Page 31 of His Twisted Game

“Bottoms up!” Erica said.

I took the drink, the alcohol burning my throat. I groaned.

Erica yelled: “I knew you could do it!”

I laughed hard, the alcohol warming my chest. We met Maisie and Bambi at the bar. Then it was a round of shots, courtesy of Bambi—Jagermeister this time—followed by a round of vodka, Maisie’s treat. I figured Maisie and Bambi could hold their liquor, but I was surprised with Erica; I didn’t think she was a party girl. And though I tried my hardest to keep up, it was mostly bluster. Three shots were enough. The room was spinning. My skin was hot, the lights were flashing, and I felt lightweight for the first time in ages. I held my hem down, making sure no one got an unwanted flash, but other than that, I danced as if I knewhewas watching. Because he could blame the game, buthe wanted me.Me: a wannabe librarian who had flunked out of medical school.And he knew it.

And maybe I wanted him too. Sawyer.

Mr. Feldman.

Erica and Bambi ran off to the bathroom together, giggling. “Where are they going?” I shouted.

“Doing drugs? Who knows,” Maisie yelled. She leaned in closer to my ear. “Can I ask you something?”

My chest tightened, bracing for the worst. Was it about Sawyer’s new position as my boss?

“Go for it,” I said.

“How do you know Erica?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re asking about Erica?”

“She’s a little—” Maisie paused, tapping her lips, “—she’s not yourusualfriend type.”

“What?”

“She’s—” Maisie shrugged, “—extroverted?”

Because she liked to drink and snort coke? So what?

Erica couldn’t take all the credit.

“Hate to break it to you, but those years you were gone, I was in college. And in college, I drank too.” I pointed to the ceiling, popping my hip, my dress riding up. “And yes, I danced on tables. And yes, I did body shots. I didallof it.I even smoked weed once. And though I may not have been as cool as you always were, I have no regrets.”

The ‘no regrets’ part was a lie, but it didn’t fit with my speech.

“Whoa, there, buddy,” Maisie said, raising her hands in defense. “I don’t doubt your partying skills. I’m just curious. She’s different.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Hey, how much did you—”

“And let me point out something important,” I interrupted her. “It’s not like Bambi is ‘good friend’ material. They’re off doing drugs together right now.”

Maisie tilted her chin. “All right. I’ll back off.”

I peered over her shoulder. A man with broad shoulders winked at me. A tight black shirt was stretched over his muscular chest. I rolled my eyes; he was the kind of guy whoknewhe was hot. Like Sawyer. But this guy was worse because he didn’t even dress well.

Yeah, I gave a pass for men in suits.

Not that I had noticed that Sawyer almost always wore suits.

I corrected myself:Mr. Feldman.

The muscular man in the tight shirt approached me.Tight Shirt.That’s what I would call him.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Tight Shirt said.

“Thanks, big guy,” I laughed. “But I’ve had enough of your kind for one day.”

“My kind?” he asked. “What’s that mean?”