Read Wicked Game for Free Online Page B

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    “Problem was,” he continues, “the parents usually paid for the weddings, so I also got a rep for being difficult.”
    “I can’t imagine you in a tux.”
    “Neither could I, which didn’t help.”
    We stop to sit on a bench in front of the library, where hedges and trees curve around pebblestone paths to form a little park. During the day homeless people hang out here while the shelter is closed, but right now the park is empty.
    “So what is it with bachelorette parties?” Shane asks.
    “You mean why do otherwise decent women turn into complete ho-bags? Because it’s their last chance to be bad, and for some it’s their first chance.”
    He makes a skeptical noise. “I’ve seen bridal narcissism from every angle. My sister made our dad take out a third mortgage to give her the same kind of wedding all her rich college friends had. It was bizarre, because otherwise she was so down-to-earth.”
    I catch the verb tense. “
Was
down-to-earth? Is she— still around?”
    “She’s alive, if that’s what you mean.” He creases the fold of the liquor store’s paper bag. “I just don’t see her anymore.”
    I give him a moment to elaborate, which he doesn’t. “Is your family in Youngstown?”
    “As far as I know.”
    “But you don’t talk to them.”
    He rests his elbow on the back of the bench, in a studiously casual pose. “I could explain, but you’d laugh.”
    “The vampire thing again?”
    He sets down the bag and shifts to face me. The tree beside us casts him in shadow, but his pale blue eyes seem to burn into mine. I recall the alleged power of a vampire’s gaze.
    Glancing away would make me superstitious, so I don’t. I narrow my eyes, challenging him. He just keeps staring.
    “I don’t know what you think you’re ...” My voice fades. I forget what I was going to say. It doesn’t matter. Slowly my face goes slack and my vision blurs, but I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it. I want to sit here forever.
    Shane leans forward and dips his head close to mine. My skin heats, and my hand reaches for the edge of his shirt to pull him closer.
    “Someone’s coming,” he whispers.
    “There she is!” screeches a voice behind me.
    I blink hard, then turn to see Jolene and a posse of Bridesmaids 2B. They stalk down the middle of the empty street, almost in formation, like Sharks preying on a lone Jet.
    Swiftly and without a sound, Shane moves to stand between me and the small-town gangsta-ettes.
    I scramble off the bench. “I can defend myself.”
    “Against nine of them?”
    “What could they possibly—holy crap!”
    Jolene wields a serrated knife, which I recognize as the one Lori uses to slice bar fruit. Chocolate still stains her wet tank top.
    I turn to Shane. “Let me do the talking instead of your testosterone. I don’t want to start anything that’ll involve blood and prison bars.”
    He crosses his arms and stands with feet apart. “I’m here if you need me.”
    They stop in front of us. The bridesmaids copy Shane’s defensive stance. I wonder if they’re also packing bar-accessory weapons, like ice tongs or double jiggers. I wouldn’t want to get whapped with a cocktail strainer.
    Jolene gestures with the knife. “You ruined my bach-elorette party. You’re going to pay, all of you.”
    “I said I was sorry. What do you want from me?”
    “I want your shirt.”
    My favorite red top? Fuck that. “It won’t fit,” I tell her.
    She advances on me. “What do you mean, it won’t fit?”
    “It won’t fit you because I’m too—” Dissimilar to a heifer. “—flat-chested.”
    Jolene examines my figure, doubt tingeing her eyes. “Give it to me anyway!” She brandishes the knife again, with less conviction.
    “Give me yours. We’ll trade.”
    She clutches the hem of her tank top. “But my best friend made this for me.”
    “I’ll mail it back to you tomorrow.”
    “Why should I trust you?”
    “You know where I work.” I hope Shane isn’t