Page 32 of Wicked Little Game
“I’m not judging. I’d drive you anywhere, you know that.”
I curse under my breath as I yank on the band of my left shoe that won’t close properly. Must be the nerves causing my hands to be slightly sweaty, making it even harder to close those damn things.
The last time I was out partying was a long time ago, more than a year, if I had to guess. Apart from my nervousness, there’s another feeling, slithering around inside of me like a snake right behind my chest. Remorse, for lying to Samuel and sneaking out behind his back.
I never felt bad for lying to the bodyguards. Never felt bad for sneaking out, never felt sorry when I heard them getting yelled at by my father. I missed them for a day or two after they were gone, but that feeling usually vanished as soon as the next one stood in front of my door.
Thinking about Samuel leaving causes my stomach to drop. It gives me the reassurance I need that I should use this night to get my feelings back under control. As we turn onto Woodland Street and I see the line in front of the club, I almost want to tell Dom to drive me back home.
He hugs me goodbye before he lets me out of the car right in front of the entrance of The Red Room and I feel how some people in line glare at me as I walk up to the bouncers. They wear black surgical masks, just like Samuel did at themall. One of them holds the door open for me and I hurry into the club.
The music vibrates through my body as I walk down the sticky stairs. I don’t remember this place being so dirty. I pull down my skirt as I reach the end of the staircase, looking towards the guy behind the bar who almost drops the shaker he’s holding as he sees me.
“Ruby?” Jonah yells my name, rushing to prepare a daiquiri for me. Glad to see that he still knows what I like.
He started working at The Red Room around the time I started going to university and Sarah, Brian and I came here every weekend. I spent hours sitting at the bar to talk to Jonah, even helped him clean up after his shift a few times.
I would call Jonah a friend, but if the last year taught me anything, then that I shouldn’t get attached to people too much. That’s why I didn’t reach out to him even if I have his number, and the order to call him whenever I need anything.
“I almost messaged you when I saw Brian and his entourage walk in here but I was afraid that you’d block me if I did as much as mention his name,” he says with a frown on his face as he shoves my cocktail towards me.
As if on cue, I hear the high-pitched giggles of the girls that probably surround Brian. It’s not that I’m jealous or anything remotely close to that, more the opposite. Whoever wants this possessive, whiny, manipulative man-child can gladly have him.
I’m just—I don’t know what my goddamn problem is.
Ever since Sam started working as my bodyguard, my brain is all wonky and it seems like not even the copious amounts of makeup on my face can hide what goes on inside my head.
Jonah pours two glasses of tequila, one for him and one for me. My face contorts slightly as I down the liquid, following it with a hefty gulp of my daiquiri to get rid of the taste.
Why don’t they make sweet tequila, I wonder while I gather the emotional strength to walk over to the VIP area. This is why I came here after all.
What exactly I’m hoping for is still unclear and I try not to think too much about it. A fight, an apology? Maybe both.
“Ehm, hi, Ruby—” Brian stammers as he sees me walking up to him, his arms around the girl on his lap going lax. The girl who I realize is Sarah, what a goddamn funny coincidence.
I smile at him, even though it feels like someone is sitting in my head and pulling at my lips. I need more tequila.
Sarah glares at me before she gets herself together. She jumps up from Brian's lap, hugging me tightly.
“You look so pretty, I missed you so much,” she says in that voice we all use when we want to sayfuck youwithout saying fuck you.
A flock of other girls gathers around us, chiming in to say how I should join them more often and I don’t even know half of them. Or maybe I do, I don’t know. Their fake friendliness is palpable and I hate to admit it, but I would rather sit on the couch with Samuel and watch James Bond shoot someone with a pen instead of being here right now. God, I’m really getting old.
Brian's expression is the only good thing right now, something between pure horror, regret, and want, and it admittedly fuels my ego a bit, especially after two more shots and the rest of my cocktail.
But what goes in has to go out eventually, so I make my way over to the bathrooms. I spend at least ten minutes in the booth, trying to collect my thoughts, my fingers hovering over Dom’s contact info as I contemplate calling him to pick me up and drive me home again.
Whatever kept me in my little hideout must have been fate, because suddenly Sarah’s voice fills the bathroom.Shrill and pissed, audible even over the music that’s blaring through the doors.
“Why the fuck is she here? Acting like a damned recluse for the past few months and now she’s going out again? Fucking tonight?”
The other girls that must have come in here with her try to calm her down, but it looks like they don’t know her that well. I do. That’s why I know this hysterical fit is far from over.
“Bet she wants to get Brian back. Did you see how she looked at him?”
I have a hard time suppressing the snort that threatens to leave me. I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than get back together with Brian. Something clicks outside of my stall and Sarah is silent for a few seconds. Some things never change and that apparently also goes for Sarah and cocaine.
I wonder where she’s getting her stuff now that she’s no longer able to annoy me to bring her stuff from one of my father’s warehouses. For free, of course. Becausebest friendsdon’t take money from you, according to Sarah.
