Page 6 of Tempt

His face tightens up. “Is that what it was to you? Some kind of game?”

“Of course. And it was for you, too. Obviously, with your ‘I’m Sam. Sam Preston,’nonsense.”

His eyes flick to the window, to the now more chaotic snow and the darkness beyond. When he looks back, his smile is more familiar. Rueful.

Boyish, like I remember it from ten years ago.

2

Sam

Ten years earlier

“What up, Preston?”

I barely have the door open to my apartment when the guys shoulder their way in. Some of them, anyway. Not the whole crew.

I’ve been pissing people off lately, so when I put out the blast that I want to go out and get wasted tonight, I didn’t know who would show.

Frankly, I don’t give a fuck who’s up for it or not.

Regan has a new boyfriend. Her prerogative. Good for her. All I need to do is get laid tonight and everything will be right with the world again.

Go and find Hazel in the library.No, not that.

Pursuing Regan’s best friend is a bad idea. The worst.

The hottest, too.

Hazel with the knowing eyes and the wet little mouth. Hazel with the filthy jokes.

Which is why I need drinks tonight, and a lot of them. Because if I’m sober, I won’t be able to shut down my brain, the obnoxious part of it that thinks and spins and calculates the odds until I can figure out how to bend them in my favour.

I can wear Hazel down. Of course I can. She’s a dirty girl, deep down, and nobody else knows that about her. I’m the only one who knows her secret. I don’t even fucking know how I know that, but I do. I see her. We’re more alike that Hazel would like.

That’s how I know.

She’s me, only not fucked up. She’s me, without the cards and booze and the money.

She’s me, except she likes herself.

I grab the bottle of Jack off the counter. “This is what’s up, motherfuckers. We are almost at the end of our collegiate careers, you jackoffs. We are going to celebrate tonight.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Fuck yeah.The motto to my entire university career. And if I get out of it alive, it’ll be a fucking miracle. I pour a round of shots, welcoming the familiar burn.

One more term. Five more C+ papers, five more exams, and a passing attendance record, and I’ll have the degree I need to access my trust fund. One more term, and I never need to speak to my parents again. Don’t need to play their games.

Dark, bitter thoughts swirl through my head, and I chase them away with another shot of Jack.

We hita club just south of campus, close enough it’s more students than anyone else. I want to cut loose, I want to find some pussy. Those are my goals. But when I walk through the doors and I see a couple of guys who were a few years behind me at St. Mike’s, guys I know have money to burn, I can’t help the networker inside me.

“I’ll catch up to you at the bar,” I say to my friends, then swing wide to the second years clustered around a table. “Dylan, nice to see you, man.” I take his hand, shaking it whether he wants to or not. Then I sling my arm around the neck of the guy next to him, whose name I cannot remember for the life of me, but I’m pretty sure I fucked his sister at her homecoming dance. She was not my date. It didn’t matter. “Everyone having a good time tonight?”

I’m looking for a couple of things in a conversation like this. Recognition is key. If they don’t know who I am and what kind of games I organize, I’m not going to tell them. My reputation is king. The rule is, I’m a nice guy. Approachable, friendly. But my games are hard to get into, and people need to ask.

Repeatedly.

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