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I don’t have to look their way to know they’re watching me, possibly waiting for that moment when my nose will lift high into the air or scrunch in distaste, but that’s not going to happen. I lower myself onto the longest one and kick my feet up on the opposite end.
“I take it you guys hang here often?”
Slowly, they drop onto seats of their own.
“Maybe.” Beretta grins, tearing into an M&M’s packet with his teeth. “Or maybe it’s where we bury bodies.”
“Ah, yes, how could I forget, I became your target.” I speak with playful energy. “How dare I watch you from across the room.”
“More like, ‘she dared to watch us from across the room’.”
I laugh at Beretta’s Shakespearean flair. “How bold.”
“How rare.”
My laughter fades and I look away to simmer the sudden curving of my lips.
“So.” I cross my legs. “Which one of you looked me up on social media?”
With unhurried movements, my gaze skitters across the three.
“What makes you think we did?” Beretta nods.
“I know you did. It’s the exact reason I was threatened with a photo I know doesn’t exist.” I speak with confidence. “No phones came out to play in that glam room, I’m sure of it. You looked me up, found nothing... nothing but a way to get me here, and here we are.”
“Odd for a girl your age.”
I look to Beretta. “What are you, fifty?”
He ignores me, offering me some candy and shrugging when I shake my head to decline. “Your friends document everything from doctored morning pics to slinky new night numbers before bed, and you, Jameson Filano, have not a single account, on any platform, and there are no more than a handful of pictures of you on other people’s socials. Boring ones at amusement parks and group gala shots.”
“So, you are stalkers,” I tease, humor lighting both my tone and expression. I know it’s simply the way it goes. Everyone watches everything on social media; it’s what it’s there for. To make you feel seen.
“Social media is a shark tank. You swim, it’s only a matter of time before you’re bit in the ass.”
“Do you not enjoy that?” Beretta’s grin is broad and mischievous.
I roll my eyes, and Ransom leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He cocks his head, licks his lips, and as he desires, my attention becomes his.
With each passing second, his unblinking blues prod deeper with an unreadable intent, his words delivered slow but sure. “You’re smart, careful and controlled. You’re keeping your rep clean for a reason, I’m sure. Surprised you came.”
“Surprised you wanted me to.”
“Surprised you almost let your friends find us in your dressing room.”
My eyes move between his, and his body dips closer, the corded muscles of his neck stretching as he does. “You weren’t exactly in your right mind, were you?”
I hold still, staring into the sharp gaze demanding the truth of what he knows is an undeniable fact.
I had a momentary lack of sanity.
My lips curl into a smile before I can stop them. “Got that pen?”
His coarse chuckle is delayed, low and perfectly pleased.
Ransom pulls the Stiizy from his pocket and passes it off to Arsen, who pushes to his feet, walks over, and bends in front of me. He holds it near my lips, just far enough to force me to come to him.
I do, and his grin is just as satisfied as the boys behind him.
Unexpectedly, he tugs his shirt from his back, and my focus falls to his naked chest, holding there until he gives a teasing flex. I only get a hint of his smirk before his shirt is gently tossed over my face.
As it falls to my chest, he nods to the makeshift armrest, so I thank him, ball the thick cotton up and tuck it beneath my head as a cushion.
I know they’re toying with me, testing my reactions, and that’s fine. They can think whatever they want; it makes no difference to me. It doesn’t change my reality or theirs, whatever theirs may be, but it does make me wonder if this is the way their game begins.
Do they entice, give a gift, then get inside?
So, I ask, and I think they’re surprised by the question as all three silently stare.
After a few moments, Beretta decides to answer. “Believe it or not, Trouble, Sammie got the dress so we could see your reaction, and for no other reason than that. And she needed no enticing.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, she didn’t. It’s like I said, rich girls love bad boys, even if only in secret.
I don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not and honestly, it makes no difference, yet to see what his response will be, I ask, “Why would you care how I reacted?”
“Because even though you gawked our way for half of that party—”
