Corrupt

Michael was in a black suit and a white shirt, open at the collar, and I wondered if he had been coming from somewhere or was going somewhere.

It didn’t matter. He could leave. I could take care of myself.

I took sips of my beer as I fed the machine the five dollars and began choosing music.

A girl’s laugh sounded behind me, and I twisted my head, recognizing Diana Forester.

She was hanging on our booth, with her hand on her hip and a coy smile on her lips as she talked to Michael.

Jesus.

They dated in high school, although I wouldn’t call it dating exactly. Kai and Michael shared her. And I only knew that because I’d seen them both kissing her in the media room one night. I’d bolted before I saw anything else, but I could definitely guess what went down.

Life past high school wasn’t so hot for her. Last I heard, she was helping her parents run the bed and breakfast they owned here in town.

He nodded at whatever she was saying, a slight tilt to his lips, but it looked like he was just indulging her.

Until she leaned down, and I thought I saw his eyes flash to me for a brief second before he smiled wider at her and reached up, touching her blonde hair.

My neck and face heated, and I spun back around.

Asshole.

Even if I never tried to, I had expectations about the man I thought he was, and I needed to knock it off.

Was I going to be the third wheel in the house tonight when he brought her home? Would I be the one sitting uncomfortable and silent a few rooms down the hall?

I was done pretending and acting like shit didn’t bother me. I was mad. Own it.

Punching buttons, I loaded only one song even though I’d paid for twenty. Downing the rest of the beer, I headed back to the booth.

Sliding the empty bottle across the table, I saw Diana jump as if she hadn’t know I was here.

“Oh, hey, Rika,” she chirped. “How’s Trevor? Are you missing him a lot?”

Trevor and I weren’t dating. Guess she didn’t get the memo.

I sat down, crossed my legs, and folded my hands, laying them on the table. Ignoring her question, I stared at Michael. He was fucking with me, and I cocked my head, holding his amused eyes.

I hadn’t asked to come to Sticks, but he’d brought me here. He didn’t get to lock in his one-night stand with me in tow. Not tonight.

The uncomfortable silence thickened, but the more I held my ground, challenging him to get rid of her, the stronger I felt.

Dirty Diana by Shaman’s Harvest began playing, and I smirked.

“Well…” Diana spoke up, touching Michael’s shoulder, “I’m so glad I ran into you. You barely make it home anymore.”

But Michael ignored her, still holding my eyes.

He cleared his throat, squinting at me. “Interesting song.”

I fought not to laugh. “Yes, I thought Diana would like it,” I replied cheerfully and then looked to her. “It’s about a woman that jumps into bed with men that aren’t hers?”

Michael dropped his eyes, laughing under his breath.

Diana scowled, cocking an eyebrow as she shifted away. “Bitch.”

And then she turned around and left.

I locked eyes with Michael again, my body rushing with liquid heat. It felt good to stand up to him and his antics.

“Why are you always messing with me?” I demanded.

“Because it’s fun,” he admitted, “and you’re getting so good at it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why are your friends messing with me?”

But he just stayed silent.

I could see the challenge in his eyes. He knew they were fucking with me, and instinct told me to be afraid, but for some reason...

I wasn’t.

The pushing and shoving, the head games and the mind-fucks…everything twisted me up and tore me down so much that when I finally got tired of stumbling and falling and backing down, I found that it felt really good to play.

Michael leaned back in the booth, resting against the corner and looking out at the bar.

“So if Diana is Dirty Diana, what about Sam?” He tipped his chin. “The bartender. What’s his song?”

I turned my eyes out, finding Sam Watkins behind the bar, working alone. He was taking down bottles of liquor, wiping them off, and replacing them.

“Closing Time,” I guessed. “By Semisonic.”

Michael snickered, looking at me like I wasn’t even trying. “That’s too easy.” He took a drink of his beer and nodded to someone else. “Drew, at the bar.”

I inhaled a breath, trying to relax. Looking over at Drew Hale, a middle-aged judge who was well-connected but not particularly rich. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, and his suit pants were wrinkled. He was in here a lot.

“Hinder. Lips of an Angel,” I tossed out, turning to Michael. “He was in love with a woman, they broke up, and he married her sister on a whim.” I looked down, my heart going out to him a little. “And every time I see him he looks just a little worse.”

I couldn’t imagine how hard it was to see the woman you loved all the time and not be able to have her, because you married the wrong woman.

Blinking, I looked up, seeing Michael. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t so hard to imagine.

“Him,” he continued, gesturing to a heavy-set businessman sitting at a table with a younger woman. She had platinum hair and heavy make-up. He wore a wedding ring, and she didn’t.

I rolled my eyes. “She’s Only Seventeen. Winger.”

Michael laughed, his white teeth shining in the dim booth.

He went on, jerking his chin to a pair of high schoolers playing pool. “How about them?”