At the beginning of the year, one of the girls on my floor started calling me that, because for whatever reason Callie wasn’t a good enough nickname, and it just never fucking went away.

The Bargainer snickers. “Whatever you say … Callypsie.”

I don’t have time to make good on my threat before Trish is on me.

“I didn’t realize you were coming!” she says, pulling me in for a hug.

This is awkward. Trish is one of those girls that I must’ve pissed off at one point in time because her hobbies include studiously ignoring me.

Except for right now.

I pat her back, willing her to release me so I can understand what sort of hex has been put on her to make her address me. And as Callypsie, of all things. I thought she’d missed that nickname during all that time she pretended I didn’t exist.

And then she turns to the Bargainer, and holy shit, she is giving him one hell of a predatory look.

I move a little closer to him. I find I don’t really like sharing Des. It’s a pretty illusion to believe that he’s mine and mine alone, but amongst this crowd he might as well be. No one here knows him, no one here has seen him orchestrate a deal or collect repayment. No one has drunk and played poker with him, or sipped tea and chatted over pastries with him. No one has had movie marathons or heart-to-hearts with him. No one here knows that he’s kind and cruel and wicked and funny and everything in between.

But the way Trisha’s staring at him, like if she had five minutes alone with him she could win him over, it’s making me question my decision to come to the dance. Because maybe five minutes is all it would take. I really don’t know, and I’m afraid to find out.

“Um,” I say, “this is my date—”

“Dean,” the Bargainer fills in for me, extending his hand.

Trish looks moonstruck as she takes his hand. I seriously hope I don’t wear that expression around Des.

I probably do.

“How do you and Callie know each other?” she asks as Des releases her hand. She smiles shyly, like she’s some coquettish little flower. I can’t decide if I want to smirk or grimace at that.

I turn to Des, and I’m so scared he’s going to tell the truth.

Oh Callie and I met right after she murdered her stepfather. She’s quite vicious if you really get to know her …

Des drapes his arm around my waist and looks at me fondly. “I saved her life—at least that’s how she puts it, isn’t it, cherub?” He gives me a little squeeze as he does so.

His eyes twinkle as I gaze up at him. The man is definitely playing us up and having entirely too much fun doing so.

I can’t find the words to respond, so I nod.

“Oh,” Trish says, furrowing her brows, “that’s … odd. Wow, so are you two a thing?”

Her eyes move briefly to me before returning to the Bargainer. The girl is undressing him slowly in her mind’s eye, and damnit, I had a corner on that particular market up until today.

The Bargainer’s gaze moves past Trish’s shoulder. “Your date’s waiting for you, Trish Claremont. Don’t leave him hanging.”

“How do you know—?” Her words trail off at whatever she sees on Des’s face. She glances over her shoulder, backing away. “Uh, yeah, well, it was nice meeting you, Dean.” She doesn’t bother saying goodbye to me before she hastily retreats.

He watches her walk away, his eyes narrowed.

“That was weird,” I say.

Weird is just a euphemism for an emotion I can’t actually put a name on. Obviously a part of me is territorial, which is embarrassing because Des isn’t even mine, but it’s more than that. It’s being both pleased and disappointed to be recognized for the first time in your life by someone you don’t like. And it’s shame that a part of you even feels pleased at something as basic as human recognition. But then again, Trisha hadn’t really seen me tonight. Not as a friend, not as a threat. My existence began and ended with the introduction I gave her.

Bringing Des here might’ve been a very bad idea.

The Bargainer’s lips brush against my ear. “Let’s find a table. Maybe I’ll even let you straddle me and pretend that we’re a thing for the next girl that asks.”

That’s all it takes to wipe away my somber mood.

My skin begins to brighten just from the thought of getting to straddle Des. A.k.a., this siren totally popped a lady boner.

Des doesn’t have time to remark on it before more acquaintances come over.

And so we do that same little song and dance all over again. And again.

Right in the middle of introductions to Clarice, a girl from my myths and legends class, the Bargainer takes my hand and leads me away. I barely have time to throw her an apologetic glance over my shoulder before I’m swept off.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Students part as soon as they see Des. “Dance floor,” he says over his shoulder.

I slow a little. Dancing is not really my thing.

He gives a little tug, and what pathetic resistance I have falls away.

I catch up to his side. “That was insanity back there,” I say, because I can’t think of anything better.

“That was hellacious,” he says, “and I’m used to events like this. Thank fuck I never went to high school.” That gets him a look or two from people who’ve overheard us.

“You never went to high school?” I ask as we weave between couples. I don’t know why I’m surprised; nothing about Des seems particularly normal.