Page 65 of Her Name in Red

“Whatever you're having.” I lean against the bar, letting my dress ride up just enough.

Two shots appear. We clink glasses. I pretend to drink mine, watching as he throws his back.

“So what's your major?” he asks, hand already finding my waist.

“Psychology,” I answer truthfully. “I like to understand what makes people tick.”

“Yeah?” His fingers press harder. “None of the brainy chicks at my school are hot like you are.”

“So you don't go to St. James?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Nah, babe, I'm from Castlebrook. Just decided to check out the scene over here tonight.” His breath is hot against my ear, reeking of cheap beer and entitlement. “Girls at my school are all ran through, if you know what I mean. Needed some fresh territory.”

I smile like I'm impressed by his honesty, but I can read the truth in his eyes. He's blacklisted. The kind of guy whose name gets whispered in bathroom warnings. The predator girls warn each other about, comparing notes on their phones.

“Lucky me,” I purr, watching his pupils dilate. Men are so fucking transparent.

“Very lucky you,” he agrees, hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back, fingers digging in possessively. Too hard. Testing boundaries already.

“What about you?” he asks, not really interested. “You live on campus?”

“Off. Not far.” I take a fake sip of my drink. “Senior year.”

His hand travels lower, cupping my ass. I don't react, just smile emptily while something cold settles in my chest. This detachment is familiar, comfortable. Like slipping into old clothes.

“You're fucking gorgeous, babe,” he says, squeezing harder. “What are you doing after this?”

The nickname makes my skin crawl, but I lean into him like I'm flattered. Inside, I'm calculating. Weighing options. His size against mine. The crowd around us. The exits.

“I was thinking about heading back to my place,” I say, voice honeyed. “But I don't usually bring strangers home.”

His smile widens. “I'm not a stranger anymore, am I? I'm Tyler; you're Becca. We're practically dating.”

I laugh like that's charming and not the creepiest fucking thing I've heard all night.

“One more drink first,” I suggest, nodding toward his empty glass. “I need to catch up.”

He signals the bartender again, eagerly.

Two shots and beers appear in front of us. Tyler raises his shot glass with a smirk.

“To new friends,” he says, eyes already undressing me.

I clink my glass against his, watching as he throws his back. I bring mine to my lips, tilt my head back, but the liquid never touches my throat. I turn slightly, spitting it directly into my beer bottle while he's still grimacing from his own shot.

“Whoo!” I exclaim, shaking my head like it burned. “That's strong.”

Tyler grins, clearly pleased I can “handle my liquor.” He downs half his beer in one gulp, then leans in closer.

“You're not like other girls, are you, Becca?”

“You have no idea,” I murmur, looking up through my lashes.

He finishes his beer while I pretend to sip mine. The alcohol is hitting him now; his movements are sloppier, his eyes glazed.

I giggle, a sound so fake it makes my own skin crawl, and stumble slightly against him. “Oops! Sorry. I think those shots went straight to my head.”

His arm wraps around my waist, fingers burning into the same spots Riggs held earlier. “I got you, baby.”