Page 33 of Cruel Pleasures
“I’m not innocent?—”
“Should I feel guilty for imagining all the things that come after midnight?”
My skin heats up at once. “I don’t know how to take you. If you’re joking.”
“We’re not about to watch a fucking performance of My Fair Lady. If last night was too much for you, perhaps it’s best you leave now. Run home to Grandpa. It might be safer that way.”
Yet he hasn’t let me go. He’s made no attempt to allow me to escape.
He’s kept me pinned at his side as though he won’t allow for anything else.
My belly flips, uncertain how to interpret his words and actions. I’m not sure I know what to think of anything that’s happened tonight. I’ve uncovered no answers and am no closer to any of my goals…
My gaze catches Talia Weinberg as she and Nolan huddle close in a nook down the hall. Nolan seems indifferent to the crowd of people passing them by. Talia’s rosy-cheeked and giggly as she smiles at me and then returns to fingering the buttons on Nolan’s shirt.
Last night he couldn’t stand her. He’d talked to her like she was a nuisance.
Archer notices me watching as we pass them by. He whispers into my ear, “In case you haven’t heard, Talia Weinberg is desperate for affection. She’ll fuck any man that’ll have her.”
“This isn’t my usual circle.”
“Med school,” he says knowingly. His hand slips around to give my hip a startling squeeze. His whisper turns raspier. “It’s for the best I’ve taken you under my wing. Stick with me and I’ll teach you everything you need to know, minx.”
The sexual charge between us is intensified by the insinuation in his words.
We take our seats among the others in the shadowy theater. The excitement buzzing in the air dies down as the giant wall of black glass lights up to reveal something of an obstacle course.
The players appear, herded onto the scene by the wardens. Most of them glance around, their brows lined with confusion, drinking in the various obstacles laid out before them.
The Hostess hasn’t made it easy to make it to the end. There’s no shortage of obstacles to get past.
The players seem to realize this too as they’re prodded along to the numbered lane that’s been designated theirs.
My gaze lifts from where they’re lining up to the rest of the course. They’ll first be confronted by a thick wall that must be eight feet high. They’ll have to climb over before being faced with some kind of netting over a giant sand pit. The course transitions into a pool and stepping stones they must cross to get to the other end.
Several other obstacles later, there’s a stretch of grass with cages on either side. At the very end finally seems to be the finish line.
I lean closer to Archer until our arms touch on the armrest, and a warm current passes through me. Sensing I’m about to ask a question, he cuts me a sideways glance and says, “Yes, minx?”
“Do they move on to the next round if they make it to the end?”
“Yes,” he answers. “If.”
His ominous short word answer ties another knot in my stomach.
Jerome comes over the mic to announce the beginning of round one. He welcomes the theater room of society members and then explains that the twenty-two players will have to cross each obstacle if they wish to make it to the second round.
A bell chimes and they take off at different paces.
Players like seven and eleven run ahead of the pack and make quick work of the wall. Others like four, seventeen, and twenty-one hang back and assess their options. Attempting to test the waters, player twenty-one squeezes himself through the crevice between the wall and the obstacle course’s border.
He slips through to applause from the theater. Quincy Mercer yells, “That’s my player! I bet six figures on him!”
But Quincy celebrates too soon.
No more than five seconds pass before player twenty-one discovers the grave mistake he’s made. He’s rushing toward the netted sand pit when there’s a pop, and then he’s tumbling down to the ground.
I jump in my seat, startled by the sound.
