I lean back, needing distance between us, but his scent—cedar and something distinctly him—lingers.
“Jealous?” I force a laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “Of what exactly?”
His mouth curves into that infuriating half-smile. “You tell me.”
Before I can choke out something that won't end with my fists in his face or me on it, Lucinda barrels through the doorway, arms wrapped around a beaten-to-shit Monopoly box. Camille glides in after her, trailing behind Parker.
“Game night!” Luce announces, setting the box down on the coffee table with theatrical flair. “I found this in one of the closets upstairs.”
Atlas groans from his position sprawled across an armchair. “Really? We're doing board games?”
“It's tradition,” Punk pipes up, settling cross-legged on the floor. “Ivy always insists on it when we're together.”
Asher shifts beside me, his thigh brushing mine as he reaches for his drink. “Course she does. Can't stand not being in control of something.”
I turn to stare at him, but he's already looking away, accepting the Monopoly pieces Luce is distributing. His dismissal stings more than it should.
“I like to win,” I snap, eyes narrowed on his ridiculously sharp jaw.
“There's a difference?” He selects the top hat without looking at me.
Parker settles onto the opposite sofa with Camille.
“Ivy's competitive streak is legendary. You should see her play poker.” Luce grins, and I want to kick her for not helping deflect the attention away from me.
“I bet,” Asher answers with obvious sarcasm.
Luce catches my eye across the board, her expression questioning. I shake my head, hoping she'll drop whatever intervention she's planning.
“So what's the buy-in?” Atlas asks, already counting out his Monopoly money.
“Pride,” I say, finding my voice again. “Winner gets bragging rights until next year.”
Camille laughs, the sound light. “How quaint. Back home, we usually play for actual stakes.”
“Where's home?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Beverly Hills.” She adjusts her position against Parker, diamond engagement ring catching the firelight. “My family owns a few hotels there.”
Of course they do. I roll the dice harder than necessary, the plastic clattering against the board.
“Careful there, Venom,” Asher murmurs from behind his glass, using the nickname that sends an unwelcome thrill through me. “Don't want to break something.”
His words carry a double meaning that makes my stomach clench. I meet his gaze over my shoulder, searching for some trace of the man who used to text me at midnight to see if I was awake, who drove me to coffee shops at dawn because he knew I couldn't sleep.
Instead, I find a stranger wearing his face.
He must sense my annoyance, because he rolls his eyes and moves to the other sofa, lowering beside Camille.
“My turn,” Camille says brightly, reaching for the dice. As she leans forward, her hand touches Asher's arm, a casual gesture that shouldn't matter but somehow does.
A couple of hours later, Camille lands on one of my properties, bankrupting her.
She laughs, tossing her last dollar into the middle. “I have to say, real estate is so much more thrilling when the properties exist.”
She drapes herself over Asher's shoulder, fingers tracing the ink on his forearm. “Isn't that right, baby? Remember when I helped close your house in Malibu?”
My whiskey finds my lips before I register that I’m moving. The burn helps. It helps everything. Shit, by the time these four weeks are over, I’ll be an alcoholic.
