Page 19 of Playing for Keeps

She turned her face to me as she grabbed a bottle of wine out of the fridge, her eyes sparkling, nose scrunched up, and her bottom lip between her teeth. “I want to know everything.”

As I plopped down on the couch, the sudden chill that raced through me reminded me of the biker outside. I leaned over the back of the couch and looked out the window, down to the front of the building where I stood with Aaron minutes ago. The street lights shined through the haze of rain still beating down on the world, their amber glow dim in the darkness. The biker was no longer where he sat before. But as I dragged my eyes back down the street, I spotted the dark figure. He sat astride his bike, a black blot on the darkened street, head turned up to the sky, water beating down upon him. A shiver coursed through me as my eyes locked upon him and I imagined he was looking back at me.

“Jen? You okay?”

Startled, I glanced over my shoulder. Kelly held a glass of wine in one hand and a tub of caramel ice cream and a spoon in the other.

“Yeah, I just...”

I looked back out the window, but the motorcycle and its driver were gone. I forced a smile and turned back to Kelly, grabbing my favorite ice cream from her outstretched hand. Plopping down on the couch, I tucked my foot underneath my butt and pointed my spoon at Kelly.

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her head tipped to the side and a thin, red wine mustache across her upper lip.

“You need to tell me about Aaron.”

5

Vinny

Warm water rushed down my head and back, easing my aching muscles but doing nothing for the ball of tension in my gut. I’d worked on this for months, wanted it for longer, and it might all have been for nothing. I clenched my fists and fought the urge to pound one into the wall. Instead, I slammed my hand down on the handle to turn off the water and pulled my head off the cool tile.

My phone rang before I had both feet out of the shower. I grabbed my towel out of the warmer and scrubbed down my hair before snatching my headset off the counter and fitting it to my ear. I didn’t need to see my phone to know who it was.

“You’re late.” Ford’s voice cut through without me speaking a word.

“I know. I’m sorry, something came up.”

“Yeah!” Butterman whooped into the phone. “Way to go, pretty boy!”

I stood in my closet door, my towel hanging from my hand, my head against the door jamb, water dripping off my body and onto the plush gray carpet at my feet. My lack of response, the tapping of my forehead against the door frame, didn’t go unnoticed.

“What happened, Arthur?” Thatcher’s deep tenor rumbled across the line.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. I pulled my head up and grabbed a clean pair of jeans off the hanger closest to me.

“Vinny—”

“Don’t freaking call me that, Will,” I bit out, my tone fierce, before I could stop myself. I grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked as I bent over, my head between my knees. I tried again, calmer this time. “Just... drop it, okay?”

Angel’s voice called out to me, the pitch higher than the rest of the guys, the tone soothing to the storm raging inside my head. “First day didn’t go so well?”

“First day went to hell,” I muttered as I slid my still-wet legs into my jeans. I ran the towel over my head, then my upper body, before hanging it up on the towel rack.

The guys gave me the silence I needed as I padded into my spare room and sat at my desk. My five monitors came to life when I touched my mouse, a picture of me, my sister, and her boyfriend flashing before my eyes before the monitors went black. A green cursor blinked in the upper left corner of the middle screen. I typed in my passcode and our game came alive.

Ford, Butterman, Angel, and Thatcher stood before me, their avatars every shade of green and blue and red. Monsters to make up for the men they were.

“Ready?” I asked, though it was unnecessary. I was late. They’d been waiting on me.

They all mumbled in the affirmative. I typed the code and the monsters faded. The screen split, their faces filling a monitor each, the middle one black and waiting.

A few more keystrokes and a picture popped up on the screen.

“You got ‘em?” Ford asked, his voice laced with both anticipation and dread.

“Got more than just pics,” I replied. “These are just the stills from the PI.” I scrolled through the pictures, reminding myself to go slow, but not too slow. It was Ford’s ex-wife in them. He’d want to see them, but he wouldn’t.