“No way,” Brad says. “I’m not kissing him.”

“Oh yes you are,” Margot says.

A surge of excitement moves over me as Brad kneels and knee-walks over to Jamie. He pecks him on the cheek.

“No cheating,” Margot says, her voice firm and husky.

Jamie leans in and grazes Brad’s lips with a quick kiss.

“Y’all are lame, but that will do, I guess,” she says.

I don’t know why, but quickly I blurt out, “I’m next.”

“Ooooh, Sophie’s ready,” Margot says.

I grab the bottle and give it a good spin, hoping it lands on Margot. It whirls on the wooden floor before stopping at Jamie’s knee.

His grin widens and he rubs his hands together. I move over to him. His breath, hot on my neck, smells like cinnamon. Our lips meet and he kisses me, his tongue playful and teasing like his kiss on the dock. Warmth spreads over me, and I want to continue kissing him but he pulls back, a satisfied smile spreading over his face.

Margot’s mouth hangs open. “Well, that was hot.”

She leans forward and puts her manicured hand on the bottle. Her nails are painted a deep purple, and they clack against the neck of the bottle as she gives it a weak spin. Just weak enough, in fact, to land right in front of me.

This is no accident, I’m sure of it, and electricity zaps through me as she cat-crawls her way over to me.

“Now we’re talkin’,” Brad hoots, but Margot ignores him, her eyes drilled onto mine, her cleavage spilling out of her top as she moves on all fours until she’s right in front of me.

She’s on her knees, so I get on mine as well and lean toward her. Her lashes are long and she bats them at me before clasping my face in her hands. My heart is palpitating.

She first plants a small kiss on my forehead, her breasts aimed at my eyes. Her skin smells like her customary Chanel Allure, and she drags a warm finger across my face until it reaches my mouth. She traces a circle on my lips and I feel a pinch of lust between my legs; I’m all but shuddering at her touch. I can’t resist any longer, so I grab the back of her neck and kiss her. Tentatively at first, but she’s kissing me back now, long and slow.

She pulls back for a second, breathless, her charcoal-gray eyes swimming with desire, before pulling me into another kiss, this one harder and faster. A warm breeze gusts through the window, coating the room with the marshy scent of the lake, and I can’t help it; I slip a hand under her tank and rest it on her scorching stomach. I take my other hand and graze my fingers over her neck, down toward the top of her breasts. She moans in my ear. My own breath is rapid and shallow, and heat drenches my body.

Brad and Jamie erupt into whistles and cheers, and Margot leans back and sits on her legs. She stares down at the floor, an almost bashful smile creeping across her face. She exhales, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

I wonder if I’ve taken things too far by touching her. But I know by her kiss and her molten eyes, the way she looked at me, that that’s not the case. And now she’s beaming, clearly pleased to be the center of attention once again.

She leans forward and grabs her half-finished martini and slams the rest.

“Who’s next?” she asks.

Jamie and Brad are motionless. It’s as if the entire room is frozen in desire.

“It’s Jamie’s turn,” Brad says, knocking the bottle toward Jamie.

Jamie leans down, bats at it. It zips around in a frenzied circle before settling in front of Brad.

“Jesus Christ,” Brad says. “Not again.”

Jamie chuckles.

“C’mon, you two, you know the rules,” Margot says.

“I don’t want to kiss him again,” Brad groans.

“Well, I don’t want to play anymore if it’s gonna be like this,” Margot says, pouting, her hands pooled in her lap. “It’s boring.” I study Margot and it seems as if that former air of distraction now frosts her face again. She’s half-in, half-out of the game.

“But I didn’t even get the chance to kiss Miss Sophie,” Brad says, his half-lidded eyes skittering between me and Margot. He’s clearly trying to get a rise out of her.

My cheeks blaze. I look at Margot. Her face hardens but I sense she’s not angry at Brad’s loosely flung comment; instead, she’s still simmering about their earlier quarrel.

“Keep playing if you want, then.” She plants both palms on the ground, pushes herself to standing. “I don’t give a shit,” she says over her shoulder as she vanishes down the pitch-black hallway.

33

BRAD STUDIES THE backs of his hands, then sweeps his hair out of his eyes. His strong jaw clenches and unclenches.

“Guess I need to go see about that,” he says, now staring at the floor.

Jamie’s smirking, clearly enjoying every second of Brad’s punishment.

“Mama’s boy. Always have been, always will be,” Jamie says.

Brad punches him in the shoulder on his way down the hall.

The gilded clock on the wall says it’s midnight.

Fuck.

After draining the rest of my martini, I grope in my bag for my keys. They feel heavy in my hand, like a weight. I’m drunk. I’ve got to get out of here before I make anything worse. What am I still doing here?

“You look very pretty in that dress,” Jamie remarks, his voice floating from across the room. He comes over and sits next to me on the sofa. His leg brushes mine and I can feel the heat from his body radiating through his jeans. He places a hand on my bare knee. My whole leg tingles as I stare down at his hand, perfectly manicured and sprinkled with freckles. After a moment of sitting like this, deciding if I want to lean over and kiss him, I stand.

“I’ve gotta go. And I’ve gotta say bye to Margot first.” I turn away from him and creak down the hall.

I pass by the guest bathroom and pause at the master bedroom. The door is almost completely shut, but a beam of dim light slashes across the wooden floorboards.

From inside the room, their voices are muffled as if they’re pitched along the far wall; I can picture Margot standing in there, arms crossed against her chest, staring out the window at the lake.

I strain to listen but I can only hear the shards of their argument, a few well-slung words.

“You told me you were going—” Margot says, her voice heated and volatile.

Brad cuts her off. “I am trying. You don’t get it. You don’t understand—”

“The fuck I don’t!” she says, and her voice is now aimed toward the door, so I slink back down the hall into the bathroom.

I flip the switch, and the vanity lights lining the mirror momentarily blind me. I blink hard, sit on the toilet, and pee for what seems like days. I wash my hands and splash water in my face, which is beaded with sweat. I stare at my reflection. I look soused. From inside my bag, my phone dings. A text, from Graham.

Heading to bed now. Feel free to wake me up when you get home, which I’m hoping will be soon. xxx

Good. He’s not mad, at least not yet, but it’s twelve fifteen and he’s clearly waiting up for me. He’s the best; he doesn’t deserve this.

I need to go. I just played freaking spin the bottle with a pair of eighteen-year-olds; this is not who I am. I need to go now, I try to convince myself.

But when I open the door, Jamie is on the other side of it, his arm resting on the doorframe, a sly grin slung across his face. I move to step around him but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans in and kisses me. Takes me by the shoulders and steers me down the hall. Past the master, past another series of rooms, all the way to the back of the house.

We step into what looks like Margot’s son’s room. Dark blues and whites. A small lamp glows from the nightstand, and next to it rests the bottle of vodka and two shot glasses.

“I brought gifts,” he says, guiding me over to the side of the bed.

He sits but I remain standing until he reaches for my hand, pulls me down next to him.

“Do you have a curfew or something?” he says, his whole face crinkling with a smile.

“No, but I do have a husband and young son who are at home waiting for me,” I answer weakly.

He pours us two shots. I sip at mine while he slams his.

“Ummm, it’s a shot. The idea is to drink the whole thing.”

“But I’m already drunk. And this isn’t a good idea, I need to be—”

“Going, yes. You keep saying that,” he says as he slides a hand around the back of my neck and brushes my lips with his thumb.

He kisses me again. This time I kiss back, my tongue darting in and out of his mouth, my stomach clenched with longing.

I break away, stand up.

He’s right behind me, though. His hands are on my neck, massaging it. He slips a strap off my shoulder, lips grazing my neck. His hand moves down to my breasts and he stops on my nipple and traces it with a finger. I exhale, grab his thigh.

He pulls up my dress. Slides his hand down the front of my panties. I grasp his forearm. Stop him.