Page 2 of The Games We Play
Let him know who.
I checked my imaginary stopwatch. Three minutes, or damn near it.
With my heart racing and laughter bubbling in my chest, I pushed myself out of the truck and slammed the door with dramatic flair. I didn’t care who heard. In fact, I hoped someone did.
I took off running toward Main Street, boots pounding the pavement, adrenaline fueling every step. I was breathless from laughing before I even spotted them—Theo and Aspen tearing out of the bar, grinning like they’d just robbed a bank.
Without a word, we fell into step, sprinting down the street toward my apartment, a block and a half away. We didn’t talk. We just ran, giggling like teenagers skipping school, the thrill of rebellion stitched into every breath.
When we burst through the vestibule door of my apartment, we collapsed against the wall in a heap of gasps and laughter, our chests heaving, cheeks flushed.
None of us could even speak.
The bell above the flower shop door rang, and we all turned, panting.
Sandy, my landlord, stood in the doorway of Petal Pusher, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched with what could only be described as suspicious amusement.
The smirk tugging at her lips said it all:I know you’re up to no good.
Sandy leaned against the frame of her flower shop, the door half-open behind her, the scent of lavender and roses wafting into the vestibule.
“Well, well, well,” she drawled, that knowing smirk deepening. “Odd time of day for cardio, don’t you think, girls?”
I straightened, trying to act casual, though the laughter was still bubbling in my throat and my hair was sticking to my face in all the wrong places. Theo nudged me in the ribs. Aspen was bent over, hands on her knees, wheezing out a laugh.
“We’re just… really into fitness now,” I said, breathless, trying to wipe the smile off my face and failing miserably.
“Sure you are,” Sandy replied, her eyes twinkling. “Fitness… or fleeing the scene of a crime?”
She stepped out onto the sidewalk, arms crossed over her faded green Petal Pusher apron, and looked each of us up and down like a detective solving her favorite mystery. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a certain trail of pink glitter leading down the sidewalk, would you?”
Aspen snorted.
Theo wheezed, “Coincidence.”
Sandy knew something was up; she always did. I’d tell her, just not right now, because I didn’t want my friends to hearthe real reason I’d roped them into glittering Mac’s truck on a random Sunday.
I was lucky for the kind of friends I had, willing to show up and commit some questionable acts because I needed them.
That was what mattered most, not some bartender who used my heart like a cat toy and then didn’t have the balls to even apologize for it.
1
PENNY
OCTOBER. SEVEN MONTHS AGO.
Ipressed my lips together, smoothing out the soft pink lipstick before parting them slightly. With a practiced motion, I ran a fingertip along the edges, wiping away any color that might have bled past the lines. I let out a slow breath and took one last lingering glance in the mirror.
From the bathroom speaker, the familiar twang of “Why Don’t We Just Dance” by Josh Turner filled the space—a staple in my getting-ready playlist.
Music had always been woven into my routine, a constant in the background of my life. Whether I was showering, getting dressed, cooking—hell or even cleaning—there was always a melody playing, filling the silence and keeping me company.
I lived alone, which meant the quiet could be deafening if I let it settle too long. I hated the stillness, the way it made the world feel too big, too empty. So, I filled it with music and conversation, even if it was just me talking to myself.
Some might call me a chatterbox, maybe even annoying, but I’d long since let go of the need to change myself for anyone. I liked who I was, and if that meant filling a quiet house with sound, then so be it.
Tonight, I was heading to Cassidy Ranch for a Halloween party, and my costume? A sexy kitten. Fitting, if I said so myself.
