Page 10 of The Game

“I don’t think he’d thank you for being compared to a dung beetle,” I choke out. “Anyway, how do you know all this stuff?”

“I studied Animal Science in college.”

“You didwhat?”

He waves his hand. “It’s a long story. But suffice to say, gay men are a bit of an exception on those types of courses in certain parts of this wonderful country.” He gestures down his body again. “Especially ones dressed like me. It’s like spotting a leopard in the Serengeti.”

My eyes meet his. “I’m calling him DB from now on.”

He snorts into my hair. “Don’t you dare, missy.”

“I was actually thinking of something sleeker, more fast-moving.”

“Like a ferret.” He sticks his top teeth over his bottom lip and screws up his face.

And I can’t hold my laughter back now. Serge grins and shakes his head as I tip my head back and tears stream down my face.

“Okay then, a cheetah,” he says.

I gulp in a few sharp breaths. “That’s much better,” I gasp out.

He hums as he parts a strand of my hair and runs a flattening iron down it. “Hmmm, yes. A cheetah. All high-speed grace and long soft fur,” Serge says, running his fingers through my hair.

“Stop talking about fur!”

He giggles and waves a hand over my head. “It is literally my job, darling! Iam paid to notice hair of all kinds, no matter where it is on the body.” He winks at me in the mirror. “Let’s make you look amazing, so DB falls head over heels for you.”

“Don’t call him that!”

And some guy falling head over heels for me? That’s something that’s never happened. They discover the tennis schedule and run for the hills. Plus, I’ve just wriggled out of Arty’s clutches, although whether I’ve actually escaped him or not remains to be seen … and Pietr … God, how little I understood when I was with him. I need to message Mila and warn her that Arty spotted her account name on the video she sent me.

“Oh, but you’re dating that sexy downhill skier, Arty Maroz, aren’t you? Where’s he tonight?”

“We split up. Today actually. But please don’t say anything until I’ve had a chance to agree all the media announcements with his PR person.”

“I am the soul of discretion,” Serge says, placing a hand over his heart, and I laugh again. “I’m sorry you broke up, darling. You were a cute couple. All that wonderful dark hair, yours and his.” He flourishes a hand over my head.

“Don’t be sorry. He cheated.”

“Hewhat? He cheated onyou? Honestly, men are so fucking useless. They don’t know when they’ve got it good.”

“Tell me about it. You want to see?” I shouldn’t show him the video, but sometimes you want someone to have your back and Serge loves the gossip.

He peers over my shoulder as I pull up the clip.

“Wow.” He purses his lips as it gets to the part with Arty on the couch. “Jesus, look at them go. You’ve got the right kind of friends watching out for you like that.”

Mila’s small face peering out of her bunk bed in tennis camp swims in front of my face. We were always stuck in some place miles from anywhere and terrified. Terrified of not making it; terrified of not hitting the standards required by the men who ran the camps and getting sent back home; terrified of not escaping what our lives would otherwise have been.

As Serge starts twisting my hair into tendrils with a heated brush, my phonevibrates on my desk. I stretch forward and pick it up. It’s a message from Arty.

Check your inbox, bitch.

Oh, Jesus. Maybe I spoke too soon about being free from him.

I open the app and don’t spot anything, but there is an email from a legal firm. When I scan through it, it’s a deposition concerning the ownership of Pepper, bought by a Mr. Artyom Maroz.

He’s suing me for custody of Pepper?

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