eyes met. His glittered. "And you're no mouse in the
corner, Helen. That's for damn sure."
***
No
mouse in the corner.
Okay,
how about a wolf in sheepskin or a blackbird in the pie? She couldn't tell
Reese what she was really doing here, couldn't tell anyone, and hinting at her
suspicions about his father's death was a bad move, a foolish move. What was
she trying to accomplish? Like everyone else, she was stupidly hoping he'd stay
around a while. Was she as bad as everyone else who wanted to stand around in
his shade, catch his quips, bask in his smile because he was who he was? Did he
linger in everyone else's head the way he did in hers?
She
was playing with fire and she knew it, and she also knew that the heat of that
risk excited her. It was a risk she couldn't afford to take. She wasn't just
some female in heat, damp from a hot shower and clothed in his shirt, the one
she knew he'd worn because it carried his scent and his— Damn!
She
was a mother. A mother, not just any female. She couldn't gamble with
her son's security, and that was exactly what she was doing every time she got
near Reese. She could not permit herself to gamble. It was a temptation
to her, a challenge, an illusion that could ruin her. It very nearly had.
Challenging
fate could become an addiction. Flying in the face of all the odds and seizing
the chance to single-handedly turn the world on its ear had strong appeal.
Unexpected appeal for Helen, who surely never thought of herself as a gambler.
When she became one, she found ways to put Helen the Gambler into her own
separate compartment. Most aspects of her life were sane and ordinary, and she
was able to keep them that way for a while. The Helen who bet the rent money on
the turn of a card was only an occasional Helen. The real Helen would replace
the rent money somehow. The real Helen was sensible, hardworking, a good
mother, a good friend, daughter, person. She had always been good at what she
did.
But
somehow never quite good enough, that real Helen. That plodding, ho-hum Helen.
There was always a vague dissatisfaction, a feeling that she could do more, be
more, make something more happen. Take a risk. She was afraid to lose,
but sometimes Chance, that terrible tempter, would present himself in such an
irresistible package that she would sneak a little taste of him. Just a taste.
And sometimes—oh, that taste. Juicy, sugar-coated, slightly metallic. Her mouth
watered as she drove up the wide stretch of faultless new asphalt toward
Pair-a-Dice City's flashy marquee. At least her palms didn't get clammy
anymore.
She
remembered the first time she'd played blackjack at a casino in Colorado. She'd
been with friends who were trying to fix her up with somebody's cousin from out
of town, an association that was utterly forgettable. But the game was not.
Although she'd long considered herself a good card player, she'd never been
exposed to gambling. She was no gambler, but she didn't mind watching the
others play. When one of the players moved on, Helen's date for the evening
suggested that she sit down and give it a try. She remembered feeling unusually
restless that night, impatient with the company she was keeping, eager to
separate herself in some way. And somebody's cousin's suggestion had sounded
patronizing, as though it might be amusing to watch her dabble in a man's game.
She
had taken the dare. She'd played a prudent, unpretentious game, and she had
gone away a hundred dollars richer. It was enough to buy Sidney the video game
he'd been asking for, the one she could not afford. But this was a
hundred-dollar windfall, and it was okay to blow a windfall on a faddish toy.
She was a winner. Fortune had smiled on her, and a winner's fortune must be
shared with those she loved.
Somebody's
cousin would have been history much sooner had he not provided more casino
dates. A few more social outings down the road, he was no longer needed.
Blackjack was not a social function for a serious
corner, Helen. That's for damn sure."
***
No
mouse in the corner.
Okay,
how about a wolf in sheepskin or a blackbird in the pie? She couldn't tell
Reese what she was really doing here, couldn't tell anyone, and hinting at her
suspicions about his father's death was a bad move, a foolish move. What was
she trying to accomplish? Like everyone else, she was stupidly hoping he'd stay
around a while. Was she as bad as everyone else who wanted to stand around in
his shade, catch his quips, bask in his smile because he was who he was? Did he
linger in everyone else's head the way he did in hers?
She
was playing with fire and she knew it, and she also knew that the heat of that
risk excited her. It was a risk she couldn't afford to take. She wasn't just
some female in heat, damp from a hot shower and clothed in his shirt, the one
she knew he'd worn because it carried his scent and his— Damn!
She
was a mother. A mother, not just any female. She couldn't gamble with
her son's security, and that was exactly what she was doing every time she got
near Reese. She could not permit herself to gamble. It was a temptation
to her, a challenge, an illusion that could ruin her. It very nearly had.
Challenging
fate could become an addiction. Flying in the face of all the odds and seizing
the chance to single-handedly turn the world on its ear had strong appeal.
Unexpected appeal for Helen, who surely never thought of herself as a gambler.
When she became one, she found ways to put Helen the Gambler into her own
separate compartment. Most aspects of her life were sane and ordinary, and she
was able to keep them that way for a while. The Helen who bet the rent money on
the turn of a card was only an occasional Helen. The real Helen would replace
the rent money somehow. The real Helen was sensible, hardworking, a good
mother, a good friend, daughter, person. She had always been good at what she
did.
But
somehow never quite good enough, that real Helen. That plodding, ho-hum Helen.
There was always a vague dissatisfaction, a feeling that she could do more, be
more, make something more happen. Take a risk. She was afraid to lose,
but sometimes Chance, that terrible tempter, would present himself in such an
irresistible package that she would sneak a little taste of him. Just a taste.
And sometimes—oh, that taste. Juicy, sugar-coated, slightly metallic. Her mouth
watered as she drove up the wide stretch of faultless new asphalt toward
Pair-a-Dice City's flashy marquee. At least her palms didn't get clammy
anymore.
She
remembered the first time she'd played blackjack at a casino in Colorado. She'd
been with friends who were trying to fix her up with somebody's cousin from out
of town, an association that was utterly forgettable. But the game was not.
Although she'd long considered herself a good card player, she'd never been
exposed to gambling. She was no gambler, but she didn't mind watching the
others play. When one of the players moved on, Helen's date for the evening
suggested that she sit down and give it a try. She remembered feeling unusually
restless that night, impatient with the company she was keeping, eager to
separate herself in some way. And somebody's cousin's suggestion had sounded
patronizing, as though it might be amusing to watch her dabble in a man's game.
She
had taken the dare. She'd played a prudent, unpretentious game, and she had
gone away a hundred dollars richer. It was enough to buy Sidney the video game
he'd been asking for, the one she could not afford. But this was a
hundred-dollar windfall, and it was okay to blow a windfall on a faddish toy.
She was a winner. Fortune had smiled on her, and a winner's fortune must be
shared with those she loved.
Somebody's
cousin would have been history much sooner had he not provided more casino
dates. A few more social outings down the road, he was no longer needed.
Blackjack was not a social function for a serious
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