Page 21 of Top Shelf

I ease us through another turn, keeping the pressure between us light. Everything with Gwendolyn is like holding a wire between two fingers and waiting to see if it sparks.

The orchestra swells around us—something string-heavy and pretentious. Couples sway all around the dance floor, more interested in being seen than dancing, but Wren isn’tpretending. Every movement of hers is deliberate. She’s tension on a leash.

“So,” I pivot, “how’s the internship treating you?”

She casts me a sideways glance. “It’s character-building.” Her lips twitch. “Which is code for: I hate it.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “That good, huh?”

Her only response is a slight lift of her shoulders. A casual shrug, clearly unwilling to share anything more, or perhaps that slight slip of a smile has her keeping a tight grasp on her thoughts and emotions.

“They certainly seemed to keep you busy this week, or is ducking out every time the guys and I enter the room part of your job description?”

She lifts her chin a little, eyes narrowing in challenge, and her words are clipped. “It’s called working. You should try it sometime.”

I grin. “What a sharp tongue you’ve got.”

Of course, she doesn’t take the bait. She’s too controlled for that. Too on edge around me. Without meeting my gaze, she changes the subject. “What is it like being a senator’s son?”

My mouth twists. “It sounds shinier than it is.”

Something in my tone of voice has her looking at me.Reallylooking at me. Searching my gaze…for what, I don’t know.

“So you chose hockey because it’s honest about the damage, whereas politics teaches you to smile through it?” There’s a hint of sarcasm to her words, but the slight tilt of her head and the fact that her gaze is no longer roaming the room but hovering somewhere near my earlobe show there’s a hint of curiosity to her question.

“That,” I admit with a wry twist of my lips, “but I also chose it because I wanted something that was solely mine.”

Something like understanding flickers behind those honey eyes, even if she doesn’t let itstay.

Come on, Little Serpent. Give me something. Anything.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Like the scrape of a needle against a record, any hope of a moment between us screeches to a halt with the arrival of Wren’s brother—Carson Winslow.

She lets go of my hand before I can blink.

“Be my guest,” I state perfunctorily, eyes never leaving hers.

Her brother touches her elbow, but she doesn’t immediately let him direct her away. She hesitates a moment, her gaze somewhere around my knees, before she lifts her face to mine. There’s a crack in her facade, like the slight opening of a door into her inner psyche. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not interested in playing.” Her head cocks slightly, gaze hardening to stone. “Don’t you think you’ve already stolen enough from me?” That door slams shut as she glares. Her lip curls with disdain, and gone is her polite mask. For the first time tonight, I get a true glimpse at what she truly thinks of me. “Leave me the hell alone. All of you.”

With that, she allows her brother to guide her into the crowd. I watch her disappear between dancing couples, her final words playing on my mind. She doesn’t once look back.

Don’t you think you’ve already stolen enough from me?

The penny drops, and horror like I’ve never felt before floods my veins.

Wren doesn’t just know we were there that night.

She believeswewere the ones who attacked her.

The ones who hurt her. Whorapedher.

My hand trembles as I grab a fresh glass of whiskey from a passing waiter and knock the entire thing back. It burns as it slides down my throat, but I barely feel it. I’m too raw, too shocked to register anything other than the fact that Wren blamesus.

No wonder she’s been running from us all week.

Jesus. I spin away, unable to continue watching her from across the room as I run a hand through my hair, uncaring if I mess it up. She must think we’re complete psychos chasing after her all week.