I know all Grisha’s friends. I don’t want to dance with Sebastian under their watchful eyes.

If we went upstairs, we’d find people fucking in every available room, or playing blackjack on the level above. On the rooftop Grisha installed a cedar barrel sauna, big enough to fix eight, and a large hot tub next to it. He won’t let any girls in the hot tub unless they’re topless.

None of that sounds appealing to me. Instead, I say, “Come on,” and I pull Sebastian in the direction of the basement.

The basement is unfinished, so not many people want to come down here. Bare lightbulbs dangle from the ceiling, and the floor is cement. It’s much cooler than upstairs. It smells damp, and the ceiling thuds alarmingly overhead, as if it might collapse from the weight of everything above.

Sebastian has to duck his head to go down the stairs.

I find the light switch, surrounded by bare metal without any proper cover, and I flip it up. The bulbs crackle on, casting light in swinging circles.

“You play pool?” I ask Sebastian, casually.

“Sometimes,” he says.

I take two cues down off the wall, handing the longer one to Sebastian. I take my favorite.

“What about a friendly wager?” I ask him.

“Sure,” Sebastian says. “How much is friendly?”

“How about a hundred to start?”

He lets out a low whistle. “Let me see what I’ve got.”

He takes out a billfold which looks plenty thick. He slips out a hundred dollar bill, without flashing the rest of the cash. If Grisha were doing that, he’d be sure to let me see exactly how much he was carrying.

Sebastian lays the bill on the polished wooden rail of the pool table.

“What about you?” he says, teasingly. “How do I know you’re good for it?”

“You won’t be seeing my money,” I inform him. “Not now or after.”

Sebastian laughs. “I like the confidence,” he says.

He racks the balls, and I take position to break. I split the stack cleanly, sending balls ricocheting in every direction across the smooth green felt. I like the location of the stripes, so I take those. I already sank the 9. I line up my cue behind the 11-ball. I can feel Sebastian’s eyes on my body as I bend over the table. I’ve got to bend over a long way because of my heels. I can feel my skirt pulling up.

I give the cue ball a smart tap, sending it hard into the 11, just left of center. The 11 cuts off to the right, spinning directly into the side pocket, landing with a satisfying thump. Without pausing, I sink the 13 and 14 as well.

“Uh oh,” Sebastian says, softly. “I think I’m in trouble.”

I miss my next shot by an inch. Sebastian takes his cue and surveys the table. Quickly and smoothly, he sinks the 2 and the 4. His large hands are steady as he spreads his fingers across the felt, stabilizing his cue. He only has to give the ball a glance to calculate his angle.