Page 3 of His Twisted Game

“Excuse me?”

“Play a game with me. If you win, you get your own library. If I win,” his lips pressed into a smirk, “you’re mine.”

My vision was fuzzy, but as long as I focused on his face, I could sit up straight. Had he really just said that?

The nice suit. The gleam in his eye. His confident posture. He pulled two red dice from his pocket, then rolled them in his palm. They reminded me of blood clots.

Even if he was gorgeous, dreamsnevercame that easy. No one was going to give me a library. Whatever his game was, it had to be a trick.

“I’m good,” I said, hesitantly. “I value hard work, you know?” I joked.

“You’re too good for a little game?”

I bit my tongue. It wasn’t about being too good for anything. “I don’t want to leave my fate up to someone else.”

“You don’t want help?”

“I refuse to beg.”

His expression darkened again, but in a flash, he relaxed into that charming smile. “It’s just a game,” he said. “Indulge me.”

The room kept spinning and the music throbbed.Indulge him?I should have been home, studying. I needed to ace my final so I could finally apply for the library.

A wave of dizziness crashed over me. I leaned on the table, waiting for the room to stop spinning. I shrank down into my seat.

“I should go,” I said.

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

I grabbed my clutch. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll get a rideshare—”

“We both know you don’t have that money. You spent the last of your cash on the drinks and you left your cards at home.” How did he know that? He offered his hand. “It would be my honor to take you home. Free of charge. Perhaps we can even discuss the ‘action’ you were searching for.”

Though it was weird that he knew so much about me, I figured he might have seen my wallet when I paid for a round of drinks. And most of all, he intrigued me. He had a weird game, but he hadn’t forced me to drink more alcohol. And he hadn’t touched me yet, unlike the men on the dance floor.

We went to my roommate. “I’ve got a ride home,” I said. My roommate looked at the man in the suit. I steadied myself, trying to seem as sober as possible.

“You’re good?” she said to me.You’re sure you want to go home with him?her eyes asked.

“I’m good.” I patted my purse, reminding her I had pepper spray.

“Call me when you get home.”

At the apartment, the man unlocked the front door for me, then helped me out of my shoes. I laid on the bed, waiting for him to join me, but he stood in the doorway.

“You don’t want to lay with me?” I asked. Immediately, I flushed. Why had I asked that? He had said he was going to give me a ride home, not give me a joy ride at home.

“I don’t sleep with drunk women.”

“I’ve sobered up since we’ve talked, believe me,” I laughed. “You said we were going to discuss getting some ‘action.’”

He sat on my bed, contemplating me. “So you want to own your own library,” he said, ignoring my statement. “A regular little angel.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“You look like one too.”

Everything inside of me was hot. So he did want me. He stroked my cheek gently like I needed comfort. I closed my eyes briefly, leaning into his touch. A chill ran through me.