Page 13 of The Game We Played

A cleaning crew comes in to clean the bar after we close each night and yet somehow there’s still glitter clinging to the surfaces every day. I swear glitter multiplies at night when no one’s looking.

I clean the bar and sweep the floors until I have a pile of glitter. Seriously, a pile. How much glitter does a woman need to become a mermaid? Actually, I’m pretty sure mermaids don’t use glitter at all.

The door to the bar bangs open.

“We’re not open yet!”

“Julian let me in.”

Damn, it’s Tanner. Appearing as sexy as he did the first night we met. Nope. He’s not sexy. He’s a player who’s in trouble more often than not.

I force myself to frown. “What are you doing here? And how do you know Julian?”

“I chatted with the bartender the other night whenever you got busy.”

“And what are you doing here? I can’t serve you any alcohol until we’re officially opened.”

“Don’t want a drink.”

My brow furrows. “You don’t want a drink? Are you feeling well? Should I phone a doctor? My sisters are nurse practitioners, I can ask one of them to come here off the books.”

He chuckles. “Off the books?”

“Or whatever it’s called when you don’t want a record of your medical visit.” I lower my voice. “Is it an STD? I heard chlamydia is on the rise.”

He rears back. “I do not have the clap.”

“I’m pretty sure gonorrhea is the clap. Not chlamydia.”

“You know a lot about STDs.”

“I have twin sisters who work in medicine and think it’s hilarious to freak me out at Sunday dinner.” I shiver. “The pictures they bring.”

“Your sisters sound fun.”

I snort. “Yeah, if you don’t mind getting your eyelashes plucked while you’re sleeping by someone dressed as a clown.”

He barks out a laugh. “Definitely fun.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when they set your house ablaze.”

“Ablaze?”

I shrug. “I’d carry a fire extinguisher if I were you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I reach for my phone. “Now, shall I contact them? What are your symptoms?”

“I’m not sick.”

“But you didn’t want a drink. Tanner Long is known for his love of alcohol.”

He scowls. “Don’t always believe what you read in the gossip rags.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I should know better than to believe everything printed. I’m supposed to be a journalist. A serious journalist. Not someone who writes gossip columns and uses her column in the newspaper to tease her sisters. And I won’t even be writing those articles if theGazettecloses.

“Okay, you’re not here for a drink. You’re not ill. Do I have to continue to guess why you’re here, or are you going to tellme?” I notice the time. “And make it quick. I need to finish prepping to open up.”