card shark girl.”
I put the pen down before signing on the last empty line. “Ben,” I say, “there’s one more condition to this deal …”
Case of disgusting Budweiser in hand, I stroll into the studio, letting the loud slam of the door echo through the tall, open space. My eyes are already trained on Kate when she looks up. Eyes wide as saucers, sharp inhale—she’s surprised to see me. Tonight is all about winning. I’m going to use the element of surprise to my advantage.
“I thought you were going to be Ben,” Frank says.
“Change of plans. Ben’s not coming,” I respond to Frank, but my eyes don’t leave Kate.
“Whadda you mean, Ben’s not coming? He hasn’t missed a night in twenty-five years.”
“Twenty-eight,” I correct him.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.”
“What the hell was so important that he would miss? It’s not like Ben.”
“I’d tell you why he can’t make it, but I wouldn’t want to break the no-business-talk rule before I even sit down.”
“Whatever,” Frank grumbles and waves my comment off. “You remember Kate?”
“I do.” I arch an eyebrow at Kate and nod.
“Carl hasn’t played with Kate yet. I told him to take it easy on her.” Frank winks, shuffling the deck.
Aggressive women were always a turn-off for me. But aggressive card-playing women—that’s apparently a whole different ballgame. Kate folds the first two hands, Carl raking in the pot both times. Hand three, even I caught Carl’s facial tic when he picked up his cards, indicating he thought he had a winner. I nearly laughed out loud when Kate took two cards and her eyes bulged from her head. Even a novice card player would cover up better than that. But Carl bought her shit—hook, line and sinker. And Frank and I quickly bowed out to enjoy the show.
On his raise, Carl pushes in a tall stack of chips. Kate actually nibbles on her lip a bit, pretending to debate whether she should go all in or not. The smile on Carl’s face when she shrugs and pensively pushes her chips in is absolutely priceless. He turns over three queens, gloating, hands already reaching toward the center of the table.
“Does this beat three of a kind?” Kate asks innocently, laying a full house down on the table.
We let poor Carl lose his shirt, not letting him in on the joke until we take the usual bathroom break. “You guys are assholes,” he mutters, throwing his cards down on the table before stalking off to the restroom. Frank follows him out, chanting, “You got beat by a girl. You got beat by a girl.”
“You must have gotten lost on your way to my office after lunch this afternoon,” I say when the door slams shut, leaving just the two of us. “Avoiding me won’t solve the problem.” The room is so quiet I can hear the distinct hitch in her breath, even though she tries to conceal the effect my words have on her.
“What will?” She busies herself collecting the cards from the table and speaks without looking at me.
“Working through it.”
“Am I supposed to believe you’re here by coincidence? If you want something, set it free, if it comes back to you, it was meant to be … or something like that?”
“Do you believe in that stuff?”
She pauses for a moment, considering my question, and then begins shuffling again. “I think I do. Do you?”
“I’m more of the school of if you want something bad enough, pursue it aggressively until you wear it down and it gives in.”
Her mouth twitches with suppressed amusement, but she still doesn’t look up.
“You didn’t push my hand away today,” I say, my eyes never leaving her face.
“I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“You liked it there. The way my fingers traced the outline of the lace. I could feel the heat. You wanted me to dip my fingers inside and feel how wet you were as much as I did.”
She closes her eyes.
I stand and step around the table.
“It made me insane to see his hand on you,” I admit as I
I put the pen down before signing on the last empty line. “Ben,” I say, “there’s one more condition to this deal …”
Case of disgusting Budweiser in hand, I stroll into the studio, letting the loud slam of the door echo through the tall, open space. My eyes are already trained on Kate when she looks up. Eyes wide as saucers, sharp inhale—she’s surprised to see me. Tonight is all about winning. I’m going to use the element of surprise to my advantage.
“I thought you were going to be Ben,” Frank says.
“Change of plans. Ben’s not coming,” I respond to Frank, but my eyes don’t leave Kate.
“Whadda you mean, Ben’s not coming? He hasn’t missed a night in twenty-five years.”
“Twenty-eight,” I correct him.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine.”
“What the hell was so important that he would miss? It’s not like Ben.”
“I’d tell you why he can’t make it, but I wouldn’t want to break the no-business-talk rule before I even sit down.”
“Whatever,” Frank grumbles and waves my comment off. “You remember Kate?”
“I do.” I arch an eyebrow at Kate and nod.
“Carl hasn’t played with Kate yet. I told him to take it easy on her.” Frank winks, shuffling the deck.
Aggressive women were always a turn-off for me. But aggressive card-playing women—that’s apparently a whole different ballgame. Kate folds the first two hands, Carl raking in the pot both times. Hand three, even I caught Carl’s facial tic when he picked up his cards, indicating he thought he had a winner. I nearly laughed out loud when Kate took two cards and her eyes bulged from her head. Even a novice card player would cover up better than that. But Carl bought her shit—hook, line and sinker. And Frank and I quickly bowed out to enjoy the show.
On his raise, Carl pushes in a tall stack of chips. Kate actually nibbles on her lip a bit, pretending to debate whether she should go all in or not. The smile on Carl’s face when she shrugs and pensively pushes her chips in is absolutely priceless. He turns over three queens, gloating, hands already reaching toward the center of the table.
“Does this beat three of a kind?” Kate asks innocently, laying a full house down on the table.
We let poor Carl lose his shirt, not letting him in on the joke until we take the usual bathroom break. “You guys are assholes,” he mutters, throwing his cards down on the table before stalking off to the restroom. Frank follows him out, chanting, “You got beat by a girl. You got beat by a girl.”
“You must have gotten lost on your way to my office after lunch this afternoon,” I say when the door slams shut, leaving just the two of us. “Avoiding me won’t solve the problem.” The room is so quiet I can hear the distinct hitch in her breath, even though she tries to conceal the effect my words have on her.
“What will?” She busies herself collecting the cards from the table and speaks without looking at me.
“Working through it.”
“Am I supposed to believe you’re here by coincidence? If you want something, set it free, if it comes back to you, it was meant to be … or something like that?”
“Do you believe in that stuff?”
She pauses for a moment, considering my question, and then begins shuffling again. “I think I do. Do you?”
“I’m more of the school of if you want something bad enough, pursue it aggressively until you wear it down and it gives in.”
Her mouth twitches with suppressed amusement, but she still doesn’t look up.
“You didn’t push my hand away today,” I say, my eyes never leaving her face.
“I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“You liked it there. The way my fingers traced the outline of the lace. I could feel the heat. You wanted me to dip my fingers inside and feel how wet you were as much as I did.”
She closes her eyes.
I stand and step around the table.
“It made me insane to see his hand on you,” I admit as I
Similar Books
