I grip his cock as hard as I can, forcing him to throw his head upward to throw me a death stare. “You have always underestimated me. I don’t have a dick swinging between my legs so I could never pull off seduction the way you do.” With relative ease—and satisfaction—I swing my left leg over his body and hop onto my feet. “But you’re forgetting something. I’m Apple Fucking Malloy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He wiggles his hips, his erection ebbing with every little movement. “You’re a real badass.” His eyes lock on me and for the shortest of moments, I almost slip back into straddling position. That’s what I would do on a normal night—he’s my biggest weakness after all—but tonight isn’t a normal night. Tonight is the beginning of an all out war. Too much is on the line to give in now.

So, I simply smile. “Goodnight Brick.”

“Wait a damn minute,” he hollers and I can see the realization starting to sink in. “If you’re going to bed then why the hell did you chain me to your bed?”

“It’s just another game. Sleep tight.” I blow him a kiss and flip the light switch off. The moon blows through the window, casting shadows across his beautiful body. “If you need me, I’ll be on the couch.”

“You can’t leave me here,” he screams and I swear to God, if he wakes annoying Lydia from her peaceful slumber, we’re going to have a real problem. I’ll probably sic her on him. “You can’t leave me like this. I can’t even jerk off!”

“Oh Brick… Even old dogs learn new tricks. I’m sure if you focus hard enough, you can will yourself to come.”

“You’re going to pay for this.” He begins thrashing in the bed, trying to escape a night filled with misery and balls as blue as the ocean on a cloudy night. The handcuffs scratch against metal and it’s hard to think back to a time when I was more proud of myself. Because, while the game has just begun, I’ve already won the first battle. It’s a small victory, but Goddamn does it feel good. “You’re going to pay for this,” he screams again as I close the door.

“I never do,” I whisper to myself. “I never do.”

2

There is nothing more savory than sipping a mimosa in the early hours of a warm spring Sunday. If that says anything about me, it screams that I try my best to enjoy life. It’s a ride that can be cut short, or prolonged into creeping misery to the count of a hundred years. It’s not often that mortality flirts with perfect timing.

Even in my young age, with the heft of twenty-two years under my belt, I can’t help but to think about the tragedy of the number twenty-seven. All the good people die young, and that’s how I know I’ll fumble across the finish line at more than a century of life. I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve to live a life worth grieving if it should be cut short.

I’m parked on a black stool that is curled up next to a tall tabletop that passes for a college-sized version of a breakfast nook. It’s the same routine every morning. I sit alone and stare out the french doors, looking into the garden that lines the fence of the patio.

Today is different. The plants on the patio, and the trees beyond the wooden fence are in full bloom. Today has purpose, and it’s with purpose that I carry on. The game began the moment Brick and I made that bet. The best is my purpose. I’m nobody when I’m not actively engaged in the art of manipulation and deceit. I’m hollow without it.

And I don’t deserve to die young.

“Good morning,” Brick says from behind me, shattering any sense of peace. “Woke up with a key in my hand.”

I spin the stool in a half-circle and face him. His tattoos are on full display as he stands in nothing but tight, black boxer briefs and sneakers. His jeans are draped across his arm.

“You were free to leave at any time.” I smile and take a sip of my mimosa. “Provided you woke your lazy ass up.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” He steps to me and places a soft kiss against the top of my head. He lowers his mouth against my ear and I’m hit with warm air and morning breath. “I just left five hours of an erections worth of a mess on your bed.”

“Really?” I reach forth and tug at the lining of his briefs then pull him close. I make a deliberate attempt to steal his attention so that his eyes rest on me as I hook my fingers into his underpants. Swiftly, I swipe my drink off the table and dump the alcoholic orange juice onto his flaccid cock.

“Fuck, that’s cold,” he yelps and jumps backward. “You’re a wicked woman.”

Tell me something I don’t know. “Were you planning on getting dressed before you leave?”

“Wasn’t going to.” He reaches down and adjusts himself through the thin fabric.

I swivel on the stool and pour another glass of orange juice into my empty glass. “I’d suggest you put your jeans on before you walk out that door. You’re in the middle of campus and I would hate for the entire block to think you pissed your pants.”

He pushes his tongue against his cheek and smiles in simple defeat. “Have a splendid day, Apple.”

“Don’t worry about me.” I fill the remainder of my glass with moscato, watching the alcohol sink into the pool of vitamin C. “I have quite the eventful afternoon planned.”

“Really?” He bends to push his feet through jeans, his abs folding over in the process. The morning light streaming through the patio doors looks magnificent on him. “Care to share?”

“Have you already forgotten about our bet?”

When he’s done buttoning his jeans, he strokes the side of my face with his thumb. “You’re in too deep, Apple.”

I pull away from him and jump to my feet, taking great care to avoid spilling my drink in the process. “I’ll be laying the groundwork this morning. While you continue to watch your beloved virgin from a distance, I’ll be sucking Mr. Moon’s cock.”

He shakes his head in mock disgust. “Must you be so vulgar?”

“Don’t pretend like it bothers you.”

“Doesn’t bother.” He shrugs. “Just a little unbecoming. Don’t you think?”

I place my palms on the crux of his shoulders and spin him around. “Don’t let your double standards hit you in the ass on the way out.”

He nods and steps through a doorframe where there used to be a door. I follow him through the living room and to the front door. He places his hand on the knob and pulls the door open. “Don’t let your heart get broke.” He turns back to me and his face is full of intent, a fragile reminder that underneath all of the bullshit, he’s the only one who has ever cared for me. “Heartbreak looks good on you, like every other man or woman in this world. But I prefer my Apple when she has a bite to her, so let’s try to keep it that way.”

I said he cared for me. I didn’t say it wasn’t in his own fucked up way that only I could understand. I force an easy smile. “I hope you’re ready to admit defeat.”

“That’s a word that isn’t in my vocabulary, sweetie.”

“Good luck hunting.” My easy smile curls into something much more devious.

“I make my own luck.” Like a mirror, he throws his brand of devious right back at me. “You, of all people, should know that.“

“Are we going to keep throwing jabs, or are you going to get the hell out of my house so I can get on with my day?”

“I have an appointment with a certain young blonde woman, so I should probably dart.”

“I’m prone to agree.” I push him against the chest and out the door. He spins on his foot and begins the short walk to his black sports car. But I have one last game to play. “Brick?” I ask with a pout of my lips. Like an addict craving his next fix, he comes running back to me.

“Yeah?”

Before he can finish his one-word inquisition, I tip my glass and pour another perfectly good concoction onto his jean-clad groin.