The Player (The Game Maker #3)(22)

“I’m not technically your sister, which means Karin isn’t either.”

“Which means your parents aren’t my parents. And I quite like our parents.”

They were babysitting Cash tonight. “Mom and Dad could be in-law parents. Or you could just be family with no labels.” Like Russian Al, our favorite fence.

“I’ve got enough weird stuff going on in my head. Falling for Karin is the last thing I need to do.”

When he’d first come to live with us, he’d had horrific nightmares, screaming in the middle of the night. I’d started sneaking into his room to sleep on the floor, standing guard against whatever kept scaring him. I’d been too young to realize I couldn’t protect him from his own memories.

He’d gotten so much better, but yeah, I could see why he’d be gun-shy.

“Here we go,” Benji said. “She’s getting him to talk. . . .”

Some highlights from the congressman’s audio reel:

—“I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not even Sheila, God rest her soul.” (BINGO!)

—“My late wife was the only one I’ve ever been with.” (Except for the escort orgy last night.)

—“I’ve had a vasectomy. We can skip the condom.” (Sheila would not appreciate this, Congressman.)

And people wondered why I thought men sucked? Even Karin seemed to be losing patience.

Once she had the mark naked in bed, holding his needle dick, Benji murmured into the mic, “Not much longer now.”

She slinked over in heels to straddle the guy, starting her dirty talk, a script she’d tweaked and polished over the years. You can’t improve on a classic.

Benji directed her. “Move a little to your left. A bit more. Almost got it—there. That shot is worth at least a million. And the video will show his hands shaking. Would you like to see your ‘irate ex-husband’ now?”

Another thumbs-up.

Benji rose and winked at me. “Showtime.”





CHAPTER 10

Music thumped, laser lights pierced the dimly lit club, and scantily clad twentysomethings ground their crotches all around me on the dance floor.

My head was spinning, my body moving to the house tunes.

I loved showing off my tiny black dress. I’d designed the micro-length sheath with a zipper down the front for easy access. The material had hidden writing—“go hard” translated into a half a dozen different languages—that glowed under the black light. My platform high-heeled boots stretched up to the middle of my thighs. I wore glam eye makeup, spike earrings, and a neon choker some random guy had given me.

My hair was free and wild, my good-girl disguise long gone.

I’d had Jell-O shots for dinner—who said they weren’t a food group?—and a vat’s worth of rum and Cokes. Apparently, I was hammered. I’d asked Karin in all seriousness, “If we’re honey traps doing badger games, are we really honey badgers?”

For now, my dance partner was a brown-haired Dane with nice muscles and a Rolex on his beefy wrist.

I already had two other watches in my purse, lifted from a pair of guys who’d negged me, earning their punishment.

I rubbed my nape again. I kept getting that sense of being watched. Maybe a grifter had me in his sights. Ha!

Pete was nearby laughing and dancing with some hunk. Karin sat with Benji in one of the VIP booths. They looped arms and did shots. Toasting the next president?

When we’d first arrived at this club, we’d passed a bachelorette party. Karin had glanced at me to see how I was taking it.

A year ago, she’d thrown me one at the Caly; a week later, I’d walked in on Brett.

Tonight, I’d wanted to shake that bride-to-be, telling her, “Never give a man a wedding ring unless you can be certain he won’t ever take it off.” Spoiler alert: eventually most will.

Really, Brett had saved me the heartache of a divorce.

When my mind turned to heartache, I immediately thought of Dmitri Sevastyan. The guy who couldn’t be bothered to make a single phone call today.

Maybe he had another date. At the thought, jealousy churned inside me. Was I more jealous of Dmitri with some imaginary woman than I’d been with Brett and the reallive showgirl in my own bed?

The answer to that question made me uneasy, so I danced closer to the Dane. He grinned, thinking I was in the bank.

Why shouldn’t I sleep with him? Then again, why should I?

He’s not my key. . . .

I ran my hand over my nape. Damn it, again I felt like I was being watched watched. I peered around the club—

Lost my breath.

Dmitri Sevastyan stood beside the dance floor, his eyes riveted to me. He was dressed to perfection in black slacks and a crisp, blue button-down, but he looked agitated.

How had he found me here? What did he want? He raked his gaze over me, seeming dazed by my appearance. Had he expected the angel from last night?

’Cause she’s gone, baby, gone.

As my hips swayed, Dmitri’s breaths shallowed. Maybe I should show him what he could have gotten if he’d deigned to call me.

I turned to face him, making my moves sensual, as if I danced only for him. Dane took the hint and skulked off with a curse.

In my nearly indecent dress, I raised my hands to play with my hair, then I glided my palms down my front as I worked my hips. My boots had been made for moves like this.