Page 20 of Twisted Little Game

I glance around the dining hall, trying to locate his blond hair. But the crowd is thick with students milling around, and I don’t see him anywhere.

I get up and do a loop around the large hall.

He’s not in line at any of the food stations. I duck into the bathrooms, checking that all of them are empty.

I knew any distraction would be too much.

I was lulled into a routine, but I should have fucking known.

I get another text, yanking my phone out of my pocket.

Blondin

Miss me yet?

Roman

Tell me where you are.

It’s not like you can tail me 24/7 to begin with. Don’t you have your own classes? And… sleep?

I skipped those for a couple of days to learn your schedule.

Dedication.

Tell me where you are.

You fucking know I’m not in danger, Roman. Why do you care? You’re just upset I finally slipped away, and you didn’t catch it.

Correct.

You’ll find me eventually. Promise.

I stride fast back to my own table.

I need to grab my jacket and leave, and I don’t know Tate well enough yet to know where the hell he might go right now.

But when I get back, I know I’ve been played.

My chest tightens and I slow down as I approach.

Tate is sitting at my table now. He has a black snapback baseball hat on, covering up his blond hair, and he must have purposely worn it when walking around to hide his most noticeable feature from me.

He looks up at me with a satisfied gaze as he cocks his head to one side.

“Not that good of a watchdog, are you?”

I stand over the booth for a moment. Tate picks up my fork, spearing a chunk of my pineapple and putting it in his mouth.

I once saw my father slice a man’s throat for taking a third serving of flank steak at a dinner.

You could not survive an hour in my life.

I slide into the booth across from Tate, nodding.

“You know this is a buffet?” I tell him. “Go get your own food.”

He ignores me, taking another piece.