Mind Games

by Cecilia Tan

  Intoxicated by his scent, I finally felt something square and hard. I pulled it free: a ring box? Now I really wondered why he was drinking alone, if this was an engagement ring or something like that...

  I glanced at him before I opened the box only to find a marble perched on a bed of velvet. I plucked it free.

  The marble felt warm from being kept close to his heart. Just a round, glass marble with a swirl in it.

  So, what were the instructions again? Put it in my mouth? I shared a look with him as I held the marble between two fingers. The request was a little bit dirty and a little intimate without being overtly sexual, and I think he knew that. It was a dare.

  Did I dare?

  I did. I made a show of dropping the marble into the alcohol he had left, swirling the glass around with a clinking sound, and then fishing the marble out and popping it into my mouth.

  “Don’t swallow,” he warned.

  I smiled, took up his glass, and went to fill his order.

  Thankfully I didn’t have to speak to send his drink order to the bar. I typed it on the upstairs order station, and then went down to put the glass in the bus bin.

  Then what? I couldn’t chance going into the main section of the bar, and I had to keep busy or it’d be obvious I was slacking off.

  The ladies’ room. I’d take a quick “powder” and then see if the drinks were up.

  In the employee restroom, I straightened my hair and my shirt. Normally I wouldn’t give a damn about what a customer thought of my appearance. In fact, normally I hoped they didn’t even notice me. But he was so impeccable and smooth! I wished I could seem even half that sophisticated, and since I couldn’t, usually being invisible was better. I’d gotten some ketchup on the cuff of one sleeve at some point during the night. Sloppy. And this was my last unstained shirt. I made a note to ask Jill if she could cover that, too, at least a thrift store one. I hated being broke. I needed to get the hell out of grad school and start making some money. I had to find something to do with my life other than staring at pre-Raphaelite art and writing pretentious analyses of it. My mother told me endlessly that grad school was a waste of time, except for the fact that I might meet a well-educated guy to marry. I hadn’t even gotten that part right.

  A knock on the door jolted me. I hoped it wasn’t anyone I would have to say much to. I tucked the marble into my cheek. “One sec!” I ran the water and washed my hands.

  When I came out, Jill was standing there, her beefy arms crossed. “You okay in there? I’ve been waiting.”

  Well, nothing like the truth at a time like that, right? “I’m hiding because the advisor I blew off tonight to cover your ass is out there right now!” The marble clicked against my teeth as I tried to make myself understandable. Hopefully she would think it was a cough drop or an ice cube.

  “What advisor? You didn’t tell me you blew someone off!”

  “Would it have mattered? ‘Karina’”—it came out “Kawina” with the marble in the way—“‘I’m desperate. You’re the only one who can do this. I need you,’” I hissed, imitating the way she had wheedled me on the phone.

  “Of course it would have mattered.”

  I shook my head. “Last time I told you I had plans and didn’t drop everything to work for you, you got Mom all pissed off at me and made my life a living hell for months.”

  “You had ‘plans’ with stupid Brad, who was no good for you anyway! I really did need you, and that night blew chunks without you.” Jill had just turned thirty and was a good deal heavier than me. When she smacked the door frame next to my head, I swear the door felt it.

  “Well, this is it, the last time. Now excuse me, my order’s up.” I pushed past her. I loved Jill, but she thought because she was the oldest that my brother Troy and I were her lord- and lady-in-waiting or something. Troy was only a year younger than me, but he might as well have lived on another planet for all I saw of him or understood of him. And that was a cheap shot bringing up Brad. He was a failure in every sense of the word. I had thought dating an older, more distinguished guy was a good idea for someone about to leave grad school. He was thirty-three, seven years older than me, and I’d made the mistake of thinking that meant he was a functioning adult. Instead, he’d bounced between acting like he was fifty-three and in need of a geriatric nurse and acting like he was three and in need of a time-out. Worst of all, he was already trying to get a prescription for Viagra.

  I meant it when I said failure in every way.

  Thankfully, the order was up. I took the glass of water and the bourbon up the stairs, thinking, So far, so good.

  The four-top of women had left, and the couple was holding hands and had their faces close together. I could see the tatters of wrapping paper on the table from the gifts they’d exchanged. I’m sure they were perfectly nice people, but all I wanted was to tell them to get a room.

  As I approached my mystery man’s table, I realized I had no idea how I was going to get the marble out of my mouth.

  It was too late to go in the back and drop it into the glass there. He’d already seen me, and his gaze seemed to be drawing me toward him. His eyes never left mine as I crossed the floor, feeling like each step was getting heavier and heavier.

  At last I stopped in front of his table, drew in a deep breath, and set down the glass of water. I then held up the shot glass of bourbon as if I were smelling it, brought the marble out until I held it with just my lips in an O shape, and let it go, almost like I was blowing him a kiss. The marble fell with a plop and I set the bourbon on the table, resisting the urge to wipe my lips. I settled for licking them.

  He ignored the glass on the table, his eyes never leaving my face, and I saw his gaze sharpen at the momentary appearance of my tongue. I wondered if he was as turned on as I was. I had never flirted with a customer. Not like this.

  He lifted his drink and smelled the bourbon, waving the glass under his nose and then closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the scent. I nearly sighed when he did, as if I’d been released from a magic spell. A moment later he stared at me again as he took his first sip.

  He nodded, as if satisfied, and set the glass down. “How did you choose which bourbon to give me this time? This isn’t the same one.”

  “Well, you seem in the mood to try new things tonight,” I explained. “Plus I figured you for the type that wouldn’t go down in quality, so I went up.”

  He nodded again, approvingly, as if I’d answered a particularly tricky test question.

  “Do I get my wish now?” I asked jokingly.

  His face remained stern as he laid his hand on the tabletop, fingers curled as if he were holding a live moth. “Think very hard about what you want, then close your eyes.”

  I did as he asked, without hesitating. Well, I closed my eyes, anyway. But what did I want? What should I wish for? I supposed this was like making a birthday wish before blowing out the candles. Wishing for happiness seemed way too general. Wishing for money felt wrong. Wishing to graduate...I shouldn’t have to wish for that, damn it. I deserved to finish and move on with my life. Wishing for that job I’d interviewed for? That was like wishing for money. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted to work for Philip Hale. Something about him creeped me out a little.

  “Make your wish,” he whispered, and yet I heard him perfectly clearly. “Then take the wish out of my hand.”

  I want to know what love is, I thought, and opened my eyes. He was grinning as he opened his hand and there was nothing there, but I played along by snatching up a bit of air and pretending to shove it into the breast pocket on my button-down shirt.

  He startled me then by standing up, very close to me. I didn’t back away. Instead, I looked up at him wondering if he was feeling the effects of the alcohol. He was tall and he looked down to meet my eyes, his now shadowed, hawkish and intense.

  “Thank you for playing this game with me,” he said, voice low. I heard glass clink as he held up the marble, glistening with booze. He l
icked it clean, his tongue long and sinuous like a cat’s, and I imagined what it would feel like licking me instead of the piece of glass. “You’re very rare, Ashley. I would like to play another round with you sometime.”

  “I, um, okay,” I said, hardly able to speak. I felt more like I was the one who had downed a shot, fueled with liquid courage.

  He handed me a card with his other hand. “Call the number on that card if you’re interested.”

  “Could we, um, play another round right now?” I heard myself ask. He was mesmerizing. He was different. I’d never met a man who made me feel like this: turned on and intrigued and challenged, and yet I felt safe, like he was someone I could trust.

  He chuckled very low in his throat. “Desire is good,” he said. “Being pushy is not.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  He closed his eyes a moment, as if he were thinking it over, and that helped. We were still standing far too close for far too long in a public place. I wanted to lick the shine of bourbon from the edge of his lip. He’d used the word desire, which made it clear what we were talking about, didn’t it?

  What he said next surely did. “Very well. One more round. Take the marble, and put it into your panties. You’ll keep it there the rest of your shift. When you get off, call the number on the card to get your next instructions.”

  My heart was beating in triple time. “Okay,” I said, sounding a bit breathless.

  He handed me the marble and then raised his eyebrow.

  “Right now?” I squeaked.

  He nodded. The couple had stood to leave and were paying us no mind.

  Under the front knot of my apron, I reached inside the waistband of my jeans, sucking in my stomach to make room for my hand. From there I dug my fingertips under the elastic of my panties and let the marble drop. I held in a gasp as it slid straight down the seam of my body, to where it found a pool of dampness I hadn’t realized had gathered there.

  I hadn’t been this turned on in months. Possibly I hadn’t been this turned on ever.

  He leaned in to whisper, “Good girl,” and I felt like I had won another prize. The feeling only deepened when he ran one finger along my jaw, such a light touch I barely felt it. “If you don’t call, I’ll know you decided you didn’t want to play after all. I won’t be— No, that’s a lie. I will be disappointed if you don’t. However, I’ll respect your wishes.”

  “I’ll earn another wish from you,” I said in return. In the back of my head I was already thinking that if I wanted to back out, it would be easy. My name wasn’t even Ashley, and this wasn’t my actual job. But in the front of my mind all I could think of was how much I wanted to keep playing...with him.

  He grinned. “Excellent.” He nodded, then stepped back to put his topcoat on and walked out without looking back at me.

  I stood there for a few more breathless seconds, until he was out of sight. Then I looked down and saw that the two twenty-dollar bills I thought he’d left on the table to cover his tab were actually fifties.

  I shoved them into my apron pocket and collected the glasses from all the tables before heading down the stairs, carrying the tray over my shoulder. With each step I took, the marble rubbed back and forth in my panties, inflaming me. I wondered if anyone would be able to tell how turned on I was and was thankful for the amber and red lights in the place.

  This was by far the kinkiest thing I had ever done. If Jill knew I had flirted with a customer like that, or with anyone for that matter, she’d freak. So it was imperative that I keep our secret. I suddenly realized I didn’t even know his name. I looked at the card. All it had on it was a phone number. I slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans, wondering what his hand would feel like there.

  I was so wrapped up in thinking about him that I almost dropped the glasses I was holding when someone grabbed me by the arm.

  “Karina Casper! You told me you were too sick to get out of bed! What do you have to say for yourself?”

  It was Professor Renault. And I was plain caught.

  (Slow Surrender is the first book in the Struck by Lightning trilogy! Available from all major book retailers!)