when he was being lowered into that goddamn hole.

He was the only person that could have made it easier to deal with losing my brother… But he wasn’t here. I needed him, and he was at the other end of the coast.

“Roxy.”

I blink, fighting back the burn in my eyes. “You weren’t here,” I say softly, a hint of accusation in my tone.

Kyle stands and runs a hand through his brown hair. “I know. I wish… I just…” He looks back at the gravestone for a second and sighs. “How are you?” His eyes rise to mine.

“I hope you don’t exactly expect me to answer that.” I walk toward the grave and stop next to him, staring at the darkened inscription on the gray marble.

Cameron John Hughes.

His name is all I can look at. I don’t need to look at the dates or the eulogy saying how amazing he is. I know that already, and the date of his death is burned into my mind. January 10th.

“Rox…”

I shake my head. “Don’t. Don’t give me your sympathy, Kyle. Its six months too late.”

“I’d just gone back. I didn’t have the money for another flight.”