Page 24 of Desperate Games

I beeline it for the kitchen the second I can breathe again.

The Callahan estate is sprawling, and I’ve been here enough times to know the ins and outs.

I slip through the house, the cool marble tiles passing soundlessly beneath my sandals, and immediately head for the fridge.

Not for food. Not for wine. Just the freezer and some ice.

It’s like I have literal, emotional, and sexual whiplash.

I yank open the freezer drawer, grab a handful of cubes from the dispenser, and press them to my wrist like some kind of Victorian woman with a case of the vapors.

If anyone saw me, they’d think I was trying to cool down from a hot flash.

Which, okay, maybe I am.

Because Remy Falco just whispered Andy in that voice and my body went into full recall mode like we’re back on the island, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, orgasm to—”Oh my God.”

I jump and whirl around, ice cubes clattering to the floor.

“Jesus, Clemmie! Could you not sneak up on people like that?”

Clementine Callahan—voluptuous, glowing, lucky third-time mom-to-be—leans against the kitchen island like she didn’t just catch me molesting the ice.

She crosses her arms and raises one knowing brow.

“You okay there, cuz? You look a little, um, flushed.”

“Hot,” I say too quickly. “It’s hot in here.”

“In the air-conditioned kitchen.”

“Yes. Climate change is real.”

She says nothing.

Just watches me as I crouch to pick up a stray cube that’s melting into the tile like my dignity.

When I rise, she’s still staring.

“What?”

“Remy Falco,” she says, tone innocent, eyes anything but.

“What about Remy Falco?” I deflect, slipping the now half-melted cube into the sink.

Clemmie grins like a cat who knows exactly where the bird is hiding.

“Just wondering why my single, usually composed cousin is acting like she got caught sneaking her high school boyfriend in through the window.”

I roll my eyes.

“Please. If I had a high school boyfriend, maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Oh, so you admit there’s a situation.”

Damn it.

“Not that kind of situation,” I say, though I’m a horrible liar and Clemmie’s always been better at reading people than is fair.