Game of Hearts (Stacked Deck Book 3)

by Emilia Finn

  “Catch you tomorrow,” I tell him. “Drive safe on your way home.”

  Does he regret saying no? I wonder. Is he sorry for being grumpy, especially now that I’m walking away?

  “Goodnight,” he murmurs. His eyes dig deep into mine, forest green and expressive, but those dimples I love so much, they don’t flash. He’s not smiling. “Text me tomorrow.”

  I draw in a deep breath, fill my chest, then I let it out again and let my daddy steer me out of the diner.

  “He’s weird.”

  I smile and think of the ‘weird’ boy. “It’s nice, huh? He hasn’t been weird in a long time.”

  “Mm.” He leads me to our family car and watches me slide into the passenger seat. Jogging around to his side, he drops in and closes the door, only to rest his hands on the steering wheel for a contemplative moment. “It really is good to see.” His words are slow, as though unsure of where his thoughts are taking him. “He’s always so serious now, Bean. Always so grumpy and grown. He used to be wild and crazy. I swear, he was making me gray, thinking about you and him hanging out all the time, because no doubt you’d suffer from the spill-off crazy. But then he grew up fast.”

  “Happens when you die, I suppose.”

  He nods. “I guess. From eleven to fourteen, he was crazy. But then from fourteen to here, I’m not sure he knows how to be crazy anymore. It stopped me from worrying about you and your safety, but it sure makes it hard not to wish for some of the crazy back for him. He deserves to smile sometimes, ya know?”

  “I know.” I really, really, know. “I think maybe, if Stacked Deck goes well this year, we might get some of the old Mac back.”

  Frowning, he turns to me and studies my eyes. “And if he loses?”

  I press a hand to my stomach and pray I can stop feeling sick at the thought of Mac losing. “I’m not sure what will happen. But I don’t think it’ll be pretty.” I draw my lips between my teeth and moisten them. “Jesus, we might lose him completely if he doesn’t walk away with the win this year.”

  Reaching out, Daddy squeezes my shoulder and almost draws tears to my eyes. “He’s lucky to have you, Bean. Not many friends are as selfless or caring as you.”

  “I hope it pays off. I want my friend back.”

  I want him to want me, to love me, to accept me.

  Mac

  Distinctions

  Five weeks until Stacked Deck turns to four, then three, then two, and one. I find myself eating all-the-damn-time. Lucy has set my diet so that I’m almost always choking something down, and though it was sort of fun at first, it grows old fast. Now the thought of eating makes me want to hurl, but here I am anyway, working beneath the hood of a soccer-mom-SUV while my jaw aches from chewing on a protein bar.

  “You’re still cranky.” Chuck moves around the garage in search of a socket wrench, finds it, then comes back to the bike he’s working on in the slip next to mine. “Your girl came in here in those tight jeans, oozing fuck-me vibes. And yet, you’re still cranky. I’m confused.”

  “Mind your own business.” I shove the last of my protein bar into my mouth and pocket the wrapper. “She’s not my girl, she wasn’t wearing fuck-me anything, and if you can’t learn to keep your eyes and thoughts to yourself, we’re gonna have to take it outside.”

  He snorts. “You don’t scare me, Tin Man. We can step up if you want, but that would just be you working through your sexual frustration via aggression, rather than, ya know… sex.”

  “Shut it.” I hate that I’m so painfully close to the edge, so wound up and in need after weeks of working so closely with Lucy, that Chuck simply saying the word sex makes my cock hard. I’m like a pressure cooker. Hot steam sits beneath my skin, scalding and painful, and every time Lucy and I train together – which is every single day again – the pressure builds to a point that I’m not sure I have the power to hold it back.

  My hand is getting extra work, but it’s not even satisfying. My imagination is having to work overtime, but it’s not the same anymore.

  Before, years ago, she was out of my reach. My best friend, the sweet, shy girl who never said anything that could be construed as sexual, but now she’s grown, we have access to a gym after hours every single night, we sweat together, and I swear, she touches me more now than she ever used to.

  She doesn’t have to spot me, but she does. She doesn’t have to massage my aches away, but it’s what she does anyway. I haven’t struggled for breath in a while, and yet, she rests her hands on my stomach and ribs, she stands so close that I can’t hardly see her without creating a double chin, and when our eyes meet and she’s holding me, she grins. She grins so fucking big that my heart stutters and takes away another chunk of my willpower.

  “Remind me again why you don’t take what she’s so clearly offering?” Chuck rumbles. His voice has changed, so his question comes across as genuine, rather than taunting. “I honestly have no clue why you’re saying no.”

  “Ya know, I’m finding it hard to remember too. Something about not wanting to drag her down with my money and health problems.” I scoff. “I’m so tired from training, and so worked up from training with her, I don’t even remember why I’m saying no.”

  “Probably a good time to let your inhibitions go and jump her then.”

  I roll my eyes and continue working beneath the hood. “It means,” I correct, “that this is when I have to renew my willpower. I’m strong in my body, but my mind has turned weak. She works her way under my skin. I need to remember that taking her would be selfish.”

  “Have you considered what’s gonna happen when she finally gives up trying to convince you?”

  I stop working, push back to straighten my spine, and study him as he works on the much smaller engine. “Come again?”

  He shrugs and hides the small grin that plays over his lips. “She’s beautiful, man. She’s young, she’s smart as hell, and she knows how to work her body to make a man crazy. That means she’s thinking about sex. Eventually, she’s gonna get bored chasing a guy that only says no. Maybe she’ll be wandering the grocery store one day, and someone else will step up. It doesn’t have to be a grand event, no massive gestures. Just a man checking out the cereal aisle, they stop for a second, laugh about Lucky Charms.”

  He sets his wrench down, only to pick up a dirty rag and wipe it over his hands. “People fall in love in the grocery store all the time. Lucy’s loyal to you right now, but eventually, all of this waiting will wear on her. This new guy might crack a joke, he’ll make her smile, and there it is, the fracture in what you guys have. The next time you say no, she’ll reach into her pocket and take out the card he gave her. Give me a call sometime, he said. He probably didn’t expect she would, since she’s one of those unreachable, exotic creatures, but hey, the answer is definitely no if he doesn’t even try. So he gave her his number, and maybe after your millionth rejection, she sits down and studies that card.”

  He meets my eyes. “That’s when you’ll have lost her. Because even if you say yes after that, she’ll always wonder about him. She’ll have gotten you, but he’ll always be the one she wonders about.”

  Scowling, I press a grease-stained hand to my chest and massage away the ache he put there. “You’re an asshole for saying that.”

  He shrugs. “I’m only keeping it real. You know it’s the damn truth, because if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt you. If it didn’t hurt you, then you’d already know your answer. But since it does…” He turns back to the bike. “I’m trying to be your friend, since you’re so dead set on sabotaging yourself.”

  A deep, bellowing bark draws my eyes around the SUV I’m working on, only to grin at the floppy-eared mutt that thunders across the gravel parking lot in his uncoordinated way. His mom is a Cocker Spaniel, and rumor has it, his daddy is a Great Dane. Put that together, and you get Deck and his six siblings – long legs, long ears, clumsy movements as he bullies his way into the garage and slams his tail against a tray of lug nuts, sending them c
rashing to the floor and rolling in a billion different directions.

  “Deck!” Here she is, the voice of my every sex dream, racing behind in his wake. “Deck, get back here.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Laughing, Chuck accepts sloppy tongue kisses from the dog who weighs almost two hundred pounds already. He looks like a grown-ass security dog, but lacks any kind of training… or brains. “Hey, where’s your mommy?”

  “Fuckin’ quit it.” I step away from the SUV with a growl, wipe my hands on the rag that permanently hangs from the back of my jeans, and when she steps into the garage in all of her beautiful fucking glory, I stop barely short of grabbing my heart again.

  Long legs encased in skintight yoga pants, and a massive hoodie dwarfing her tight body. She wears her hair in a bun today – she’s in dance mode – and I bet, beneath that Rollin Gym hoodie would be a black leotard.

  “Deck!”

  She bustles her way into the garage in a kind of panic, in fear of what destruction her dog-that-isn’t-her-dog wreaks, but stops again when she finds Chuck has tamed the beast. Grinning, he points one single finger and commands him onto his haunches.

  “Oh god.” She looks around at the mess he already made, the lug nuts, the tray that lays upside down on the concrete floor. Then back to Chuck as she hurriedly begins collecting the mess. “How’d you make him do that?”

  He shrugs. “I asked him to.” Their eyes meet. “Like… with words.”

  “Ha!” She laughs, loud and embarrassed as she tries fruitlessly to get the nuts back in the proper spots. “Funny. I never thought of that.”

  “Uh huh.” He looks to me. Grins. Then back to her. “What are your thoughts on breakfast cereals, Miss Kincaid?”

  She pauses. “Huh?”

  “Nope.” I rush toward her and snatch the tray from her delicate, not stained hands. They’re a little callused. Her knuckles are red from fighting, and her palms are marked from the bars we lift on an almost daily basis.

  If I was being objective, I could say that her rough hands prove she’s not a hell of a lot different to me, but that’s not what I do. Because Chuck is trying to make a damn point by joking about cereal, Lucy is wearing skintight yoga pants, and a smudge of grease transfers from my hand to hers as I take the tray and toss it to a counter against the far wall.

  “I’m sorry.” I take my rag and work on removing the smudge, but tragically, it makes it worse.

  And isn’t that a metaphor for our lives? I want to help her, but when I touch, I only spread the grime.

  “It’s okay.” Grinning, she cups my hand with hers and helps me swipe it over the mess. “Washes off. It’s not a big deal.”

  “What are you doing here?” My words are barely more than a whisper. A plea for her to be all mine.

  I don’t want Chuck to see her legs. I don’t want him to hear her words. I’ve gotten greedy the past weeks when I’ve had her all to myself in the gym.

  “Uhh…” She looks up and meets my eyes. “So, I know we normally do the gym thing, and I know the tournament is coming, but tonight—”

  “You’re canceling? You’re ditching me?”

  “Well… not exactly. I thought, since you’ve been working so hard in the gym, maybe you deserve a break. I was going to exchange your weights today for something else. Not in the gym.”

  “Oh?” But I’ll still be with you? “Okay.”

  “Are you working overtime today?” She peeks at the clock on the wall. “You finished at five?”

  I nod. “Since I wasn’t due to the gym for a little while yet, I was just finishing up what I was doing here.”

  “Oh, well, if you’re nearly done, I can wait. Otherwise, I’ll get out of your space, and you can come by later at our usual time.”

  “You didn’t go to class today?” I step away from her, so far that the smell of exotic fruit is replaced with that of gas and oil, but only so I can dive back under the hood of the SUV. I wasn’t in a rush before, but I sure as shit am now. “You’re here early.”

  “I kinda skipped classes today. I was supposed to drive in this morning for a couple hours.”

  “But you skipped?” I try to school my grin when she grabs a tiny plastic stool and sets it up beside me.

  Climbing up as Chuck goes back to his bike, and Deck lets out a fart and promptly falls asleep, she studies the engine with furrowed brows and no clue.

  This is one thing, I suppose, that I can be smarter than her about.

  “Luce?” I tap her arm with my elbow. “You skipped? You’re this close to graduating, and you’re skipping classes?”

  “It wasn’t anything I can’t make up in textbooks,” she says dismissively. “I didn’t want to waste a whole day driving and sitting in a class I didn’t feel I needed. So I stayed home instead.”

  “You’ve been in town all day?”

  “Uh huh. I went for a run, ate breakfast with my family, poured coffee for my poor, neglected father, then I went to the gym and worked out with him.” She gives a happy little sigh. “I’ve missed that.”

  “Training with your dad?”

  She nods. “He was the one who taught me how to fight in the first place. It’s been so long since I’ve dedicated gym time to him, so that’s what I did today.”

  “Did you win? Lay him out?”

  Giggling, she leans on her elbows, and watches as I stretch across the engine and replace the air filter. “Nobody lays Jimmy Kincaid out. Not even me. He’s too fast, and I’ve been eating too much with you the past few weeks.”

  I pull back, peek at her slim body, and laugh. “You haven’t gained a single pound.”

  “I actually have,” she snickers. “I’ve gained three pounds, which is fine, I suppose, for Stacked Deck, but it’s proving a little annoying for dance.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  “Poor Rudy has to lift me. And though three pounds doesn’t sound like a big deal, it kind of is in dance. He’s struggling.”

  “Rudy’s a wimp-ass bitch. He should quit dance already and move to Alaska.”

  She scoffs so hard that she actually spits, which only makes her laugh. “Rudy is a sweet man, a gentleman, and my friend.” Her eyes turn serious and catch mine. “You’re gonna have to get over it, Mac Blair. You absolutely do not get a say.”

  “I could if I was your man,” I mumble.

  Bravely? Or perhaps stupidly.

  Fuck knows, but mumble or not, she hears me.

  “Ya know, my inclination was to say yes.” She pushes back, but only to rest her hip on the grill. “Yes, if we were together, then you would get a say. That was my instant thought, but I don’t think that’s the truth. I would never stay with a man who thinks he gets to dictate my friends. I’m not really attracted to the abusive and controlling kind. It’s not my thing,” she adds with a wrinkled nose. “So no, you wouldn’t get a say. What you would get is a loyal girlfriend, one you don’t have to worry about and wonder if she’s doing the right thing when alone with people of the opposite sex.”

  I hate when she throws logic at me.

  “I’d prefer to fight him,” I grumble. “It sounds a hell of a lot more fun than the trusting the gentleman stuff. He watches you.”

  She barks out a startling laugh that brings Deck’s ears up. “He watches me to spot me in dance, to catch me when I tumble, but I assure you, that’s as far as it goes. Anyway, today, instead of the gym, I’m taking you to the dance studio.”

  “You are?” I stop working for a moment, study her face, and frown. “Why?”

  “Because I want to dance some more.” Her face lights up with one of the special kinds of smiles.

  She’s dedicating too much time to me, and not enough to dance. She told me this months ago, about needing dance to stave off the jitters.

  “Because it makes me happy,” she continues, “and I’ve gotten a lot of training in today already. I’m taking tonight for myself, but that doesn’t mean you can’t come along. Lift me a few times, and you’ll have gotten yo
ur workout in too.”

  “Unorthodox,” I tease. “One day, when they write my biography, The Story of The Greatest Fighter On Earth, the dance studio will be mentioned, and meathead wannabes will wonder what the fuck we were thinking.”

  “And yet, we’ll have the belts to prove we knew all along.” She grins when I clip the filter cover back into place. “Done?”

  I nod. “Let’s go. I haven’t seen you dance in ages.” My eyes glitter when hers widen.

  I’m talking about the studio. But somewhere deep down, I’m talking about the club too.

  “You never did reply to my text about that.”

  She grits her teeth in threat. Looks over my shoulder to Chuck. Then back to me.

  “What?” Being a pest, I wipe my hands on the rag and laugh. “I just wanted to know why you danced there. My question is perfectly reasonable.”

  “And not appropriate for mixed company,” she grits out.

  “Don’t mind me.” Chuck turns on his little seat, and wakes Deck when his boot scuffs near the dog’s ear. “I’m not listening in to your conversation at all. I swear.”

  Lucy’s eyes come back to me. “He lies.”

  “Yeah, he does that sometimes. Ang hires men for their skill with an engine, not necessarily their tendency to tell the truth. It’s just the way it is. Come on.” I grab her hips – because I really fucking want to – and help her off the stool that lifts her only six inches off the floor.

  An arthritic ninety-year-old could have made that dismount on her own, but here I go, touching when I’m not supposed to.

  “I’m done here. Let me get cleaned up, then we can go.” I leave her standing by the car, turn to a still smiling Chuck, and point at him the way he pointed at the dog. “Don’t be a dick.”

  “I would never!”

  “You’re still lying. Mind your manners, zip your lips, fix the damn bike, then go home.”

  “You’re cranky.” He turns back to the small engine, but his shoulders bounce with muted laughter as I leave the room at an almost sprint, and toss myself into the bathroom.