“But we’re notfriends…”
“No.” He drags his finger over mylip.
I grip the edge of the cold bleacher to keep myselfgrounded.
“We’re something in-between,” hewhispers.
Inhaling, I pull away from his touch. “Okay, well, what’s in it for me? If I agree to this bet, what happens when youdon’tchange mymind?”
“That’s up to you.” Elijah lifts a slow shoulder. “A trip to the Maldives? A new car? Dinner at a fancy restaurant? If I lose, you can have whatever youwant.”
“You know, this makes me wonder what kind of a businessman you are. I mean, say you had me talked into this fantasy thing, I could easily pretend I want nothing to do with it. Then I take your generous offer for a vacation to the Maldives andrun.”
“Oh”—he smirks like a smug bastard— “I doubtthat.”
So damncertain.
I shouldn’t do it. This is not a man I should play Russian roulette with; I’m like Sleeping Beauty with that freaking spindle. I know he’s going to make me bleed…I just want to feel theprick.
“In Mexico,” he whispers, “I did things with you I’ve never done with anotherwoman.”
A knot forms in my stomach not knowing what the hell we did. The possibilities run rampant, like tiny demons with pitchforks, through mymind.
“So, do we have a bet?” He holds out his hand, and I stare at it, noting his trimmed nails and shinywatch.
My eyes go wide as I watch us shake. It was quite possible that I’d just sold my soul to thedevil.
“Ah, there it is.” He points at One Times Square in front ofus.
All the billboards synchronize, scrolling the title:Midnight Magicacross their centers. Collages of men with handlebar mustaches riding bikes float across the screens. The videos fizzle out, and a psychedelic, Andy-Warhol reminiscent picture of cows pops up. Most of the people meandering about the center stop andwatch.
Elijah leans in beside my ear and whispers, “You see…watchingart.”
