Twisted-Games

“Third floor’s not that high.”
Bridget huffed. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one at risk of dying.”
“Trust me, princess. I would rather end my own life than ask you to do
anything that might hurt you.”
I hadn’t meant to say those words. They just fell out, like they’d been
there all along and were waiting for the right moment to make themselves
known.
Funny thing was, I wasn’t upset or embarrassed, even though they came
too close to a confession for comfort. They just felt right.
Everything with Bridget felt right.
“I know,” she said, so soft and warm she might as well be right there next
to me, caressing me. “I trust you.”
A charged silence stretched over the line, filled with other, unspoken
words waiting for their moment, and my heart thudded like it was warning
me not to screw up.
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” I drawled, finally breaking the
tension before I did—or said—something I would regret. Something neither
of us was ready to acknowledge. “From fighting like cats and dogs to fucking
like—”
“Rhys.”
“What? You let me eat you out on the throne but I can’t say the word
fucking?”
“You’re impossible.” Amusement softened her admonishing tone. “I—” I
heard a knock in the background, followed by muffled voices. Bridget
must’ve covered the phone with her hand. “Sorry, that was Sabrina,” she
said, her voice clearer. “I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her voice
softened further. “Good night, Mr. Larsen.”
“Good night, princess.”
I waited until she hung up before I ended the call.
I stood there for a long while, my mind filled with images of a certain
blonde as I stared around my royal guesthouse in Eldorra and wondered how
the hell I got where I was.