Page 37 of Wicked Little Game
It also filled with the numbers of men who would pay to fly me out of the country, men who would probably wear the fucking bracelet if it got them my attention and my body in return.
Unfortunately, I only want Samuels’ attention, and he doesn’t want the bracelet or my body. It would be funny if it wasn’t messing with my self-imposed rules so much.
No feelings.
No relationships.
No commitment.
Not until I find a way to bring at least a continent between me and my father. And get a new identity, preferably.
I throw my phone to my left and decide that I’m just going to sleep for a few more hours until the remaining alcohol leaves my system.
When I wake up again, it’s early evening, judging by the golden light that comes through my blinds. If Sam knocked on my door in the past few hours, I didn’t hear it. But maybe he’s just avoiding me. I wouldn’t hold it against him after last night.
My organs feel like they are trying to form an intricate knot inside of me as I get ready to leave my room. Going downstairs means having to see Sam, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I don’t know how to act around him now.What started as a dirty little game where I clearly had the lead is now more of a ruined checkerboard, the pieces tumbled over.
Sam must have heard me leave my room, and just as I put a few mozzarella sticks in the oven, he comes down the stairs.
I smile at him, even though I don’t feel like it.
Muscle memory when you have to cover your emotions up for years. My father doesn’t like to see me sad, he doesn’t like to see anyone sad and says that it ruinshismood.
Men don’t like women with a frown on their face, honey.
“Smile, Ruby, looks better.”
I must have been around five or six. Came running to him after a few kids had pushed me around while we were at a country club. One of them also ripped off a necklace I got from my mom. Instead of scolding the other kids, or consoling me, my father just wiped away my tears with the arm of his jacket, looked at my bloodied knees with disgust, and handed me a hundred-dollar bill.
Not even an hour later, those asshole kids beat me up some more, and they took the money, but hey, at least I smiled through it.
One of his men, Vinny, was nice enough to teach me basic self-defense after that. My father was happy that someone else was watching over me and didn’t care that his daughter was under the watch of literal criminals.
And my mom, well, she fought her own battles.
“Hey,” I say as I look at Samuel. I wish I also had a black balaclava right now that hides my expression. I don’t want to flee the situation, partly because of my mozzarella sticks, but also because I want to act like a responsible adult for once, addressing the elephant in the room.
“Let’s just forget about last night, okay? Forget about what I said about you sleeping in my room, forget what I said about the bracelets. I was just drunk. You’re mybodyguard, you get paid to look after me. It’s nothing more than that.”
Lie after lie, but maybe I’ll believe them if I say them out loud. I’m still proud that I said all of this with a smile on my face.
“Alright.”
That’s it, that’s all he has to say about the situation. I don’t know what I expected, but certainly a bit more thanalright.
“There are mozzarella sticks in the oven if you want them. Should be done in around ten minutes,” I mumble as I walk past him, suddenly not hungry anymore.
“We can still, you know—no strings attached.”
Thinking before talking, Ruby, but now it’s too late for that.
Samuel puts his hand on my shoulder, and I resist the urge to swat it away. I’m standing on the stairs and I think this is one of the rare occasions where we’re almost the same height. It’s weird to look at him like that while we talk.
I realize I can see his eyes properly for the first time. They are olive green, with lighter specks that look almost golden if the light shines on them at a certain angle. It’s a shame that the last thing I want to do right now is get lost in them.
“Ruby, we shouldn’t repeat any of that. Last night was a mistake. Not only last night, you know what I mean,” he says, looking down.
“Fine.” It hurts, and a part of me thinks I deserve to hear this. The other part is slightly pissed, though.
