Page 53 of Vicious Little Games

“He said klepto, not nympho, dumbass,” August explains.

“Po-ta-to, po-tah-to,” he huffs.

“No, it’s not even close to the same thing,” August huffs. “Kleptomaniacs are compulsive thieves while nymphos are sex addicts.”

“Oh.”

“But the shithead still hasn’t answered our question,” August mutters. “What were you thinking, Cole?”

“You both saw how shit that guy’s security team was, right? Cass wouldn’t ever be safe with him, so there’s no point in her going out with him again. And I like taking shit from ungrateful assholes.”

“That money you gave to that homeless chick, did it come from an ungrateful asshole?”

“Maybe.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, Robin Hood?” August demands.

“Why? Do you want to be my Little John?”

“Your Little Jon? That rapper that shouts YEAH! and OH-KAY! in a bunch of songs?” Mike asks.

“Yeah, Mike, that Little Jon,” August says, followed by a howling bark of laughter.

As soon as we’re back inside the casino and on the elevator heading up to the penthouse, August snickers, and then we both lose it. I belly laugh until my side hurts and tears run down my cheeks.

Mike glares at both of us, only making me howl louder. “What’s so damn funny now?”

“You are,” August tells him with a shake of his head as he swipes the arm of his suit over his face to dry it too. “I need to find a new job before you two get me killed.”

17

Cass

Since I can’t sleep, and only because I can’t sleep and for no other purpose, I get up and quietly make my way down to the second floor to Cole’s room.

I don’t even really want sex. I guess I just want to maybe rub my date in his face a little, even if it was the most boring, awkward hour of my entire life.

Cole’s door is unlocked, so I turn the handle and slip inside, finding him wide awake… sorting through a pile of something on his bed.

“Hey. Can’t sleep?” he glances up and asks me as if my wandering in here at this time of night is the most normal thing ever.

“No. You?”

“Wide awake, obviously,” he replies. “How was your date?”

I debate lying and saying it was wonderful. Instead, I tell him the truth. “He couldn’t stop staring at my boobs for more than three seconds.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him there.” Cole lifts his eye from the phone in his hands to look directly at my chest. “Your breasts are perfection.”

I don’t point out that he doesn’t usually stare at them while we’re talking. He only seems fixated with my boobs when my shirt is off and I’m only wearing a sports bra. Or when they’re falling out of the top of my dress.

“You’re just saying that because you want to get your hands on them.”

Smirking he adds, “And my mouth. Can’t forget my mouth.”

“But that’s not going to happen,” I remind him.

“Right. Because you and I are enemies,” he says simply.

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