Page 46 of Playing for Keeps

My hand gripped the back of my neck and I dipped my chin. “Thanks, that’s really nice of you to say.”

Rhys’s hand grazed my bare arm, his touch light before he settled it on my shoulder. “We make a good team, you and I,” he murmured, leaning in closer, and every cell in my body wanted to inch away.

Aaron’s concerns flickered through my head, but before I could react, Rhys removed his hand and said, “Let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do since you saved my ass.”

“What do you mean?”

He wiped a hand over his chin, glancing over my head behind the bar. “You can’t tell anyone.” His brows rose as he watched me, waiting for me to respond. When I nodded, he said, “I should have had those slides done a week ago. I forgot all about them. You pulling them together so fast saved me and made us both look good. For that, I owe you one.”

He flagged down a bartender, ordering himself a beer before gesturing to me. I ordered a bottle of the same and a bag of ice. Before the guy could step away to get started, Rhys stopped him.

“Wait,” he said, turning to me. “You don’t have to order a beer just because I did. You can get whatever you want.”

“The beer is fine,” I told him.

“What about one of those big fruity drinks in the tall glasses? You sure you don’t want one of those?”

“I’m sure,” I said, as much to him as the bartender. “I actually prefer beer.”

His smile was tight as he nodded toward the bar, as if he didn’t believe I was telling him the truth. But I was. I’d never liked the fruity drinks, never had a taste for wine or champagne. The first time I’d tried a whiskey, at Vinny’s house, I’d been unable to keep myself awake.

When the bartender returned, I grabbed my ice and bottle of beer and inched away from the bar. Rhys stopped me again, hand on my shoulder, and held the neck of his bottle toward me.

“A toast,” he said, tapping my bottle with his. “To Batman and Wonder Woman. The good guys fighting against the bad.” He tipped his head toward the room, toward the table where Kelly and Aaron, Harley Quinn and the Joker, were standing with our other friends.

“To us.” I raised my bottle to my lips, taking a sip before the two of us walked over to the table. My gaze swept the room as I walked, searching out every last person in black.

Searching for the masked man.

Searching for the motorcyclist.

11

Vinny

The problem with having a twin was that it was hard to hide your feelings from each other. It wasn’t impossible. When the world got in the way and life got busy, it was easy to ignore warning signs that you might otherwise be able to read.

Like when my sister started seeing Mitch, and I couldn’t see her happiness through all of my pain.

Vivian had seen that pain. Every last ounce of it. She’d dragged me around at Frankie’s parties, forced me into the same circles as Jen, as if being near the girl that broke me would somehow make me alright.

But my twin sister had also made ignoring the world around her into an art for years. I’d had her and the rest of my family convinced that every time I hopped on a plane, I was heading out to see a girl.

Ever since this past summer, that changed. Vivian started therapy to help her through the aftermath of being drugged, kidnapped, and held captive in a filthy basement in a farmhouse in upstate New York. As she worked through her issues, she became more in tune with the world around her, and hiding things from her became harder than ever.

That’s why it was no surprise when, after she opened the door to Frankie’s condo, she pulled me into a fierce hug that felt both suffocating and soothing all at once.

“Vin.” That one syllable promised I wasn’t hiding anything from her. Her tone dripped with sympathy, her embrace offering the healing power only a hug from my sister could. Luckily, she shared my love of privacy and didn’t say more.

Her boyfriend, on the other hand...

When Vivian finally released me from her embrace, I noticed him. Mitch was standing near the entrance to the foyer, body turned away as if he was merely a bodyguard protecting his client. But while his head was down, his face was pointed our way and his dark eyes were settled on me and my sister.

“You look tired,” Viv told me, fussing over me the way she knew I hated. It’d never stopped her before, so why should it stop her now? She smoothed her hands over my shoulders and arms, picked imaginary lint from my shirt, and eyed my face like doing so could answer the unasked questions sitting on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she asked, “You’re not sick, are you?”

“I’m fine, Viv.” My tone was sharp and I saw the bite of it reflected on her face.

Lips pursed and brow furrowed, my sister lifted her chin before turning away.