Game of Hearts (Stacked Deck Book 3)

by Emilia Finn

  The music slows, Linkin Park sings their bit, and like a merry-go-round, Rudy brings Lucy back to me, tosses her, but unlike last time when she ran to me, this time she flies.

  I catch her. Literally take her weight while she twists her feet and spears them high into the air.

  “Good job.” She drops to her feet again, holds my hands over her hips, and sways in a way that could almost convince me that we’re all alone.

  If we were, if no one else was here, and maybe if my adrenaline was running this hard, I wouldn’t be able to walk away. I wouldn’t be able to not take her mouth with mine, or her delicate, fragrant throat between my teeth.

  My cock pulses between us, but instead of running away like last time, I hold her while she sways. Fuck it, she knows what I think about her. She especially knows what I think about her dancing. So my cock pressed against her has become a non-event for us.

  Without instruction from Soph, I lift Lucy when her leg swings around. In the fight world, that might almost be called an axe kick, where she lifts her leg from the outside, and brings it down with a swift chopping motion. But in dance… I’m not sure what it’s called, but it’s way more elegant. Instead of an attack, like it would be on the rubber mats at the gym, it’s a seduction. It’s an invitation. It’s the equivalent to the praying mantis fucking her man then eating his head off.

  The moment I take her to bed, she’ll eat my head off, and I’ll be done.

  And yet… part of me wants to risk it.

  “And Rudy’s turn.” Soph grabs Lucy’s hand, shouts above the music, and runs.

  They run together, only for Lucy to fling into his waiting arms. Straight up over his head, she spreads her wings and winds me. Strands of hair hang loose from her bun, and yet, as Rudy spins her, as she flies through the air with complete trust in his strength, her eyes lock onto mine on each revolution.

  She smiles, she’s radiant.

  She’s going to be the fucking end of me.

  The music slows, the backing instruments – the piano? – wind down as Rudy brings her back to her feet, and when the song ends, he does his chivalrous bow that makes her giggle. She’s giddy, high on adrenaline and happiness. Soph claps her hands, and Deck goes back to licking his balls.

  Finally, she turns to me. She almost looks insecure, like she’s worried I won’t like her routine. But that would be impossible. How could something that makes her smile so much not become a treasure of mine? This routine, this song, this studio – it’s all oxygen for her lungs.

  She’s my oxygen.

  I walk forward to meet her where she stands.

  Rudy backs away, like maybe I’m going to suckerpunch him for touching what’s mine. Soph backs away. Everything strips away until it’s just me and her.

  “It was a little rough.” She reaches up and nervously fixes her hair. “I mean, you don’t know it, so you can’t be expected to get those steps right. But that was fun, right? It was fun.”

  I say nothing. Not a single word. Because I don’t trust what may come out.

  “I was going to perform that routine for my showcase,” she rambles on. “Maybe next year, when my schedule opens, and—” Her words cut off on a squeak when I grab her in rough hands and yank her forward.

  I bring her in until we crash together, then I commit the worst of all sins.

  I slam my lips down onto hers, and swallow her panicked gasp.

  Finally! My brain screams. Finally, she’s yours!

  I slide my fingers into her hair, ruin the bun she’d set before coming to the garage, and fold her back when, like warm butter, she becomes pliable beneath my hands.

  She wraps her arms around my neck, allows me to bend her, and when my tongue taps at her bottom lip, she opens up and welcomes me in with a groan.

  It’s like fire. Like molten lava. It’s nothing like what my dreams tormented me with. It’s way worse. Way better? It’s way more potent than anything my imagination could conjure, and maybe that’s a miracle in itself, because if I’d known, maybe my willpower would have crumbled years ago.

  “I’m sorry.” I break our kiss only long enough to mumble my apologies.

  But I don’t honestly know if I’m sorry for taking the one thing I really shouldn’t, or for making her – making us – wait so long to get here. Then our lips clash again, and the room spins. Dizzying circles, stars explode in my brain, my hands end up on her ass, bare, because of the barely-there leotard she wears. Her skin is smooth like cream, her muscles taut and firm because she spends all of her time working them out.

  When my neck aches and my back twinges, I go for broke, cup her ass, and lift her in a decidedly not best-friend way. I lift her so high that now she has to look down at me, but our lips don’t part. Not once. Not for a single second. Not even when she gasps from surprise at my lift.

  My tongue lashes out and touches hers, but she’s not shy. She returns my kiss, touch for touch, and tightens her arms around my neck so hard that I’ll pass out soon if she locks it in.

  The music continues around us. No one switches it off, and when I open my eyes, I find the room empty. Soph is gone. Rudy is gone. Even Deck has made himself scarce.

  I cross the room on sure feet, carry her to the wall I was sitting against before my life changed – again – and press her against the brick. Vibrations roll through her chest and along her throat. Purrs of pleasure. Biting nips that make my cock grow.

  “I’m sorry,” I pant. And yet, my hands slide over her ribs. Her hips. The sides of her breasts. And then along the delicate column of her throat. “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

  Shaking her head, she breaks our kiss and stares at me with watery eyes. “Please don’t.” Her breath hitches with what I’m certain is a sob. “Please, don’t be sorry. Don’t take this back.”

  “I’m not supposed to touch.” Even so, I bury my face against her throat. Taste, sample, tease, and thrill in the way her legs tighten around my hips. “This is the worst thing ever. I’m not supposed to touch.”

  “I want you to.” She threads her fingers in my hair and yanks with such strength that my breath comes out on a hiss. I detach my lips from her throat, stare at the marks I left behind, and meet her eyes. “I want you to, Mac. I’ve wanted this. You want this. The whole fucking universe wants this.”

  “I’m the mongrel dog,” I declare on a rage-filled breath. “I’m gonna run into the street and get hit by a car.”

  “I’m gonna follow you into the street whether we’re together or not.” She tugs my hair again, tilts my head to the side, and slides her lips over mine. “You’re my best friend,” she whimpers. “I’m always going to follow you. There is literally no reason why we can’t do this, because no matter what happens, I’m still gonna follow you. Into the street.” She slams her lips to mine. Bites so hard that blood pulses there and in my cock at the same time. “Into the fire. Into an old folks’ home. I’m following you, Mac. So you’re wasting both of our time by not being with me.”

  “I’m going to regret this.” The words hurt me, just as surely as they hurt her. “It’s all going to go to shit, and I’m going to wish this never happened.”

  “No.” Like a snake, she slithers out from between me and the wall, only to spin us around, slam me back, and then coach me down until I sit on my ass and she slides into my lap.

  It’s not sexual, there’s no grinding. There’s just her weight on mine, her arms around my neck, her hips in my hands, and her eyes staring straight into mine.

  “When we’re ninety, and things are looking like they’re coming to an end for us, you’ll regret the time you wasted. All these years of not being together, all because you feel like you’re saving me from you.” She shakes her head, nips at my jaw. “But you missed the part about how I’m yours anyway. Do you think I’m not going to be up in your space no matter what? Do you think if something goes wrong and you need a little extra help from doctors, that I’m not gonna be sitting in the chair beside yours? Holding your hands.�
� She grabs mine. Twists our fingers together. “If you break your arm next week, I’m gonna be at the hospital with you. If you forget your meds for a few days, and things get hairy and you need to see your doctor, whether you accept me as yours or not, do you think I’m not gonna be the one to drive you where you’ve gotta go?”

  “It’s not your job to be my nurse, Lucy.” I kiss her back, because I can’t stop it. My brain, my heart, my body are all in agreement; keep going. Keep touching. Keep kissing. But still, my words, the words I’ve said a million times in my head, escape. “I don’t want a fucking nurse. I don’t want to tie you down with that bullshit.”

  “What about a lover, then? A girlfriend. A best friend. The woman that has been loyal to and in love with you since before you got a new heart. When they took yours and gave you a new one, I was so worried.” Her breath hitches and bathes my skin. “I worried that you wouldn’t be the same person anymore. And since your heart had died, maybe it would be the same as if you’d died.” She kisses me in between each word. Seduces me. Makes promises I’m not sure I could bear for her to take back. Then she pulls back. Shakes her head and smiles. “But then you woke up, and you were still you. You held my hand, you cried, and we told no one. That was for me and you.”

  I reach up and swipe a tear from her lashes.

  “You were still here, and you asked for me. We sat together every single day while you were recovering, and not one single minute, not a moment of numb ass and loneliness while you slept, did I regret it. That’s how it’s supposed to be for us.”

  “It’s not fair for you to sit in a hospital with a numb ass and loneliness crippling your heart. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

  “And yet, I wouldn’t change a thing. Run into the street, Blair. I fucking dare you. Get hit by a car. Spend three months in the hospital. I still won’t leave your side.”

  “You’re too good for me.” Still, I slide rough hands into her hair and tug her impossibly closer. “You don’t understand that I’m trying to set you free.”

  “And you don’t understand that I don’t want freedom if it doesn’t include you.”

  Lucy

  Taking What’s Mine

  I sit back, deep in the leather seat of Mac’s ‘Cuda, as he drives toward my estate hours after we walked into Soph’s studio. He’s a flight risk, and now that I’m not in his arms, he’s panicking.

  For hours, long after Soph switched off the lights of the studio and ushered Deck back into the room we were in, we made out. We kissed, we touched, I made promises, and he was careful, so insanely careful, about not making those same promises back.

  Not because he doesn’t want me, but because he’s scared.

  He kissed me, he listened to me speak, he took me in and accepted everything I was offering, but once it got late and our words slowed, we climbed to numb feet and made our way out of the building.

  On Mac’s commands, Deck followed behind. He didn’t run into the street; instead, he climbed into the backseat like the world’s best trained dog, laid back with a sigh, and now Mac’s taking me home.

  He’s disconnecting. He’s finally using his brain again, and because of his annoying tendency to do that when it comes to me, I know he’s thinking of ways to get himself out of this situation.

  If he didn’t love me, if he truly didn’t want me, then I could walk.

  But that’s where he keeps screwing up. Despite his words, he does want me. He wants me like the trees want sunlight. He wants me so much that I see myself sitting in that retirement home seventy years from now, and I see him, right there beside me, stupid haircut and all, cracking jokes and making me want to smack him.

  His mistake is loving me. But he can’t switch that off any easier than I can. So instead, he gets me, and I’m not above working on my techniques of persuasion.

  “It’s late.” He swallows as we pull up at the estate gates.

  Deck lifts his head and studies the dark houses. This isn’t where he lives, but maybe soon it will be. I want to keep him, and in just a couple months, I’ll be back permanently.

  “Your dance earlier was amazing.” Mac holds my hand – at least there’s that – and glances across while the gates open. “I forgot to tell you that.”

  “You liked it?”

  He nods and slowly inches the car forward. “I loved it. Even the bits I messed up.”

  I nervously pick at the sleeve of my hoodie and smile. Home. He’s brought me home, like I’m a child moving between divorced parents. “I’m gonna work on it over the next year or so. Then I might showcase it for some kinda important people.”

  He lets his car almost idle and roll forward, not because he’s not in a rush, but because he’s dead meat if the loud exhaust wakes my family. “Why next year? Why not this year?”

  I shrug. “Didn’t work out.”

  “Because of Stacked Deck?”

  I look out the window and study the Christmas lights already adorning Uncle Jon’s home. The rest of our houses are blank canvases because we’re lazy, but Uncle Jon has his little manger set up, complete with Ewok babies and Wookie ‘three kings’.

  “Yeah,” I smudge my truths. “Couldn’t juggle it, so I pushed dance back. My routine’s not ready anyway, so this is actually a blessing. I can’t fight, study, sit my exams, train, and dance all at the same time. I had to unload one of them, so dance is it, and I’m giving myself a whole year to prepare.”

  “Smart, I guess.” He studies our homes and slowly pulls into my driveway. Cutting the engine, he shoots a glare back at Deck when he bounds to his feet and jumps around. “Sit.”

  Deck sits.

  “Lay down.”

  Deck lays the hell down.

  “Damn, I need to figure that out.” I unfasten my belt and mentally add another thing to my to-do list. “It’s not that he doesn’t know. I just don’t speak his language.”

  “Puppy school isn’t about teaching the dogs.” Chuckling, Mac lifts his feet from the pedals and sits back to relax. “It’s mostly about teaching the humans, I think. I’ll come with you.” Swallowing, he turns to look at me in the dark. “Book him in, and I’ll come. I wanna learn anyway.”

  “You’re already good at it. He sits and stays for you.”

  He shrugs. “Still. I wanna do it with you… ya know, if that’s cool with you.”

  My heart throbs with nerves. It has nothing to do with Deck and puppy school, and everything to do with the fact I don’t think there will be a goodbye kiss tonight. “Are we—”

  “Better off as friends?” he cuts in coldly. “Yup. We really are.”

  My breath hitches. My throat closes. And yet, my eyes fill with the tears of heartbreak. “I hate you.”

  He nods. “That’s probably best. You need to let me go. You need to live your best life, and no matter what you try to tell yourself, that life isn’t spent inside a hospital, or collecting prescriptions for me from the drugstore.”

  I don’t argue. I’m done arguing, so I only slide out of his car and do my best to make my voice commanding. “Deck. Come.”

  Frenzied movements and tail whipping, he tears up the car’s interior and bullets his way from the backseat to the front. He drops out of the door onto the concrete driveway, only to look like he has springs on his feet. He always bounces. Always bops. He’s a dancing dog; apt, I suppose.

  Mac only chuckles at my sunken expression. My pout, because I have so much to pout about.

  “Call up and get those lessons booked. Teach him who’s in charge.”

  “It would seem no one respects my command.” I spare one single glance for the man behind the steering wheel, for the fact his stubborn streak is so wide, that I’m just not sure I can cross it, then I slam the door so loud that Uncle Jack is going to come out here and beat my ass for waking his baby. “Drive safe.”

  He nods. Lifts his chin. “I’ll wait until you get inside.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because the boogeyman is gonna kidnap me from
behind my own closed gates.” When he says nothing, I throw my hands up and turn toward my house. “Whatever. Goodnight.”

  I stop. Turn back to the car, and lean down to meet his eyes. “I said I hate you.”

  His eyes bore into mine.

  “It’s not true. I love you.”

  Those green-flecked eyes flicker between mine. Grief. Pain. Rejection. But he only tilts his head in silent acknowledgement of my heart sitting right there, splattered on my sleeve with no one to care for it. “Goodnight.”

  I walk away from the sexy but faded Barracuda. Away from the sexy but flawed Mac Blair.

  I walk away without a backwards glance, and though I shush Deck, he still barks so loud that a baby cries in Uncle Jack’s bedroom. Lights blink on, and I just know in my heart, tomorrow, I’m going to get an earful about being considerate about late night noise.

  “Dammit, Deck. You’re a pain in my ass.” I grab onto the thick leather collar around his neck and lead him toward my mom and dad’s front door when he’d rather bound through the forest that surrounds our estate to chase whatever animals frolic and tease him.

  The ducks stand no chance, so I hold on tight, marvel at the fact that, at not even a year old, he stands as tall as my stomach already, and because Mac doesn’t move, I shake my head and move into my house. He’s not leaving until I get inside, so I save us both the frustration and head in.

  “Bean?” As soon as I close the door and release Deck’s collar, my mom’s soft voice comes from the stairs and brings my eyes up. The house is dark, but the blinking light from the coffee machine on the kitchen counter drags into the next room and illuminates the woman that looks a whole lot like me.

  Or, well, I look like her.

  Year-round olive tanned skin, long, mahogany hair that is naturally straight, even in the humidity. Almond-shaped eyes, and brown irises that, in her face, make me think of beauty.

  In mine, I think of them as boring.

  The ‘Cuda starts again outside, sending the baby across the street into another howling frenzy, which makes mom smirk, because she knows Uncle Jack is a bear when he’s tired.