Played: An Altered Saga Novella by Jennifer Rush Page B

tan.
    Inside the hotel, I gave the desk clerk my fake driver’s license—Phoebe McDonald was my new, temporary name—and the credit card I’d acquired with it.
    “All set,” the clerk said a few minutes later, and handed me a room key. “You’re paid up through the week. Let me know if there’s anything else we can help with.”
    “Sure thing,” I said.
    Once settled in my room, I dropped onto the bed, on my stomach, and pulled in a deep, settling breath. The bedding smelled like bleach and lavender, but it was thick and clean and that’s really all that mattered.
    I always plotted murder better on good sheets.
    After tending to my still-sore tattoo, I went out in search of food. Less than a mile from my hotel, I found a pizza place that hadn’t yet filled with dinnertime customers.
    Inside, I took a booth along the south wall that afforded me a view of the front door and the street I’d just come in from. My server came over a few minutes later. I couldn’t help but watch him navigate the dining room with a quickness and grace that seemed at odds with his tall, muscular frame.
    He smiled when he reached me, and I smiled back, glad to have him instead of the harried middle-aged waitress who clearly thought her customers were there to annoy her rather than help pay her wages.
    I’d been a server at a restaurant in Trademarr before I’d ditched town. I knew how stressful the job was, but rule number one was, you didn’t take it out on your customers. Unless they deserved it, of course.
    My friend Elizabeth, who’d been a server with me, had had a hard time knowing when to be a dick. She was almost annoyingly kind.
    “Evening,” the waiter said. “Can I get you anything to drink to start with?”
    “Whatever you have that has the most caffeine.”
    “Long night?” he asked. “Or early morning?”
    I looked up at him through my lashes, and let my mouth spread into a crooked grin. “Every night is a long night.” I was, of course, referring to the fact that I usually only slept four hours a night. But he didn’t have to know that.
    “I see. Well, we have some kind of energy drink here. Not sure what the brand is, and it probably tastes like shit, but the caffeine content is practically illegal.”
    “I’ll have that, then.”
    He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
    “Hey?” I called, and he twisted half-around. “What’s your name?”
    “What’s yours?”
    “Phoebe.”
    “You don’t look like a Phoebe.”
    No shit.
    “Family name,” I explained.
    “Uh-huh.”
    I frowned. “You don’t believe me?”
    “Never said that.”
    “So?” I nodded at him. “Your turn.”
    “You’ll have to work harder than that,
Phoebe
.” He started off and then said, his back to me, “Don’t go anywhere.”
    I definitely liked this guy. Maybe I’d invite him to my hotel room after his shift. No one ever said you couldn’t have fun
and
plot murder.
    As I waited for my drink, an older couple dropped a few coins in the jukebox and Elvis Presley crooned from the speakers a second later. In the far corner, two kids animatedly played a game of foosball. From the kitchen, a cook called out an order and the harried waitress scurried to retrieve it.
    My waiter returned. He set the drink down on the table.
    “What time do you get off?” I asked.
    He glanced at the clock over his shoulder. “Well, now, actually. You’re my last table.”
    “What do you say we go back to my hotel for a drink?”
    He frowned. “You haven’t even ordered food yet.”
    “Then we’ll order in.”
    A smile spread across his face. He was considering it. Of course he was considering it. It wasn’t like I was ugly.
    “All right,” he finally answered. “A drink sounds nice.”
    So I paid for the energy drink that I hadn’t touched and followed mystery boy out the door.
    Back in my hotel room, I mixed two drinks and gave mystery boy the one with more alcohol. Mine probably wouldn’t even be considered alcoholic, since