Page 99 of Twisted Play

Tristan smiled his most charming smile and held up his hands, protesting innocence. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Violetta’s face remained serious. “That includes Eva.”

If only she knew. I couldn’t bear to watch Cole smirk and lie to my friend about how he wouldn’t fuck with me, so Ifocused on my food, staring at my bowl as I chewed each bite thoroughly and swallowed.

“Hey, kitten,” Tristan said, when I didn’t look up right away. “Are we fucking with you?”

“Are you for real right now?” I snapped. Were there any men in my life who weren’t fucking me up or fucking with me in one way or another?

I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I’d gone from wanting a quick fuck to relieve the misery of my daily existence to hating them both again, and Jesus fucking Christ, I was so goddamned tired. I hated how good it felt, howright, when they treated me like they cared in public and how hurtful they were in private. I hated the dread that coiled in my gut when I imagined any of my blackmailers finding out about the others.

The walls started closing in. Alek’s dominance. Carter’s instructions. Cole and Tristan pretending to care. Violetta’s concern. All of it pressed down on me until I couldn’t breathe.

My hands shook, and my vision tunneled. I shoved back from the table, leaving my meal half-eaten. “Thanks for lunch, Cole,” I said, my voice tight with emotion I dared not express—that I didn’twantto express.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, wrapping his long fingers around my wrist, “where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Hold it together, Eva.“Bathroom,” I said shortly, wrenching my arm away from him.

Cole stood, his expression unreadable.

Tristan reached across the table to touch Cole. “I got this.”

“Just give me a goddamned moment to myself, wouldyou?” I snapped at the both of them as my hard-won control slipped through my fingers like grains of sand.

“Eva?” Violetta asked, worry etched on her face. One word from me, and she’d help me escape. But to what? Carter would still own my father’s life. Alek, my paycheck. Cole and Tristan, my secrets.

I ignored her, striding off, determined not to lose it until I reached the privacy of a stall in the bathroom. Poor, fat, messy, everything this world liked to denigrate—crying in the student union would be the nail in my proverbial coffin. Nobody needed to see that.

“Hey,” Tristan said, grabbing my arm, gentle but inescapable.

“Could I have five fucking minutes?” I snarled, yanking my arms away from him.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “What the fuck is wrong?”

I stopped, never more aware of our audience, the students abandoning their conversations to watch one of their star hockey players fight with a fat, poor scholarship student.

“You’re what the fuck is wrong. Cole is what the fuck is wrong. This! Everything! I just—” I took a deep breath, seeking calm. “I need a minute to pull myself together. Please.”

Tristan’s brow furrowed. “Hey.” He pulled me into his chest for a hug, enveloping me with his arms. Tears threatened to spill over. “I know how fucking hard it is to pretend everything’s okay.”

“I can’t do this,” I whispered.

“You can.” He ran his arms up and down my back. “You’re so fucking strong, Eva, stronger than any of us.”

I didn’t want to be strong. I wanted to be free. I wanted amoment, one goddamned moment, without the weight of the world—my father’s life, the future of the hockey team, Cole’s relationship with his father, blackmail—on my shoulders.

“I have to be,” I admitted finally, perilously close to admitting I hated it. Hated them. Hated myself most of all.

Tristan rubbed his hand in circles over the small of my back, warmth spreading through me, his tenderness as painful as Cole’s cruelty. “You shouldn’t have to be,” he answered into the crown of my head. “What would make this easier? If you could tell people we’re your boyfriends? If there were a reason for us to be spending all this time together instead of sneaking around?”

No.Because when they inevitably tired of me, I’d just look like an idiot who flew too close to the sun. I hated this, hated feeling like a hole for them to use and throw away when they finished playing with me, hated the hypocrisy of pretending to be in a relationship in public while they treated me like shit in private.

“Or maybe it’s the opposite,” he mused, his voice carrying the edge of possession that made my core clench and my heart flutter. “Maybe we need to let the world know who you belong to.”

I leaned my cheek on his chest, my hands resting on his waist, absorbing the warmth and solidity of him.

“I hate this,” I whispered. “I hate pretending this is real when all three of us know it’s not.”