Page 19 of Venomous Games

“Interesting,” her friend says, then offers me her hand. “I’m Antonia. I went to school with Maven, and while she isn’t super sociable, I make her come and hang with me on special occasions.”

Maven smiles and nudges Antonia with her shoulder.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

She smiles and glances back to Maven, who is watching me with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

ELEVEN

MAVEN

Boston is uncomfortable.

He keeps checking his watch, like time will go faster the more he does it. I make sure to stay right next to him so if he tries to escape, I can pull him straight back. I’m actually surprised he agreed to come in with me. I know he has an ulterior motive for doing it, but I don’t care. There’s no way he’ll find out what I do for work.

I glance past him to look at the bar, the low amber glow of the hanging lights, the dark wood paneling, the worn leather stools. The smell of fried food mixed with cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

“How’s work?” Antonia asks me, pulling my attention back to her. Her dark hair is down, and she’s wearing a cute little dress that fits her perfectly. I feel Boston tense next to me, and I know he’s listening. Antonia knows I work for myself, and that’s about it.

“Good, thanks. And how is the bank?” I answer, glancing at Boston to see him checking his watch again.

“Busy as always, but I got a promotion,” she says happily.

“What is it you do for work exactly?” Boston leans in and asks me.

“I’m a freelancer. Surely you know that after all the digging you did on me.” I wink at him. His back straightens, and his eyes narrow.

His focus never leaves me, not even when I join in on the conversation with Antonia, or when I walk to the bar to get another drink. He studies me, as if I’m a complicated math problem he’s trying to work out.

When I’m on my fifth drink, a man stops next to me, and I know what he’s about to do without even guessing. Being able to read someone’s intentions is a skill I’ve perfected. He leans in a little too close, and my gaze flicks to Boston, who is watching.

“So, care for another drink?” he asks. I turn to face him. The first thing I notice is that he’s not as tall as Boston. His hair is unkempt, and his white shirt looks like he spilled something on it. But he has a nice jawline and a kind smile.

“How about you just ask me to dance?” I reply, then take a sip of my drink. He raises a brow, places his drink on the bar, and offers me his hand. I slip my hand into his, leaving my drink there, and he pulls me to the small dance floor. He rests a hand on my hip, and I place mine on his shoulders.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I ignore him and glance at Boston. He’s clutching his glass, which I know contains water, as his assessing gaze stays locked on us. He catches me staring but gives no indication of what he’s thinking. The guy’s hand slips lower, almost to the top of my ass, and that’s when Boston breaks eye contact with me to track the movement, his jaw clenching.

I smile to myself.

“Do you come here often?” the guy asks, but before I can answer, Boston appears beside us.

“Time to leave,” Boston says, glaring at where the guy’s hand is.

“Hey, man, no. Fuck off.”

I smile as Boston looks up. He reaches for something, and I see the flash of his badge.

“Get your fucking hands off her before I arrest you.”

The guy, whose name I didn’t catch, drops his hands and immediately steps back, retreating to the edge of the dance floor.

I turn to Boston and ask, “Care to dance?”

“On your grave,” he replies.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, you know you want to,” I tease.