The lake house was bathed in shadows, only the flicker of the patio lanterns cutting through the thick night. The air smelled like whiskey and river water, like secrets waiting to be spilled. Margo lounged on the rug in the center of the living room, legs stretched out, glass dangling from her hand, her laugh low and smoky. Brad was already flushed from the heat and the liquor, Jamie leaning lazily against the sofa with that cocky grin plastered on his face. Everyone still drying from the pool.

The empty bottle in the middle of the circle caught the glow of the lamp as Brad gave it a sloppy spin, everyone jeering when it stopped at Margo. She smirked, tugged Brad closer by the collar, and kissed him—slow enough to leave him blinking when she pulled away. When the bottle landed on Jamie a few turns later, she didn’t hesitate there either, her lipstick smudging across his grin.

It was only when it was her turn again that the mood shifted. Margo’s painted nails tapped the glass before she gave it a sharp flick, watching it whirl across the hardwood. The room seemed to hold its breath as it slowed, slowed, and finally pointed straight at you.

Margo’s gaze flicked up, locking on yours. The corners of her mouth curved into a knowing smile, equal parts mischief and challenge.

“Well,” she drawled, voice warm and teasing, “looks like it’s your lucky night.”