Wicked Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

phone shut before my voice reveals my ambivalence. Time to check the want ads again.
    On the way out of the pool area, I stuff
The Truth about Vampires
into the trash where it belongs.

3
Run Like Hell

    The Smoking Pig is filled with the usual Friday night bar crowd—mostly college kids who stuck around town to take summer classes or avoid their parents. The Pig is made out of pieces of old mills, which apparently used to dot the local countryside like spots on a Dalmatian. To add ambience, rusty machinery parts lie wedged in the dark wooden ceiling beams.
    After an afternoon perusing the Help Wanted section (flipping burgers versus driving a cement mixer), I need a drink. I squeeze through the crowd to the brass rail and wave to Lori at the cash register. She holds up a finger, her lips reciting the drink order to herself as she rings it in. Then she trots over, pale ponytail bobbing.
    “Your tan looks amazing,” she shouts over the din of the crowd and the blare of the latest Killers song. She lifts her bangs and tilts her chin toward the light. “Can you tell I was wearing sunglasses?”
    “A little.” Her face looks like a negative version of theHamburglar. I shouldn’t let her go out during the day. The thought reminds me of vampires, so I shove it aside.
    Lori slides a napkin across the polished wood surface of the bar. “What can I getcha?”
    “Something strong and straight up.”
    She scrutinizes my eyes, which I know are bloodshot from too many job ads. “Strong, yeah, but definitely not straight. You need more than booze.” She grabs bottles of Kahlua and vanilla vodka. “Chocolate martini’ll cheer you up.”
    “How’d you know I need cheering up?”
    “Bartender’s sixth sense.” Her hands trickle over the bottles in front of her before pulling out Grand Marnier, Frangelico, and Bailey’s Irish Cream.
    “Looks expensive.”
    “My boss is out sick, so it’s free. But it means we’re short-handed, so I’m totally in the weeds tonight. It’s crazy—two bachelorette parties.” She shakes the martini, then pours it into a glass in front of me. “After the crowd thins out, you can tell me what’s wrong.” She winks and hurries away.
    I scan the crowd for anyone I know—or anyone I’d like to know. A familiar face appears in my peripheral vision at the end of the bar. Before I can get a better look, a brawny brunette in a wedding veil lurches into view.
    “Oh. My God. Ciara Griffin?”
    And I thought my day couldn’t get worse. I force a smile and snap my fingers, pretending to search for my old hallmate’s name. “Joanne, right?”
    She slaps my shoulder. “It’s Jolene! How can you forget? We only had like every business class together.” She snickers. “When you were there, I mean.”
    I rub my shoulder and remember how during sophomoreyear she and her sorority sisters would shove Kmart sales fliers under my door every Sunday to show their opinion of my clothes. In return, I would soak their towels in the toilet while they were in the shower. “So how are you?”
    “Awesome! I just got promoted and assigned to a huge market research project. Plus I’m getting married.” She points her chest at me, and I see that her white tank top has BRIDE IB stenciled in black letters.
    “I’m so ... happy for you.” Her designer shoes and tight leatherette pants make me feel like a schlub in my knockoffs and last year’s miniskirt.
    “What are you doing now?” she asks me.
    “I’m—” Still in college, six years later. Unemployed and unemployable. No fiance, boyfriend, or so much as a hamster to keep me company two nights in a row.
    One of Bride 2B’s gold half-hoop earrings catches in her veil. As she tilts her head to release it, the familiar face reappears.
    Shane.
    Suddenly I have an answer. “I work with him.”
    She peeks and gives a low whistle. “He’s cute. Mysterious.”
    It’s true—Shane seems to sit alone inside an orb of silence. The woman on the next bar