Page 71 of Double or Nothing

“Join the club,” Jack says, throwing his suit jacket to the side of the room and rolling up his shirt sleeves. “But who gives a toss? I might do some finger painting. See if I can make a giraffe out of thumbprints.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. “Ridiculous.”

There’s something about that word I despise. I’ve heard it so many times, it gets my hackles right up.

“Why is it ridiculous?” I ask.

Bryce seems almost offended at the whole setup, gesturing around the room like it’s sacrilege.

“This is your professional studio, Alice. It’s an honour to be here, without mocking it.”

“I’m not mocking it!” Jack says. “Fucking hell, Bryce. Has the word fun left your vocabulary since we clinked mugs downstairs?”

“Not at all. Quite the opposite!”

I’d never have expected these two to be having a disagreement over canvases on my studio floor. Bryce’s stance is firm as he folds his arms across his chest.

“We’re lucky to be in here,” he says.

“Exactly,” Jack says. “Which is why I’m using the opportunity for a taste of the magic. I wouldn’t bring you to my casino, point out the grand fruits of my labour, then bar you from having a go at the roulette wheel, would I? Why is a paintbrush any different?”

Bryce blusters. His cheeks redden.

“It just is.”

Jack groans. “Oh, please. That’s the crappest comeback I’ve ever heard.” He pulls a fake grumpy expression. Acts like a kid. “It just is!”

“You don’t have to join in with us, Bryce,” I say. “You can just watch from the sidelines if you want. You can sit on the stool. Pass us the colours.”

“And get us some fresh prosecco from downstairs,” Jack says. “Go on, get your moody ass down there if you’re not joining in.”

My heart pangs at the thought of Bryce sidestepping us. Of walking out the door.

“Don’t do that,” I say, and step up close to him, my hand on his arm. “Please, Bryce, for old times’ sake. You can have a smaller canvas if you like.”

“Prosecco boy or finger painting, BT, which is it going to be?” Jack says, and I wish he’d shut the hell up sometimes.

Only it’s Jack that Bryce responds to, letting out a curse as he begins to roll up his own shirt sleeves.

“I’m not being your prissy little butler,” he says, then turns to me. “Make sure my canvas is as big as his, thank you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

BRYCE

Memories of posh boy school come slamming back to me. Every single day a competition. I was never the type to go for gold, but seeing Jack’s inherent smugness spikes me. He’s got a smirk that reeks of bring it on as he watches me roll my sleeves up.

My blood is pumping as Alice lines up our trio of canvases. She’s got a beautiful smile on her face as she hands us our palettes and opens one of her paint drawers.

“Who wants what?” she says. “Any preferences?”

“I want everything,” Jack says. “Full rainbow. Every shade you’ve got.”

“What a surprise.”

She scoops up a whole load of paint tubes and drops them between us. So many options, all mixed in together, with a full selection of brushes. I drop to my knees first, claiming middle position.

Jack drops to the left of me and starts checking out the paint selection.