Page 38 of The Game

Maybe I just need to start my period.

“Who’s Ricky?” I call over the clamoring voices and thumping music. Holding me tight as we wade against the crowd, he calls down to me.

“Bartender. You’re to sit where he can see you at all times, Alice, got it? And no drinks from strangers—only take them from his hand directly.”

I want to argue, be a brat and say I can fend for myself, but we both know that’s not true; the bruise on my cheek proves that.

“I don’t need to drink,” I say instead. His brows twitch together in humor when he looks back down at me.

“It’s free since we’re performing. Take advantage of it. Live a little.”

Well, if that’s the case…

“Here,” he says as we approach the bar, shifting so he’s behind me, his strong fingers gripping my hips, my ass brushing against his thighs as he lifts me up and plops me on a stool, leaning around me from behind to catch the bartender’s eye. His proximity, his scent, the way he manhandles me—it ticks all my boxes, and I inwardly groan as my cunt clenches again. Swallowing down my pride as my heart races, I allow myself to recognize that I’m only human, and he’s fucking attractive, and I’m lonely as fuck and haven’t had an orgasm in months at this point.

At first, I simply couldn’t even touch myself without breaking down into tears, and living in a dorm means little to no privacy. The few times I tried, I was simply desperate with need, and after getting off, I cried, the ache in my chest festering. Now…now the thoughts come unbidden, now I want to see the way his eyes go dark, want to hear his groan as he explodes.

“Two duck farts, you hairy bastard!” Teddy yells, distracting me and holding up two fingers in front of me on the sticky counter. Thank God he made me a fake ID before we left. I’ve never even been in a bar before, and excitement floods me; this atmosphere is filled to the brim with a different kind of debauchery, one with fun and drunkenness and lust. I find I’m loving it.

The huge bartender turns around, grin stretched wide across his grizzled, bearded face, towel thrown over his broad shoulder.

“If it isn’t Theodore Poe—and who’s this?” he says, eyes widening as they fall to me, wrapped tight from behind in Teddy’s arms. My shock, though, is at hearing Teddy’s full name for the first time. Theodore Poe. Initials are unfortunate, but it somehow fits.

“Theodore, huh?” I tease. I feel his chest rumble as he chuckles.

“Go on, tease me and see where that gets you, Miss Winters.”

My mouth runs dry. Is he…is he flirting with me? Or just in a good mood because this is his element? But he speaks up, turning his attention to this man named Ricky, distracting me from my rampant, wonton thoughts.

“This is Alice. First time at a show.”

Ricky chuckles, pulling down bottles to make our shots as my stomach churns and knots up.

“Well here’s to popping your cherry then, kiddo!” he says, pushing two brown and tan hued shots at us. My cheeks flame at his wordage, but I grin, fingers pinching the cool glass. Teddy grabs his, too, and raises it so we can cheers. He leans in for the third time tonight, that husky tenor of his voice sending shivers over my body.

“Yes indeed. Here’s to popping your cherry tonight.”

Face now flaming, I clank his glass and throw the shot down my throat like Tristan taught me, grimacing at the nasty, creamy concoction. Ricky bellows a smoker’s laugh, pinching our empty glasses in his fingers and tossing them into a bin.

“Keep an eye on her, please,” he calls to Ricky as the music gets a little louder. Ricky nods, a glint of mischief in his brown eyes. “Drink all you want, bunny. We’ll be done in a few hours.”

I turn to grin at him as the alcohol jumpstarts my system, but he grips my chin, keeping my face forward as he presses a kiss as gently as possible to my bruise, smoothing his thumb over my jaw before releasing me and disappearing into the crowd. Eyes wide as my fingers brush where his lips just were, Ricky crosses his arms and leans against the opposite counter, grinning.

When my eyes finally manage to find his, I hold up two fingers.

“Two shots of vodka, please.”

His raspy chuckle makes its way to my ears as he turns around with a shake of his head and gets to work.

It isn’t long before I’m buzzed and their band has entered to thundering applause. Teddy takes the stage as effortlessly as he does at the circus, commanding the crowd in a way that is intrinsic; he’s meant to perform, and I feel suddenly blessed to be able to witness someone with such raw talent.

It’s so fucking loud, red lights painting the stage as the guitar, bass, and drums flare to life—the music just as good as if it was a recording. People go insane, jumping into the center right in front of the stage and throwing their bodies and fists and legs to the beat of the music.

But the most spectacular part? It is undoubtedly Teddy’s voice. It is so rich, so much deeper than one would expect, smooth and controlled. I appreciate it on a different level after performing in my school play last year; singing on stage is a feat in and of itself, and to engage with the crowd at the same time and bring so much heart and emotion into each song has me bobbing my head and then standing and cheering with everyone else.

Every song is an original, the lyrics just as dark as I’d expected, but also filled to the brim with metaphors I catch because I have a feeling I know who wrote them. It calls out religion, society, how blind we are to what really happens beneath the surface of the veneer of perfection, and for the first time since working at the damn circus, I feel seen, absolved—free here where no one knows me, where I can dance and sing when I learn the lyrics, and before long I’m raising my drink to the sky, cheering so loud my throat aches and the girls next to me drag me out onto the floor, helping to shove me all the way to the front.

One yells over the music into my ear, “You’re so fucking lucky! He’s so fucking hot!”

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