Page 22 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

By the time evening rolls around, I'm exhausted from doing nothing but thinking in circles.

I'm curled up on the couch again, wrapped in my blanket like armor, when I hear a car pulling up outside.

My heart jumps into my throat. What if it's one of them?

What if Russ or Alex or Nick decided to come here, to confront me about what happened?

Since they know each other, Russ could have told them where I live.

But when I peek through the window, I see Sharon's beat-up sedan, not a sleek black SUV.

Relief and dread war in my chest as I watch her get out of the car, carrying bags of what looks like takeout food.

She doesn't knock.

She never does.

She just walks right in, using the spare key I gave her months ago.

"Okay, seriously, what the hell?" she says as soon as she's through the door. "I've been texting you all day. I was starting to think you were dead."

"I'm not dead," I mutter from my blanket cocoon. "Although I wish I were at the moment."

Sharon sets the takeout bags on my kitchen counter and turns to look at me, her hands on her hips.

She's still wearing her work clothes, black pants and a fitted black top, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

She looks tired but concerned, her eyes scanning me like she's checking for injuries.

"What's wrong?" she asks, though her tone suggests she already knows.

"Me," I say, pulling the blanket tighter around myself. "I've created a disaster."

Sharon's expression softens, and she comes over to sit on the edge of the couch. "The three guys thing?"

"The three guys thing," I confirm miserably. "Sharon, they know each other. They all know each other! I saw two of them together last night outside the third one's building, and the way they looked at each other, they definitely figured out that I'd been with all of them."

"Oh shit," Sharon says, but she doesn't sound as surprised as I'd expected. "Yeah, I kind of figured they might know each other. Rich guys like that, they tend to run in the same circles."

"It's not just that they know each other," I say, sitting up slightly. "Sharon, there's something off about them. The security and the armed guards, and how everyone at the club treats them. They're not just rich businessmen."

Sharon waves a hand dismissively. "Rich people are paranoid. They all have security. It's normal."

"This didn't feel normal," I insist. "This felt dangerous."

"You're overthinking it," Sharon says, standing up and heading back to the kitchen. "Come on, I brought Chinese food. You need to eat something, and I need to tell you about the absolute chaos at work last night."

I reluctantly extract myself from my blanket cocoon and follow her to the kitchen. She's already pulling containers out of the bags, the smell of fried rice and orange chicken filling my small space.

Despite my anxiety, my stomach growls. I haven't eaten properly all day.

We settle at my small kitchen table with the food spread between us, and Sharon immediately launches into her story.

"So, you know how you said those three guys probably know each other?" she says around a mouthful of lo mein. "Well, last night after closing, they were all there. Together. In the back office area where employees aren't really supposed to go."

My chopsticks freeze halfway to my mouth. "All three of them?"

"All three," Sharon confirms. "Russ, Alex, and Nick. I only caught a glimpse because I was heading to the back to grab my jacket from my locker, but they were definitely there. And the vibe was intense, Marla. Like, seriously intense."