Page 53 of Whiskey Wednesdays

He groaned, long and low. “Bella–”

I interrupted him. “Since I’m just a lowly fucking PA intern I’ve taken up more than enough of your time. I need to go.”

“That’s not–” I hung up and turned my phone to mute.

When I found out from Dad that Connor had flown out on Sunday afternoon and planned to be gone for a while, I wondered why he never mentioned he was leaving. He also hadn’t asked me to help with Elodie while he was gone.

I’d misjudged his intentions, and I felt stupid and naive. I was just another woman he wanted to screw. And before that, he’d believed I was a felon.

There were enough complications with him being my father’s employer, our age difference, and me leaving in a few months. I resolved again to stay away from him. And mean it this time.

Titus called me a few hours before the party. “Are we still on?”

“Yes. Connor called and ripped me a new one, but we’re still on.”

He was silent for a minute. “You okay?”

“No, but I will be.”

“He called me, too. It was a short conversation.”

I sighed. “What did you say?”

“He told me we’re not having the party. I laughed, told him to fuck off, and then hung up.” He sounded almost bored.

I tried to shake off my foul mood. “My dad dropped off four dozen peanut butter bars. He’s also loaning us a few games. I hope everyone else knows what ‘potluck’ means.”

Titus grunted. “There’ll be a lot of beer and whiskey. And potato chips. I’ll pick up some pizza, but don’t expect too much tonight.”

“Okay.” I just wanted to go for a ride on my longboard, curl up in my bed and read, or maybe cry a little. But this had all been my idea, and I was hell-bent on seeing it through now.

Titus’s home was located in one of the cul de sacs off Palo Fiero Way in the Indian Canyons neighborhood of Palm Springs. It was smaller than Connor’s sprawling estate and didn’t sit on two acres, but I liked it right away. The white garden patio house had a mint green door and mature landscaping full of palm trees and flowering bushes. I could smell lemongrass and sage as we walked up to his front door.

Jackson picked me up. “I forgot to tell you, Rudy let me know two other players are coming with him. So we’re now up to ten.”

“This should be an interesting night.”

He squeezed my arm. “Titus told me Connor is pissed.”

My face flushed in embarrassment. “You guys gossip like middle schoolers.”

“Probably worse. You’re doing a good thing, and I think a lot of players are looking forward to tonight. Some of them don’t know anyone here, and we’re kind of transient.”

Titus opened the door in ripped jeans and a thread bare t-shirt. “You’re early.”

Jackson smirked. “We came to make sure you’d buried all the dead bodies.”

“Kitchen’s that way.” Titus pointed down the hall.

We walked into a bright kitchen with cream quartz countertops and expensive appliances. The kitchen bar looked out onto the pool area and surrounding gardens.

I turned to Titus. “Your home is wonderful. I somehow pictured you living in a cold, sleek, modern condo with a sex dungeon in your spare bedroom.”

“You sound surprised.” He nodded toward the hallway. “The sex dungeon’s down the hall, third door on the left.”

“Okay, I won’t snoop in that room then.”

Two hours later, thirteen players had shown up. Titus was right, most of the players brought either beer, whiskey, or snacks. One player had somehow found ketchup-flavored potato chips, and Jackson told me they were popular in Canada.

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