Confessions of a Bad Boy Gamer

  Confessions of a Bad Boy Gamer

  Cathryn Fox

  Copyright

  Copyright 2018 by Cathryn Fox

  Published by Cathryn Fox

  (Formerly Wild Night, Mari Carr’s Kindle World)

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  ISBN: 978-1-928056-92-8

  Contents

  1. Raelynn

  2. Nate

  3. Raelynn

  4. Nate

  5. Raelynn

  6. Nate

  7. Raelynn

  Afterword

  Confessions of a Bad Boy Professor

  About Cathryn Fox

  Also by Cathryn Fox

  1

  Raelynn

  Not this again!

  Christ, I am so sick and tired of everyone mistaking me for my twin sister, Saralynn. I’m not her. Don’t want to be her. Ever. I mean who would want all the media attention, every hot guy in the universe drooling at your manicured toes, all the women in the world dressing like you and singing your songs. Certainly not me.

  Yeah right.

  We might look alike, but my sister clearly has a spark that I lack, a spark that has brought her fame and fortune in the music business, reaching double platinum with her last album. Me, well, I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. The last time I tried to sing, one of my neighbors knocked on my door. Apparently they thought I was inside torturing a cat. What the hell, right? I love cats. Which is a good thing, because the way my love life is going, I’ll soon be collecting them.

  I stopped trying to hone my voice after that, leaving the stage to my very talented sister, who I love truly and dearly. I’m better off sticking to my day job, teaching work/life balance to stressed-out, overworked employees. It’s a job I love, and while I resigned myself to the fact that I can’t sing, it doesn’t stop me from belting out lyrics in the shower every now and then. Where no one can hear, of course.

  “Saralynn, wait up,” the man across the street screams out, frantically waving what looks like a restaurant napkin in the air.

  I should just stop and give him an autograph, pretend to be my sister, who is currently back home here in Baltimore, taking a show business break at our folks’ house—hence the frenzy of fans on the streets looking for her. Then again, we hadn’t played the switcheroo game since we were kids, and if I stop for one man, soon enough I’ll be swarmed, drawing unwanted attention from hundreds of guys. Unlike Saralynn, I’m on the shy side and prefer to keep a low profile, and all that male attention would be horrible, right?

  Yeah right.

  Then again, she did have a stalker a couple years ago, and that was pretty damn scary for all of us. A shiver skips down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck tingle in warning. Since I’m not one to ignore my intuition, I pick up the pace and round the corner.

  “Look, it’s Saralynn,” another guy yells, and when I hear numerous footsteps pounding the pavement behind me, I panic. What if it’s another stalker? My jog turns into a full-on run—a difficult task in a pencil skirt and heels. I scan the street, eager to find a place to hide out before I get bombarded—or kidnapped. Yes, I do have a wild imagination.

  I glance up in time to see Pat’s Irish Pub. I used to go to high school with Sean Collins, whose family owns the place. What would Saralynn do in a situation like this? I try to think like her, and instantly an idea takes form. I pull open the door, steal a quick glance around until I find the biggest guy, then rush up to him.

  “There you are,” I say, as the door flings opens behind me, my sister’s feverish fans racing after me.

  As the guy sets his motorcycle helmet on the table, and peels a leather jacket from his hard body, I go up on my toes, slide my hands over his broad shoulders, and kiss him right on the lips.

  He goes still, his lips frozen in place, as I steal a sideways glance and take in the men at the door. I look back at my pretend boyfriend; catch the flicker of familiarity in his blue eye. He blinks, angles his head to see the men who’ve followed me in, then turns back to me. Understanding dances in his eyes, and I’m grateful that underneath a hard, inked body, the guy has a brain.

  He slides his big hands around my waist and drags me to him. Wow, that probably shouldn’t feel so nice.

  “I’ve waited my whole life for this,” he whispers, the deep rumble in his voice doing ridiculous things to the dormant spot between my legs. He grins and plays along, obviously having put two and two together—I’m famous singer Saralynn Walker, trying to deter a group of men from swarming me. His lips find mine again, and he picks me clear off the floor as he kisses me, letting the men in the room know I’m off limits and they better back off, or else…

  The door slams shut, and I feel a measure of comfort. With the mob gone, I should break the kiss, put an end to the charade. Yeah, I should probably stop touching him, kissing him back, imagining what his lethal body would feel like naked, lying over mine.

  So why aren’t I?

  Oh, probably because I haven’t been kissed like this in…ever. His tongue slides into my mouth, tangles with mine, and a groan I have no control over crawls out of my throat. Is he even aware the guys are gone? That we no longer have to put on a show?

  God, I hope not.

  He angles his head, the kiss deepening, expanding, and my traitorous nipples harden, press against his chest through my blouse, alerting him to my arousal. When someone nearby clears their throat, and mumbles something about getting a room, he breaks the kiss, but continues to hold me against his rock-hard, solid body.

  “They’re…gone,” I say breathlessly and gesture with a nod toward the door. “Thanks for…help…ing…me.” What is going on with my voice? Singing might be out of the question, but now I can’t even talk? Good lord. His hands slacken around my rib cage and I slide down his body, enjoying every glorious inch as he sets me back on my feet.

  “Anything for you,” he says.

  More like anything for Saralynn.

  He angles his head, that spark of familiarity back in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, and I blurt out, “I’m Saralynn Walker.”

  OMFG. What the hell am I doing?

  He frowns, and looks down for a moment, like he’s trying to piece something together. When his gaze lifts back to mine, and black pupils expand, bleed into his gorg
eous blue irises, my stomach flutters.

  What the ever-loving fuck is going on with me? Inked biker dude is hot, drop-dead gorgeous for sure, but no man—a stranger at that—had ever turned my knees to Jell-O before. I pulse deep between my legs, and I’m sure if I squeeze them together I’ll orgasm right on the spot.

  “I know who you are,” he says, and for a second it seems like he can see through me, right to my lie. But that’s impossible. We don’t know each other. “I’m Nate.”

  “Nate…” I say, trying it out on my tongue, wondering how it would sound when I’m pinned beneath him, scoring his skin with my nails as he fills me, bringing me to sweet release. The only time I’d ever been able to climax was with Mr. Right—the man-made boyfriend I keep tucked away in my nightstand drawer. Damned if I don’t want to give this guy a chance to try though. I just bet he’s very familiar with a woman’s body and how to send her freefalling without a net.

  I give a shake of my head as my thoughts run away from me. Jeez, it’s clear I’ve gone too long without a man’s touch, if I’m standing here drooling over a complete stranger.

  Get it together, Rae.

  A sexy grin reveals a dimple on his left cheek. Despite just silently lecturing myself, I take him in, let my gaze roam over his face. Do I know him? Nah, I’d never forget a guy like Nate.

  “I’d shake your hand, but I think we’re well past that, don’t you?” he teases.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Thanks for that.”

  “Hard, huh?” he says.

  I falter backwards slightly, and my gaze dashes to his crotch. Holy shit, what am I doing? He’s not talking about himself being hard, although he does have a very nice bulge happening in his current un-aroused state. What the hell is he working with down there?

  I dare you to find out.

  Wait! What? No. No. No. I silently chant to hush that inner voice.

  Why the hell am I thinking about this guy’s cock?

  Oh, maybe because Mr. Right just isn’t cutting it anymore, and this guy —Mr. Wrong in so many ways—has dirty sex written all over him. Dirty sex like my sister probably has all the time. Yeah, that must be it. And that must be why I’m pretending to be Saralynn. Because I want some headboard-banging love, too, dammit.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What…oh, hard. Yeah, hard.” What is he even talking about?

  He rocks on his feet, his body swaying toward mine. “Here you are, back in your hometown to rest and relax, and you can’t even walk down the street without getting accosted.”

  I should go. Pretending to be my sister can only lead to trouble.

  “Thanks, Nate. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  “Wait.” His hand touches my arm, and when the sexy grin materializes again, a fine shiver race down my spine. “You kissed me, and well, believe it or not, I never kiss on the first date,” he says.

  I believe him…not.

  “There are rules you know?” he says, mischief dancing in his gorgeous eyes.

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who plays by the rules.” As soon as those words leave my mouth, his grin is back, doing ridiculously delicious things to the needy juncture between my legs. God, why am I exchanging playful banter with a guy like this? He’s probably in a biker gang, and if I knew what was good for me, I’d run a thousand miles the other way.

  So why aren’t I?

  “You should at least buy me a beer or something,” he says.

  I put one hand on my hip. “You kissed me, too.” Without thinking about it, I touch my lips, revel in the hot burn his mouth left behind. When I realize what I’m doing, I hold a finger up and circle it. “And this isn’t a date.”

  He gives a causal shrug. “Then let me buy you a beer, make this official.”

  “Make what official?”

  “This date. Since we already got the first kiss out of the way, have dinner with me.”

  “I…” I look around the busy bar, my mind going to Sean Collins when I see a few of his siblings. Last I heard, he was living with Lauren and Chad. He’d found love, and undoubtedly amazing sex, with two people, and dammit, I can’t even find it with one.

  While I’ve given up on finding love—and certainly don’t expect to find it with inked biker dude—maybe I should stay and have dinner with him. Maybe a meal will lead to hot, straight-up dirty sex in a hotel room with Mr. Wrong himself. One wild night with a guy I’ll never set eyes on again.

  Yeah, maybe pretending to be my sister wasn’t such a bad idea after all…

  “Okay,” I say, and slide into the booth, hardly able to believe what I’m doing. This is so not like me, but right now I’m not me. I’m Saralynn.

  He drops down across from me, his gaze latched on mine. “Since we already kissed, are we considering this our first date or second?” he asks, his voice teasing.

  “What?” Lord, why can’t I keep a clear thought around him? “What does that matter?”

  “It matters because of the rules.”

  I arch a brow and wonder what kind of game he’s playing. “Maybe you should tell me what your second-date rules are before I answer.”

  He leans toward me and I catch a whiff of his scent. Warm leather, hot man, and something uniquely Nate. He is seriously the hottest guy I’ve ever set eyes on, and I can’t help but want to check out the big-ass equipment he’s working with between his legs. His eyes races over my face, then he wets his lips as his gaze dips.

  “Actually, I’d rather show you.”

  OMFG…

  2

  Nate

  I have no idea why Raelynn is pretending to be her famous sister, Saralynn. For the last forty-five minutes, she’s not dropped the act, but the second she entered the room, I knew it was her. She has a definite sweetness about her, a shyness that drew me to her in high school. As a self-proclaimed gamer geek, girls like her sister never paid me a lick of attention. No, they were too busy with the boys on the football team. But sweet bookworm girls like Rae, well…they were always kind and thoughtful. It’s hard to believe that twins raised in the same household could grow up to be so different.

  Christ, I’d wanted to ask her out back in the day, make her my girl, but I didn’t have the balls to do it. Now, well, my balls are plenty big and this time, there are a lot of things I want to do with her. It’s clear she doesn’t recognize me. Why would she? In college, I hit the gym, put on weight, lost the braces, and got a damn haircut. Underneath it all, I’m still a gamer geek though, and just transferred back to Baltimore to take the lead programmer position at Data Solutions’ headquarters.

  I take the last bite of my hamburger and wash it down with a mouthful of beer. Across from me, Rae sips her wine and nibbles on a French fry, all the while pretending to be someone she isn’t. Why is that? In high school, she was always in the shadow of her flamboyant sister. How anyone could overlook her is beyond me. Is she tired of that? Pretending to be her sister because the good girl wants to be bad?

  I mull that over for a moment, and my cock twitches, because yeah, I want to be the guy she gets bad with—at least this way, I’ll know she’ll be taken care of properly. Seriously though, how did I ever get so fucking lucky to be at the right place at the right time?

  I want to know what she’s been up to since graduation, and ask her what she does for a living, but then I’d be outing her. If she’s determined to keep her real identity a secret, I’ll play along. For now.

  She wipes her mouth with her napkin and lick’s her bottom lip as she set’s the serviette on her lap like the proper little girl she is, and my dick throbs as she leaves a wet sheen behind.

  I’ve been semi-hard since she first pressed those soft lips to mine. Fuck, I want her. Always have, which is why I let her know I’d rather show her my date-two rules—her naked, beneath me, all night long. I’m not the shy kid from high school anymore, and when we kissed, I caught the spark of interest in her eyes, noted the way she melted into me. There’s real heat betwe
en us, and that doesn’t come along every day.

  “Dessert?” I ask.

  “No. I’m good, thanks. You go ahead and order if you want.”

  “I’m saving my dessert for later,” I say blatantly, and her breath catches. We both know what’s going on between us, and I’m not about to hide my interest. Nope, I’m laying it right out there, no secrets on my end, and what happens next is up to her. “Want to get out of here?” I ask as she finishes her wine.

  She steals a quick glance at the door, and I catch a measure of worry in her eyes. “Yeah, we should go.”

  “Do you think your mob is gone?”

  She nods. “Probably.”

  I toss a few bills onto the table, more than enough to cover our meal and say, “Still, you should stay close to me just in case, and if you have to kiss me again, feel free.”

  Color moves into her cheeks. That sexy blush proves she’s an innocent, not the type of girl who has a different guy in her bed every weekend, like her sister—or at least that’s what the tabloids report. Not that I have a problem with girls like that. Each to their own, right? But the type of girl I’m really attracted to is sitting across from me, her cheeks a soft shade of pink, desire reflecting in her eyes.

  “That’s very kind of you,” she says.

  I grin at her. “I do what I can.”

  I stand, shrug into my leather coat, grab my helmet and hold out my hand. She slides her small palm into mine and I give a gentle tug and lift her to her feet. Her body collides with mine, and I stifle a hungry groan of want, far too many years in the making. She wets her lips again, and I slide my hand around her back and guide her to the door.