Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

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?”

I studied them, checking out the black hair hanging in their eyes, the black skinny jeans and T-shirts, and their scary black boots with five inch thick soles.

I smiled. “Closeted Taylor Swift fans. I promise.”

His chest shook, laughing. “And her?” He nodded.

I twisted my head over my shoulder, seeing a beautiful young woman leaning over the bar. I could see a good bit of thigh going up her skirt, and when she leaned back down again, I saw her pull her mouth away from a drink and take hold of the straw, dipping it in and out of a milkshake.