Page 1 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

PROLOGUE

Jules

When I’m on my deathbed, I wonder if I’ll look back on tonight as the most embarrassing night of my life. Turning up in costume to a party that your best friend-slash-roommatetoldyou was a costume party shouldn’t be embarrassing. In fact, if this actuallyhadbeen a costume party, I’m pretty sure I would have gotten a medal, or at least been crowned queen.

Because I’ve gone all out.

All. Out.

Sadly, this party is just a regular party and I’m the only one in a costume.

It isn’tslightlyembarrassing. Unlike my roommate, I can’t take off my top hat and jacket and voila, I’m no longer a ringmaster from the circus, just someone who’s a little overdressed. Nope, that honor goes to Sophia. And I’m not in a costume that at least makes me look hot, a la Bridget Jones dressed up as a Playboy bunny. Nope. I’m dressed asMystique from the X-Men. Not the hot-as-fuck movie Mystique, either. I’m the comic-book version: less hot but more authentic.

With my long white dress—slits to my thighs on either side, of course—long white gloves and a circle of small skulls as my belt, I might have been able to get away with, “This isn’t a costume, I’m just an eccentric dresser,” but I’mblue. Blue and overly proud of my belt. I made it myself. In a city where you can find almost anything, four-inch skulls proved difficult. But as the saying goes,Ask and you shall receive.Especially when you ask the Internet. Specifically, www.skullsdirect.co.uk. I had to get the goddamn things shipped from the UK, but my skull belt does not disappoint.

All to say, I’m not just embarrassed—I’m pissed. So much of my effort has gone to waste. New York isn’t really a costume party place. In fact, this was supposed to be my first-ever adult costume party and call me pathetic, but I’ve been excited.

If it wasn’t for Sophia, I would have fled as soon as I realized it wasn’t a costume party. But she’s here to accidently bump into a guy she works with, who she’s convinced is the love of her life, so I have to stick around. I stand on my tiptoes to see if she’s heading back with our drinks or if I’ve been abandoned.

She owes me for this.

“You thought this was a fancy dress party?” a male British voice says from behind me.

I spin around and have to tilt back my head to see his face. The guy in front of me looks like he just woke up. His hair is a mess of disobedient brown curls that fall over his eyes. He’s got a sexy smile that makes me feel like we’re both in on a joke.

“Fancy what?” I ask.

He nods at me. “You’re dressed as Mystique. Comic-book Mystique though. I like the belt. Very authentic.”

I bite back a smile, but I’m secretly impressed that he knows who I’m supposed to be. “Comic-book nerd, huh?”

He shrugs. “I had a minor Mystique obsession when I was younger.”

I sigh. “Me too.”

“You’re the first girl I’ve met who’s into comics.”

“Woman. I’m the first woman you’ve ever met. And anyway, I’m not. Not anymore.” My dad left a few comics behind when he bailed on us for the last time. When I found them, I stashed them under my bed and pulled them out occasionally. Mystique was the only character who stuck in my brain. She was hot and fierce and powerful and everything I wanted to feel when I read those comics, wondering if my dad realized he’d left them behind. If he cared as little for those colorful stories as he did for me. “Are you one of those guys who spends all his disposable income tracking down and finding rare editions?”

He grins at me and there’s a corresponding clunk in my chest, like his smile just unbolted something in me. “I’m not. Although that sounds like fun.” Our gazes lock and I exhale, feeling a little more relaxed than I have since our arrival.

“If this had been a costume party, what would you have come as?” I ask him.

“Ahhh, good question.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine and it takes everything I have not to shiver. “Maybe Wolverine? He and Mystique were friends for a while, weren’t they?”

Friendsfor a while? What does that mean? I shrug. “I can’t remember,” I say. But I know Wolverine and Mystique weren’t friends. Not in any of the comics my dad left. Mystique didn’t have any friends in the comics I had.

“Maybe Batman,” he says. “I can see some crossoverpotential.” He grins, and I focus on his teeth and how perfectly white and straight they are. His lips look pillowy soft. A Batman mask would frame his mouth beautifully.

Before I can stop it, a small laugh escapes. “Crossover potential?” I ask.

“I think Batman could tame Mystique,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Tame her?”

“She just needs to be loved,” he says, and there’s that grin again.

“That’s how you see her?”

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