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Graham moves closer. I back up. Closer. I sidestep. I feel like prey. We are moving around the island. I know I am asking for trouble—playing with fire—but it feels so good to taunt and be pursued. When I am cornered against the joining counters, I stare breathlessly up into Graham’s hooded eyes. He lifts me at my waist and drops me onto the smooth surface of polished quartz. The chill on my bottom feels good against my building heat. He steps closer and presses his groin into the apex of my parted legs.
“Know how badly I want you?” he asks gruffly.
I hum a nondescript answer. If it is anything like the magnetic pull I feel toward him, I am surprised my clothes are still on. My fingers play with the waistband of his pants, touching the skin of his abs.
“Because I do, Angie. I want you so badly.”
We stay in this standoff for a minute before Graham steps back, sighing. “But you were drugged last night. And I need to keep a clear head if I want to protect you.”
He returns to the kettle and pours two cups of tea for us. I slither from the counter and feel a pang of shame that I came on to him.
I add honey. “Thank you for the tea.”
I carry my drink back to the sofa and reclaim my spot. Graham joins me and opens his laptop. He sets his teacup on a coaster and takes up the other end of the cushions.
“Shall we get started?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug. “Not sure how much help I will be.”
“Let’s start by listing all of the people you knew last night at the bar. We can then ask them for a list of people they knew in attendance. Maybe someone will appear out of place or suspicious.”
“Well, I came by myself but ran into my classmate, Bryce. The night is a little fuzzy but Claire, Zander, Blake, and Resa were there.” I pause to think of anyone else I might have known.
“Anything else out of the norm?”
“Oh, I ran into my ex on the way to the restroom.”
Graham shifts in his seat and looks sternly at me but keeps typing. “Anything happen, Angela?”
I am caught off guard by his sudden coolness. “Just a minor confrontation.”
“What type of confrontation?”
“He thinks I owe him some money. But I don’t. He is just butt sore.”
“What’s his name?”
“Russell.”
“Last name?” Graham sneers.
“Fanitelli,” I say softly. I really do not want Graham to get involved. I can handle Russell on my own.
“He touch you?”
“No,” I lie.
“Ever?”
“Graham…”
He stops typing and looks at me with eyes of steel.
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this right now,” I say.
“Does he have any motivation to try to hurt you?” he asks.
“I doubt it. I just threw a bunch of his shit out my bedroom window after a summer breakup. I’ll pay him his money if he keeps making a big deal out of it.”
