The Billionaires Wicked Game

Nina's POV

Aphrodisiac.

A food, drink, or substance that stimulates absolute desire.

Can food, or even the act of eating, put someone in the mood for love?

The answer is yes, but not in the way one might think.

Food hasn't been proven to ignite passion physically, but it can suggest it to the mind, trigger a craving that has nothing to do with hunger. The mind plays tricks, flipping switches we never knew existed.

And he did that.

A flick of a switch.

A smirk laced with mischief.

Eyes as icy as the winter wind.

Touches that barely lingered, yet burned.

A voice smooth as aged whiskey.

He left me wanting more.

As I park my faded red Honda, I let out a breath of relief. Fifteen minutes. That's how long it took to wedge myself into this tight parking spot. A struggle. A performance, really-one that earned me a few sympathetic looks and judgmental headshakes from strangers.

I lost count of how many times I reversed, moved forward, reversed again, and-guess what?-reversed once more.

Downtown parking is a scam. Limited space. Outrageous fees. But today, I needed a change of scenery. A distraction.

Clutching my overpriced five-dollar coffee, I step onto the sidewalk. Seriously, how do rich people sleep at night charging five dollars for a cup of beans and water? The worst part? I keep paying for it. My own fault. Two coffee machines sit untouched on my kitchen shelf, collecting dust, yet here I am, swiping my debit card like a fool.

With my earbuds in, I let the music drown out my thoughts as I make my way toward the river.

The park is the same as always.

The old man on the bench is still alive good for him. The overly tanned cougar is still eyeing high school boys-gross. Kids are running around without parental supervision as usual.

And here I am. Again.

I was here a month ago, having a nervous breakdown about graduating college. Five years of brutal, expensive effort, and for what?

No direction. No dream job. No certainty.

College is a scam.

Every student knows the drill-sign up for the easiest professor, pray for a D to magically become a B, plan a vacation you can't afford, and juggle relationships that barely survive finals week.

And the grand prize at the end? Unemployment.

Welcome to adulthood. A place where you submit a hundred job applications for positions you're not even interested in, dodge calls from loan sharks, and decide which bill is less urgent to pay this month.

The single word that defines us all? Stress.

Maybe it's the chilly weather. Maybe it's the blinding sun. Either way, my bitter self is surfacing today, and I don't care enough to shove it back down.

I sink onto the wet park bench, the cold immediately seeping through my jeans. Fantastic. I knew I should've checked before sitting.

Then, suddenly,

Two figures.

Jogging toward me.

I glance up, my curiosity piqued. The first guy is tall, fit, dirty blonde. His black t-shirt clings to his muscles, his grey sweatpants hang just right**. Even seated, I can tell he's at least six feet.

But it's the man next to him that stops my heart.

He's taller, broader, effortlessly commanding.

Messy light brown hair, barely concealing piercing blue eyes.

A white t-shirt stretched over hard muscle.

A presence so powerful, it's almost cinematic.

My brain short-circuits.

Why aren't they cold? It's January. I'm wearing three layers, and they're out here half-dressed like Greek gods.

Then it happens.

His eyes lock onto mine.