“No, ladies—I’ve brought you an extra special treat.” She wound her way through their group with me an obedient three steps behind, displaying her control over me like I was a dog at a show. When we reached the stage she gracefully stepped up and knotted the end of the leash around the pole, giving me a six foot range.

“Who is he?” asked the woman closest to the bachelorette.

“This is Jack. Jack’s a friend.” Rosalie said, giving my cheek a meaningful tap, before walking out and abandoning me.

I watched the wall behind the stage, my back to them, as they watched my back in silence. Goddammit. I never should’ve listened to Fran.

I braced myself and turned, ignoring the collar’s chafe. “Hello ladies,” I said, and hopped up to sit on the end of the stage, giving myself some slack.

“You’re not her type!” one of the women exclaimed, moving herself in front of the bachelorette bodily, like a human shield.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Okay?”

The women seemed confused by this. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” 

“Who’re you?” 

“Why’re you here?” they asked, almost as one.

Just like in prison I heard you needed to take out or befriend the biggest asshole—in any group of women there was one whose opinion counted the most, no matter what. And tonight it was hers, the bachelorette. As long as she was having fun, no one else mattered.

I stared her down, not looking away, and for her part she didn’t look away either, knowing the night was hers to decide. “I was specifically told to make sure you have a good time.” I spoke only to her and ignored the others.

“We should go—”

“He’s cute—”

“What would Daryl think about this?” asked the human shield, her voice booming over the others. I was guessing Daryl was the groom and that she was his sister. One of the girls in back leaned over her table, where the others couldn’t see, giving me a distracting view of her cleavage. When she realized I’d noticed she grinned and leaned back, as things otherwise devolved into chaos, women debating the merits of men in general and Daryl in particular.

“Ladies!” I shouted, bringing them to order. I only had a brief window to turn this ship around and gain Rosalie’s cooperation. “Let’s play a game.”

At that, silence ruled. “What kind of game?” Cleavage asked me.

“The only game that matters,” I said, relishing both the quiet and their attention. “Truth or dare.”

One of the girls sputtered her drink, but some others cheered, “Yes!” and one clapped her approval.

“You go first,” I told the bachelorette.

She set her drink down slowly. I imagined her rowdier friends—or relatives?—had talked her into this, because she was a plain girl, the kind you could pass by every day at work and never notice. But when she smiled at me her whole face lit up and I saw what Daryl might have seen. “Truth or dare?” she asked.

“Truth,” I said.

They conferred as a group, before she returned with their question. “How many girls have you slept with?”

I was a bit taken aback. “Uh—more than I can count?”

“Really?”

“Bragger.”

“That’s bullshit—”

“How many guys have you slept with, Susan?”

The bachelorette eyed me. “That wasn’t really an answer.”

“Sorry. If I could count them, I would. But let’s have a redo—more truth.”

She grinned and they huddled. “Okay—what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

My stomach churned but I kept smiling. “Here.”

“Too easy!” protested Cleavage.

“Truth or dare,” I asked back before I lost them again, staring the bachelorette down.

“Dare,” she said, and the room hushed. By the rules of the game I could dare her to do anything—but it was far too early for that. My eyes scanned their number and I read them, noticing those who’d taken off their rings for the night, the ones that were drinking now so they’d have excuses come dawn, the way the glowsticks gave all of them an ethereal glow in the room’s dim light. My eyes narrowed and I knew what needed to happen next.