Page 162 of Sinful Like Us

The patio to Easton Mulligan’s house—excuse me,mansion—is as bougie as every other landscaped backyard on this street: sheared hedges, stone-rimmed pools, lounge chairs worthy of grape-eating narcissists. Pretty sure some teenager around here has fallen into the deep-end staring at their own reflection.

Or snapping a selfie.

Easton’s mansion also includes heatedpatio stones. The Hale house in this same gated neighborhood doesn’t even have that. Snow soaks the grass, but the sitting area around the fireplace is dry.

Seated on the warm stone, Xander faces Easton around a glass coffee table, a board game and colorful pieces scattered between them.

But this isn’t Candy Land (unfortunately for me), it’s a three-person strategy game, and I was recruited as the “third” player.

We’re four hours in, and I’m still confused as hell.

Xander rolls the dice that has twelve sides and symbols and shit. “I’ll trade you a musket for a fire spell.” He’s looking at me.

“Sure, yeah.” I hand him a card.

“That’s a rocket flare,” Easton says.

Shit.

I shuffle through my thick deck and find another. “Here.”

Xander nods, then frowns, catching sight of another card in my hand. “Wait, you have the Empress of Tomorrow?”

“No fucking way.” Easton leans forward, elbows on the table. He’s a lanky, pale, dark-haired sixteen-year-old—no kidding, he looks like a vampire. Thing is, I bet he getsmoresunand Vitamin C than Xander.

I scrunch my brows. “What’s the Empress of Tomorrow mean?”

Xander grins after a sip of Fizz. “With your position on the board and your two blocking spells, you just won the game, man.”

“Well, damn,” I say into a satisfied nod. Forget it, I fucking rock, and just then, a hammer pounds inside my temple. I bite down while Xander and Easton gather cards and game pieces.

I’d give my left testicle for a cigarette, or at least a toothpick that I’m not allowed to grind on.

‘Cause I’m Thatcher Alessio Moretti. He already fucked up, and now I’m gonna be known as the guy who stuffs lunchmeat in his jacket.

It’s kinda funny. I’ll take it. But I’d rather all of them come home. It’s December 27th. They’re a whole week late, and it’s killing more than just me.

Xander checks his cellphone, waiting for a text that saysthey’re back.His sixteenth birthday at Superheroes & Scones was quiet and somber without his older brother and sister there.

The parents even cancelledChristmas at the lake house this year. They wanted to stay in Philly, so they’d be here for when their children return home.

Easton slowly straightens the cards and eyes Xander. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” Xander overturns his phone. He hasn’t mentioned that his older siblings and cousins are stuck in Scotland, but it’s all over the news.

So Eastonknows.He’s just waiting for his friend to share with the class.

He won’t. Xander keeps personal shit vaulted about as much as every other famous one.

Awkward silence hangs as theyslowly—ever so fucking slowly—shift game pieces. Unsure if the other person wants to play another round. It’s clear they both do.

I’m just a third-wheel.

I’m not supposed tonudgethem. So I just lean back and watch the teenage soap opera.

Easton taps a silver wizard piece to the board. “Good game, man.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Xander crunches his soda can and flips a dice, staring at Easton, then the snow, then back to Easton. “So…?”