Page 88 of Foolish Games

He glowers as he climbs into his Lamborghini and backs out of the garage, leaving us standing in an unusual, awkward silence.

“Shit,” Vivienne says, climbing into the driver’s seat of her car. “Do you think he knows something?”

I climb in too. “I haven’t said anything. But hey, I’m glad he’s gone, so I can do this.”

I lean in and press my lips to hers, and for a second, everything is okay.

Then she pulls away and starts the car, still fretting. “We have to be careful,” she says. “If he thinks there’s something going on… Maybe he saw something between us?”

She peeks at me as she backs out of the garage into the cold drizzle.

“Like what?” I ask carefully.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Nothing. You’re right. I’m being silly.”

“There’s one advantage to you driving,” I say, giving her a wicked look and sliding a hand up her thigh.

“Seriously, Sebastian?” she asks as we pull out through her gate.

“It makes finger fucking easier,” I say. “Since someone’s opposed to road head.”

“We’ll be at the party in less than ten minutes.”

“Then I better hurry,” I say, pressing my fingers between her thighs.

She slaps my hand away. “I’m not just a piece of ass,” she says. “I have other things going on in my life than to be here for you when you’re horny.”

“I know that,” I say, leaning against my door and glaring at her. “Do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Vivienne,” I say. “For the last time, I’m not fucking stupid. You think I can’t see what this is?”

She swallows and stares at the wipers moving back and forth across the windshield. “What is it?”

“You have everything,” I point out. “The brains, the money, the looks… You even have this fucking car.”

“What about it?”

“Oh, and the ‘good family,’” I add. “Let’s not forget about that.”

She sighs and turns onto a narrow, winding blacktop road, the double yellow line in the middle freshly painted and glowing in the headlights. “I can’t do the riddles tonight, Sebastian. Just tell me what you’re getting at.”

“If someone’s getting used for sex here, it’s not you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, gaping at me as she downshifts before pulling onto a narrower, older road. A minute later, we pull onto a narrow, one-lane bridge. Exposed beams crisscross over it like a hulking white skeleton, and the drizzle catches in the beams of the headlights. We’re silent as the little car slides across, and a shiver climbs my arms like a premonition. I’ve lived in Faulkner for four years, but I’ve never seen this bridge before.

“You think I’m using you for sex?” Vivienne asks at last.

“What am I supposed to think?”

“I didn’t even want sex to be part of the arrangement,” she points out. “You’re the one who insisted on that part.”

“Right,” I say. “Because I’m supposed to be a monk while you use me to make your boyfriend jealous.”

“I told you I didn’t expect you to stop sleeping with other girls,” she grits out, pulling up to a gate at the end of a long, narrow driveway made of white gravel.

“Fine,” I say. “If you don’t care, I guess I’ll go fuck someone else tonight.”

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