Page 62 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

“He was walking me back to my room.”

“I bet he was. Just tell me one thing: did you win our bet?”

I plop down on a couch. “You know what? I’m going to forfeit the bet. You win.”

“Wow,” he says, sitting down next to me and patting my leg. “You did win. I’m proud of you. Any pictures?”

“Shut up,” I say, shoving his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, but I think we should talk about it.” He strokes his beard as looks at me. “Hmm. I think you really won. Sex?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Wow, look at carefree Raine go,” he says, grinning. “I’m just as proud as I can be—”

“Excuse me.” We both look up as a porter closes in on us. “Do you know who Sophie Banks is? I’m supposed to give her this note.”

“She’s going to see her later today,” Butch says, nodding to me. “She’ll deliver it.”

“No.” The porter pulls the note away from him. “I’m supposed to give the note directly to Miss Banks. No one else is supposed to see it.”

“Butch, quit being funny,” I say, standing up. “I’m Sophie Banks.”

The porter takes a step back. “They told me Miss Banks was tall and blonde. You’re short with dark hair.”

“You know, I tried the whole blonde thing. It didn’t work for me,” I say, shrugging. “And tall is a matter of perspective. I’m Sophie Banks.”

He starts to walk away. “I don’t think so—”

“Butch.”

Butch jumps up, grabs the porter by the neck, and shoves him behind a wall of plants. He snatches the note out of his hand and gives it to me.

“Never doubt the word of a lady,” Butch snarls as the porter grimaces from the pressure on his neck. “Are we done with him?”

“No, but don’t break his neck,” I say, smiling at the porter. “Yet.”

I rip the envelope open. The message is written in capital, block letters—like an old-time ransom note.

* * *

SEB’S CHEATING ON YOU.

HE HAS BEEN FROM THE START.

* * *

I turn the note toward Butch.

“Naw,” he says. “I’ve only known him for a day, but he doesn’t seem like the type at all. And it looks like a five-year-old wrote that.”

“Who gave you this note?” I say, looking back at the porter.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look.”

His face twists up as Butch increases the pressure on his neck again.

“Was it a man or a woman?”

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