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“What happens if you lose again?”

I remind Hazel of the rules of the agreement I’m determined not to lose, particularly because if I do, I have to go on a date with a man I’m enjoying toying with.

Hazel snorts. “We all know where this is going; building up all that sexual tension until you can rip each other’s clothes off.”

“Well, obviously,” I sigh. “But I’m not going to be the first to break.”

“Your competitive and passionate nature stops you from experiencing joy.” Hazel chuckles, knowing that the line my grandmother uses on me will rile me up.

“I’m the most joyful person I know.”

“Youarevery joyful,” Hazel agrees. “However, you’re purposely depriving yourself of hot sex and therefore, becoming veryun-joyful. Who cares if you lose? You’ll have great sex and be wined and dined by a beautiful man.”

“Who cares if I lose? Do you know me at all?”

“I know you hate losing, but I also know you enjoy penis,” Hazel says. “And I’m pretty sure you were the one who told me to get some penis in my life to be happy.”

“And I stand by that. Just not Bonetti penis.”

Hazel clucks. “I wouldn’t write it off,trust me.”

“I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Bye blue bean,” Hazel sings.

After we hang up, I allow myself to sink into the chair, images of a sweaty Anthony Bonetti flashing through my brain. I don’t even try to fight it, which is stupid, because the ache between my legs starts almost immediately.

Movement in my peripheral vision snaps me out of my daydream and I leap out of the chair. My stance is pure Jackie Chan, feet apart planted firmly to the floor, right hand lifted. There’s nobody there, but there’s a piece of paper sticky-taped to the wall near the entrance that wasn’t there before.

I edge my way across the room to the open roller door, peering out in the empty carpark. My car is the only one here. When I glance at the paper my eyes widen.

Watch your back. Slut.

The sound of snickering reaches my ears and I duck my head around the corner to see teenagers on bikes at the other end of the lot. A chill runs through my body before the anger kicks in. I march outside into the brisk air and watch as they try to peddle away.

“Is this the best you could do?” I call out after them. “Dickheads!”

I hear them laughing as they disappear into the darkness, and I stomp back inside.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why those kids are pissed with me. Patrick pointed out that this warehouse used to be a hangout for miscreant teens and squatters who got high before I moved in.

“Give me strength,” I hiss under my breath. I toss the paper onto my makeshift desk, opting to conserve the little energy I have left instead of chasing down those deadbeats like a mad woman.

13

KALI

The gravelon the driveway crunches and I see Anthony’s enormous black truck pull up outside. He jumps out of the cab with the agility of an athlete, slamming the door behind him with ease. His grey singlet has the sides cut out, exposing the ink on his ribs. The patterns contort as he swaggers to the tray of his truck.

I’m salivating.

“I heard you need a manly tool.” Anthony saunters up to the open door, letting out a whistle as he takes in the space. “Shit, Red. Look at this place. It’s a whole new room.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re being truthful or sarcastic right now.”

Anthony smiles as he places his toolbox on the floor. “It looks great.”

“Is that why you raced here to rescue me?”