Page 57 of Pawn

“Know what?” Taking another glass of champagne from the coffee table, I waltz towards the door. “I’m wondering the same thing. Later assholes.”

“Jo?” Damien calls my name when he sees me heading for the doors and these fucking heels are doing my head in. He’s beside me, looking behind him as I pull the shoes off my feet, throwing them onto the floor. “What happened?”

“You. Again!”

It’s the last thing I say before I turn around, and push through the door.

* * *

Damien blows up my phone but I’m not in the mood.

All I want is a bottle in my face and good company.

Allie and Nate are too wrapped up in their significant others to pick up my call, and a text from Christian tells me he’s hitting hockey practice hard. So I decide on someone who’s feeling as lonely as I am.

The Uber pulls away as my knuckle pushes into the doorbell. The lights inside are on but I can’t see anyone from the large windows. The large wooden door swivels open. Isaac’s face poking through. “Jo?”

His eyes wander my outfit and I wish I’d changed before coming here but I smile. “Need a drinking buddy?”

When Isaac lets me in, he’s only in his boxers but he doesn’t have that slur yet, his coils packed to his head like he’d been asleep. “King?” he asks and I nod, moving into the kitchen with green cupboards and stone counters. When I head right for the bottle on the counter, he laughs. “Alright, well, since Christian’s trying to go pro, and Damien’s a businessman, you’ll do. You’re hotter than they are anyway.”

Pulling out the cork, I bring the bottle to my lip, taking a gulp that’s long enough to make me forget the last couple of hours. The words that man said, the snobbiness from the wives.

Isaac eyes my outfit again, turning on some music on the touchpad by the kitchen entrance. Something jazzy. He smiles but it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What?” I ask, the bottle still at my lips.

“Why do you look like a half-black Hilary Clinton?”

Rolling my eyes I take another swig before I say, “Damien.”

“You guys role-playing or something?” He reaches for a glass from the shiny green cupboard before he takes the bottle from my hand.

“I wish,” I mutter.

“Careful, this stuff hits hard,” he warns, pouring himself a few shots. “It’s not cheap.”

“Well, give me some Jack or something.” Pushing up from the counter, I grab the bottle back. “I don’t wanna be rich.”

“Tough shit, baby.” He takes a sip. “You’re dating the King of Eden. You’re already rich.”

“Yeah but it’s not because I fucked for it,” I say. “And just because I’m not from here doesn’t mean I’m a living the Pretty Woman story.”

“Wait, what?” He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Wanna smoke about it?”

“Fuck yeah.”

I follow Isaac into a room and when he flicks on a dim light, I have to blink and make sure I’m not already toasted. “Is that a fucking tree?”

Isaac does a spin with his arms out wide. “Welcome to the Johnson Zen Room.” He collapses on the velvet mattress of a wood-framed daybed. It’s the only thing in the stone-walled room besides some fluffy cushions, a fireplace, and a fountain built into the wall.

“What the fuck?” Looking up, the bottle in my hand, the ceiling looks like a sky, beams between. It smells like incense and pot, everything under a soft glow. When my legs hit the back of the bed, I sink into it, already feeling looser with more booze in my system. “You have a room filled with nothing?”

He laughs. “You know, people are usually impressed when they see this.”

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