Page 42 of Jig's Last Dance
“See ya around,” Dexter says.
“Well?”
Turning to Jig, I smile through gritted teeth, crooking my finger. Jig grins wolfishly and swims toward me.
When he’s in reach, I pour my drink over his head and hiss, “Fuck off.”
He chuckles, the deep timbre scrambling my insides before swimming away. When he reaches the shallow end, he grabs up the first chick within reach, and she shrieks.
Through narrowed eyes, I watch as he carries her from the pool and doesn’t bother to look back.
His fuck you, I guess.
∞∞∞
Three hours later, I emerge from the bathroom and look down the hall.
I escaped the pool area when Jig stepped back out the doors and threw the chick he previously picked up into the water. I refuse to acknowledge the relief that suffused my bones when he did, knowing he hasn’t fucked one of them—yet.
Now he’s around somewhere playing a drinking game. Last I saw, Rain and Cyn hadn’t moved from their spot on the couch, and Bastion was playing poker in the game room.
Why am I here? It’s clearly not to get to the bottom of Iris’ claim. Which means Jig wants to keep an eye on me. Why is anyone’s guess, but I’m assuming, based on their volatile responses the other day, there’s beef with Iris and John.
It’s a mystery for another day because although I’m uneasy, I’m about to snoop. How can I not? If what Iris said was true, then I owe it to my parents to prove one way or another that these dicks weren’t involved.
I’ve been in Jig’s room and the main parts of the house, which I presume no one would be hiding secrets within anyway.
And with the distant rumble of the party behind me, I tiptoe down the hall away from the revelry.
Each step matches the cadence of my pulse, and I take a deep breath to try and calm my pounding heart. This is compounded by thoughts of what Jig will do if he finds me, so I studiously push the images away.
The first door I come to is locked. With a frown, I keep going. The second door opens on silent hinges, and with a glance back, I step inside and close it behind me.
With little light to see by, I scan the room, skipping over the bed, decorated with fluffy white pillows and matching bedding. Although I already suspect this room is a bust, I open a few drawers, all empty, before peeking into the hall.
With the coast clear, I search the next four rooms, finding nothing, and with my skin itchy, I head back the way I came, knowing my time is running out.
Jig will be looking for me if he isn’t already. Thankfully, I don’t see him and slink into the poker room, joining the game when one of the guys makes room.
The surrounding banter is a blur while I wait for my rapidly beating heart to calm. Across from me, Bastion shifts, and I focus on the three of a kind in my hand.
“Your bet,” the guy to my left says, and I add five dollars.
He groans and tosses his cards into the pile. Two other dudes follow. It’s just Bastion and me.
He studies me over his cards before throwing in his ante, and I smile widely, dropping my hand to the table.
Bastion grunts and drops his cards, revealing two pair. With a happy little smile, I pull the cash toward me as Bastion says, “You got your dad’s magic touch.”
My euphoria fades, and I glance down at the bills, saying quietly, “Yeah.”
He grunts again, and we play another round before the guys push back their chairs, one of them mumbling, “Who brought the ringer?”
Ignoring him, I count my dough, pleased to see I made fifty bucks.
Bastion shifts across from me. I glance up, pausing at his considering stare. We’re the only two left at the table, I see, and I wrap up my cash to go.
I have no desire to be caught alone with him. Besides, my skin is raw enough from the stones he’s been throwing.