Page 43 of Devious Gambit

Waiting until the coast was clear; I jogged up closer to her and smacked her ass. She gasped in horror and was about slap my face, until she noticed it was me.

“If you slap me back, I might enjoy it,” I whispered.

A smirk slid across a face that rarely smiled, and it bothered me that she might be falling for me. This was good and bad at the same time. No strings meant no strings. Once I was done with her, I’d be gone and I don’t want to mop up tears and a broken heart. However, it’ll be easier getting the goods from someone who was smitten, because I could convince them to do anything. For now, I’d play the game.

“Fancy a rumble in the jungle?” I asked, pointing towards the small wood that was likely littered with empty condom packets and chocolate bar wrappers.

“A little cold for outdoor pursuits,” she answered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up.”

She sat down on the same park bench that she always sat on and I parked my ass next her, groaning as the damp chill seeped into my jeans.

“I’m here to study,” she informed me.

“I’m here to kiss your neck…and maybe more.”

“People are around,” she said frowning.

“And so? I might teach them a skill or two.” I grabbed one of her books and read the title The Divine Comedy. “Dante,” I stated. “That guy.”

“Do you know Dante?” she asked, hopefully.

“Not personally.”

“But you knew Edgar Allen Poe’s poem Silence,” she uttered.

“Yeah, because it’s on the foyer wall of the Edgar Allen Poe library.”

“Oh. I didn’t think you went in there much.”

“I don’t, but the café sells great banana cake.”

She sounded disappointed, but I had plenty up my sleeve to impress her. Before long, she’ll be butter in my hands so I could manipulate the living shit out of her. I flipped the brick-sized book open and began reading aloud the words before me. “Thy soul is by vile fear assail’d which oft,” snorting at the word ‘oft’, “so overcasts a man, that he recoils from noblest resolution,…” I glanced at Rhys to find her gazing off to the side with that dreamy expression on her face. Best bet she’s traveled to a cotton candy fantasy land in her mind, where no one cussed and everyone wore 17th century clothing. I might buy a one-way ticket. “…like a beast at some false semblance in the twilight gloom…”

First and last time I read a chick poetry, luckily it didn’t kill me. Gallagher was still gazing off to the side, caught on a memory or thought. She startled once she realized I’d finished reading, and suddenly seemed sad or lost. I leaned in and kissed her lips, not because I was playing the game, but because I wanted to.

She sighed into my mouth and pulled away when she heard the distant sounds of students approaching. “I think I’m ready,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“To find out the truth.”

“About your dad?”

She nodded.

About fucking time. The unintentional kiss worked wonders or was it the poetry. “So, how do you want to do this? Should I look it up and then show you or…”

“Write it down.” She found a notepad and pen in her bag and ripped a page off. “Once you’ve written it, fold it up. I think I’d rather read it than hear it.”

“Okay. Remind me what your dad’s name is?”

“Brett Moody.”

I already knew who Brett Moody was and what he did, but I had to go through the motions. Once I found the information on him, I stalled. “Are you sure about this?” Playing the caring friend.

“Yes.”

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