Page 103 of Love is a Game

With a sigh, I head inside. I barely make it three steps before a security guy blocks my way.

“Can I help you, sir?” He eyes me like I’ve wandered in to steal the complimentary cucumber water.

“I’m picking up my mother and her friends,” I say, trying for patience. “They called for a ride.”

“Guests only beyond this point.”

Geezus. This place takes security more seriously than the Pentagon. I dig for my phone to call Mom or Pen.

“Tuck!”

I look up to find Virginia—Mason’s mom—drifting toward me, cream maxi-dress billowing like she’s sailing in on a personal breeze.

She greets me with a half-hug. “I was just heading home. But the other ladies are still out on the deck…in very high spirits,” she finishes in a conspiratorial whisper.

Fantastic.

Right on cue, a roar of laughter erupts in the distance.

Virginia pats my arm. “They’ve been drinking everything. Champagne, margaritas, espresso martinis…I’d brace yourself.” Then, she must take pity on me. “Want help rallying the troops?” she offers.

Thankfully, her presence helps get me past security, though not without a thorough manual checkover.

From the reception area, the space opens into a sweeping lounge, all polished marble floors, low-lit chandeliers, and plush seating. A long, mahogany bar glows under rows of pendant lights. Beyond it, through open archways, the deck bar spills out onto a terrace, sounds of laughter and clinking glasses carrying on the warm evening air.

A gilded sign near the entrance reads “Private Function”, as if the raucous voices haven’t already made that clear. And Virginia’s reference to “high spirits” doesn’t quite cover it.

They’re draped over the bar, faces flushed with the kind of reckless happiness that comes from a dozen too many cocktails, their voices ringing through the air like a chorus of bad decisions.

I spot Pen, wedged between Vivian and Mia, legs swinging from her barstool, a loose arm flung wide as she spins some story.

Then she looks up—sees me. And for some unknown reason, my mere presence at the doorway sets off a chain reaction of hushed whispers, sidelong glances, and, a second later, raucous laughter.

“Here you are, at last!” Mom wanders forward.

I exhale. “Yep. I was right outside. Like you asked.”

“Oh.” Mom blinks, looking vaguely around. “Yes, best be going home.”

She takes a step, wobbles, and I grab her arm.

“Er—Mom, forget something?”

“I don’t think so.” She frowns, then her eyes widen. “My shoes!”

“Yeah, Mom. Shoes. Also, Vivian and Pen—can you collect all three and meet me outside?”

She nods, then zigzags back to the bar like a pinball bouncing off bumpers.

“Told you.” Virginia folds her arms. “It’s been quite the afternoon.” She gives me a pointed look. “Let’s just hope the only regrets tomorrow are the hangovers since, apparently, they even played some game where they shared their deepest secrets.”

Before I can digest that alarming update, she adds: “At least no emergency rooms are involved this time.”

I shift my feet. Damn. Am I ever gonna live down Mason’s bachelor party debacle?

Then I spot Mom settling back onto a barstool. Shit.

“Virginia, any chance you could help me—”

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