Devil's Game(62)

Kit had always been that—ruthlessly making her own path, oblivious to other opinions. I loved it.

I loved her, too.

“I love you,” I told her, catching her up in a hug. She giggled.

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you!”

“Not drunk enough,” she countered. “Get me a vodka Red Bull, okay? I’m going to hit the powder room.”

I waited for our drinks, musing about my sister and her unique view of life. Powder room, for f*ck’s sake? Who says that? Somehow it was all part of that vintage persona, and on her it didn’t seem artificial at all.

Quite the accomplishment, really.

I got the drinks and found a table in the back. The top was a little sticky, as was the padded bench against the wall. I couldn’t see much in the dim light, though, and that was probably a good thing. When it comes to sticky in a bar, spilled drinks are sort of the best-case scenario.

My phone buzzed.

PAINTER: How’s Portland?



Yeah, right. Like I wanted to talk to f*cking Painter. I picked up my drink and chugged it down fast.

Kit slid in next to me, eyes wide.

“Are we not a happy camper?” she asked. I slid my phone over to her and she picked it up, studying the message. “Ah, the amazing Painter.”

Then she started typing. It took me a minute to realize what she was doing. I lunged for the phone and she laughed, hitting send.

“You bitch!” I yelled. She laughed and gave it back to me.

ME: Figure it out, dumbass. You blew it, and now I’ll never blow you.



“Wow, that’s cold,” I said, impressed. “He’s gonna be really pissed at me.”

“You found him f*cking a girl in the bathroom right after he turned you down,” she said bluntly. “He doesn’t get to be pissed. Ever. And what do you care? You’re done with him.”

“Yeah, but I still have to see him around when I go home.”

“So what?” she asked. “It’s like your head is still in Coeur d’Alene. You live in Portland now, babe. Bottoms up!”

She passed her drink over to me, and I chugged that one, too.

“I think I’m drunk,” I said after a couple minutes. She leaned forward, looking deep into my eyes like a fortune-teller.

“Really drunk, or just mostly?”

“Mostly,” I replied. “But definitely not sober.”

“Excellent,” she declared. “Now we’re going to talk about Liam.”

I swayed.

“I never should have told you about him.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But you did, so that’s a done deal. Have you heard from him at all since that night?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know if that pisses me off or not. I mean, it was all lies. I know that. But I still sort of miss him. How f*cked up is that?”

She cocked her head, thinking.

“Pretty f*cked up. But that’s how it is when you break up with someone.”

“You have to be with someone before you can break up with them.”

Kit started laughing.

“What?”

“You and Liam—Hunter—whatever we want to call him … You guys definitely had a relationship. You talked every day for weeks. You had phone sex with him and you pretty much had real sex with him, even if he didn’t literally stick his dick in you. He screwed you over and then he came to visit you and let you know you were safe. That’s more of a relationship than I had with that dumbass I got engaged to. Well, except for the sex part. We had more of that. But my point is, you broke up with someone. Of course you’re gonna be thinking about him.”

I considered her words. She had a good point.

“You know, that actually makes me feel a little better,” I said. “Less like I’m crazy.”

“So have you stalked him online since it happened?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said. Duh. “I mean, I looked at his house and stuff on Google. Went through his wallet. I already told you about the panties and shit. But there’s not much to find. His profile is gone and I can’t find anything else on him. I have no idea how much of what I knew of him was real.”

“This is going to take more alcohol,” she said, surveying our empty glasses.

I considered her statement, then nodded gravely.