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Other than the music, which has been turned down, thank fuck, the room goes silent.

“Let her take her turn so we can move on to someone else.”

She zeros in on me, her lips pressed in a flat line. She’s pissed, but I don’t care. Maybe I sound like an asshole, but I stopped him from flirting with her.

Delicately, she sets the bottle on the table and gives it a spin. One spin, another spin, and on its third rotation, it comes to a stop.

Pointing.

Right.

At.

Me.

A wave of heat rolls through my veins, setting my skin on fire. I swallow thickly, my throat dry.

Fuck. What are the chances?

The room erupts in a chorus of gasps, whistles, and laughter, the noise breaking through the mess of thoughts in my head.

“You jinxed it, Captain. Made it point right at you,” Flores says, his tone biting.

I don’t bother looking at him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My focus is fixed on her. She stares back at me, her expression unreadable. Her roommate leans in and whispers in her ear, but she shakes her head.

Why the hell doesn’t she look more out of sorts? While she seemed surprised when the bottle stopped on me, it clearly didn’t rattle her the way it rattled me.

I’m having heart palpitations, dammit, and she remains stoic.

“Better spin again,” Flores says. “Our captain here⁠—”

Isla pushes herself up, and he snaps his mouth shut.

I stand too. “Let’s get it over with.”

My words hang in the air, probably because I refused to play before.

Asher grabs my forearm, but I shoot him a glare, and he lets go, holding both hands up in surrender.

Isla whips around and stomps toward the closet.

I follow her and open the door. “Ladies first.”

Without replying, she enters the space, her head held high. The door clicks shut behind us, and then it’s locked from the outside.

Welcome to hell, Michael.

The closet is small and dark, and it smells like cleaning supplies and dust. I rub the bridge of my nose to stop myself from sneezing.

She keeps her distance, her back pressed to the wall and her arms wrapped around herself, like she’d rather be anywhere but here. She doesn’t even look at me, her gaze diverted to the floor.

I lean back against the door so we’re face-to-face and cross one ankle over the other. The silence enshrouding us is heavy. It nearly makes my chest cave in. My heart beats faster with every second that ticks by. How the hell does she look so calm when there’s a war raging inside me? How the hell is it so easy for her to avoid looking at me when she’s like a beacon, calling me to her whenever she’s nearby?

“Could’ve spun again,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “Didn’t have to be stuck here with me.”

A humorless laugh springs out of her mouth. “I wasn’t going to chicken out. The last thing I want is for people to ask questions.”

“Wow. Impressive you can even tolerate being in a room with me. Figured you hated me too much.”