“Prowl, huh?” he leads, a smug expression on his face.
“I told her I wouldn’t be sharing you.”
He nods, his eyes appraising me. Analyzing me. “Loyalty. I like it,” he reminds me. “But to be clear, it’s you who’ll be shared.”
I swallow hard, images of sordid, delicious things entering my head. “Yeah,” I agree.
“Will you take this back to the cabin?” He extends the A4 envelope and I take it, knowing important information is inside.
“I’ll keep it safe. I’ll put it on your laptop.”
Dinner is easy enough,several bottles of wine consumed as we move from the dining table to the couches. After the strange day I’ve had, humiliation followed by euphoria at a job offer, I’m unsure whether I’m drinking to forget, or to celebrate.
Either works.
But at least my guests aren’t mystery shoppers, ready to deliver a scathing review. Well two of them aren’t mystery shoppers; I’ve no idea what Reuben does, but he’s associated with Luca in some way too, just as Brecken is.
The TV is tuned to a sports channel again, specifically focusing on the NHL games and highlights. Brecken’s attention is very much on the commentators. The heat from the fire means none of them are wearing much, just t-shirts and jeans, or sweatpants. Earlier, I discarded my sweater too, deciding to stop feeding the wood burner.
Over another bottle, Reuben and I spend some time talking about his childhood in Oxford, and the fact that his father was absent and uninvolved. After his A-levels, at eighteen, he moved with his mother, Diana, to the U.S, starting at Stanford. The man who raised him since he was four, Jasper, came too.
“Where do they live now?”
“Aspen, like us.”
The paperworkthey? Luca?provided the hotel was barely filled out, but now I understand why they pretended to live out of state. A shudder runs through me when I think about Luca being the heir to the Balthazar hotel chain. Exhaling, warm and fuzzy from the alcohol, I study the tree lights and the glowing fire. With my intoxicated head, the room feels tranquil and private. Seductive.
Rising from the sofa, Luca stretches, his t-shirt riding up. Helpfully, I can see every gentle groove and divot of his abs. “How about another game?”
All eyes turn to me. That feeling of being a bug under a microscope has never really gone away. All afternoon and evening, I’ve felt their eyes on me, some kind of silent communication happening between them. Reuben, a natural conversationalist, is easy to understand. But Brecken has been quieter, to the point where I’m beginning to think he’s not into me at all.
It has me second-guessing everything. And with a new job on the horizon, I want to go into it with my head held high.
I need to be careful.
Reuben stands, my attention drawn to him as he moves next to Luca. I look across at Brecken, wondering whether he’ll be next, but he just pushes his hips forward, slumping into the couch even more.
“What sort of game?” I ask.
“Pick a number. One through three.”
I chuckle, and throw out: “Three.”
Almost immediately, Luca sits back down. Reuben watches him get comfortable, his head tilting to the side as a pause extends. With his eyes firmly on me, he takes the opposite seat. Elbows resting on his legs, his amber-hued eyes trail up my body, his voice a rough command when he says, “Undress.”
My breathing stalls. “W-what?”
“Clothes off, Winter.”
My eyes dart to Luca. To Brecken.
Neither of them say anything. They just regard me with molten expressions, their bodies rigid with suspense.
“What game is this?” This isn’t strip poker.
“One you’ll like,” Reuben assures me, his voice sinfully low.
I force my body not to react to the tenor of his voice, but it’s hard not to. It’s pure instinct. An automatic response. And I want to get dirty with them again, of course, I do, but those niggles are still niggling.