Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
The dealer flipped a card over, setting it next to the first queen. An ace. Lucky girl. Dancing with the best card in the deck.
The second queen got her card, and I let out a disappointed breath at the result. A six. Paired with the queen, it was the worst hand in Blackjack. A terrible omen—one queen with the ace, one with the six. It wasn’t hard to figure out who I was in this screwed-up analogy.
The dealer flipped over her cards. Nineteen. She slid Dario’s chips together and knocked on the table, indicating the wash.
He leaned into my body and spoke quietly, his words warm against my neck. “Come to the suite tonight. Please.”
Please. I don’t know that any one word had ever had such power over me. I tried to push off his lap and to my feet, but he held me in place.
“I’m going fucking nuts without you. Please. Just for tonight.”
This time, when I pushed off his thighs, he let me. I stubbed his cigar out on the table and grabbed his water, taking a sip of it before nodding to his chips. “You’re cut off. We’re closing up for tonight.”
“Is that a yes?” He waited for a response and I wavered, my head a little loopy from the cigar.
“Maybe.”
It was enough for him and he sat forward, pulling a chip from the stack and tossing it toward the dealer.
“Need a chip rack?” I asked. He nodded, and I turned to the older man, one who now stacked his chips with unsteady hands. “You too, Mr. Rodriguez?”
The man nodded and I grabbed the ashtray.
“I’ll wait for you outside.” Dario stood.
“I can drive myself.” If I go. I wanted to add those three words, fought to speak them aloud, but couldn’t.
“I’ll wait.”
I didn’t respond, but on the way to the cage, I caught myself smiling and forced the gesture into a frown.
* * *
We left my car in the parking lot of The House. I figured, with the birthday boy’s tip in my purse, I could more than afford a taxi home if Dario pissed me off.
“I’m sorry for being a hypocrite.”
I turned to him, watching as he easily shifted the gears, easily manipulating the Aston Martin. It was the first time I’d seen him behind the wheel, the muscles in his forearms lit by the neon lights we passed.
“You know, I thought, for a little bit, that I might be okay with your marriage arrangement.” I watched a drunk stumble almost into the street, then catch himself. It made me think of my dad, and how many nights we had picked him up from some back alley in Mohave. He had caused so much destruction in our lives, so much financial instability. But my mother had stuck by him, telling me that the vows they’d made were too important to discard. I couldn’t easily accept that Gwen should be discarded either. He’d told me how our relationship could ruin his marriage, and I didn’t want that burden on my shoulders. I thought I could bear it . . . “But it’s too hard for me.”
“I haven’t had a physical relationship with Gwen for over a decade.” He said the words quietly.
“You aren’t with Gwen and you’ve ended things with everyone else. So…” I did my best mental calculation of the time. “You’ve been celibate for… three weeks now?” I coughed out a laugh, my throat still raw from the cigar smoke. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
He shifted into a lower gear and gave a sound that closely resembled a growl. “I don’t care if you believe me. I’m not keeping my dick dry if you plan on seeing other people.”
“I’d rather you sleep with half of the city than be married. I can stop dating people. You can’t stop being married.”
“Sure I can. It’s called divorce. People do it all the time.”
I looked away, my hand tightening on the strap of the seatbelt. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not going to get a divorce.”
He fell silent, and the tension in the car thickened. I cracked the window, needing some fresh air.
His hand settled on my knee and his grip tightened a little as if afraid to let go of me. “Sometimes, I think I’m falling in love with you.”
If I was a different one, the sort who had fallen in and out of love a half-dozen times, I might have laughed, scoffing at the unsure declaration.
But in that car, and with his man … the words felt heavy and worthwhile, like a giant blow to the foundation of his life.
Sometimes, I think I’m falling in love with you.
I dropped my hand to his, and threaded my fingers through his, pulling it away from my knee and lifting it to my mouth. I pressed my lips to the back of his hand and inhaled the scent of his skin.