The Gamble

by Kristen Ashley

  He burst out laughing then took a right at the end of the road. I looked out the windscreen and crossed my arms on my chest.

  “I wasn’t being amusing.”

  “Impossible.”

  My neck twisted and I looked at him. “I wasn’t!”

  “Let me get this straight, I nurse you through a fever and you thank me by poisoning me?”

  “You’re holding me prisoner.”

  “Honey, you rented the house for two weeks, that’s hardly holding you prisoner.”

  “I rented a house that was supposed to be vacant.”

  “Lucky for you, seein’ as you got so sick, it wasn’t.”

  He had a point there.

  “And, today, it was, save you,” he went on.

  He had a point there too.

  I decided to be quiet.

  Quiet wasn’t good because Max seemed comfortable with quiet and my mind wandered. It wandered to what he was doing all day. And then it wandered to what he was doing all day with Becca. And then it wandered to the fact he was with Becca at all. And then it wandered to wondering who Becca was. None of this was my business but I wanted to ask even though I knew I shouldn’t care. Then I realized I did care and I worried about what that meant.

  We hit town and it was busy, busier than I’d expect for a small town in the mountains on a Tuesday night. It was also pretty. When I’d driven through it, considering the snowstorm and my state of mind, I didn’t pay much attention. I knew from the internet advertisement that it was an old gold mining town that made it even after all these years, lately because of tourist trade due to its proximity to popular ski slopes, its shops, restaurants and the fact that it was pretty. The buildings looked old by American standards, not, obviously, English. And the sidewalks were wooden boardwalks with wooden railings like you’d hitch a horse too. There were more than a few shops that looked interesting. If I ever got my car keys back, I was definitely going to explore.

  After I checked into the hotel which, on our drive through town, I also noted its location.

  “Can you walk in those boots?” Max asked into the quiet cab.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “I mean more than a few feet.”

  “Yes,” I answered, this time curtly.

  “Just askin’, Duchess, seein’ as we have to park a ways away.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  We parked in town though I didn’t know if it was “a ways away” from where we were going. However when he parked, he parked with the passenger side by an enormous pile of snow that had obviously been created by removing it from the roads. And he parked so close I couldn’t open my door.

  I looked out the window at the mound of snow then back at Max.

  “I don’t think I can open my door.”

  He didn’t answer at first. He just opened his door and got out.

  Then he leaned in, reached an arm toward me and said, “Crawl over.”

  “Crawl over?”

  “Crawl over the seat.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Do I look like I’m jokin’?” he asked back and the answer was no, he didn’t look like he was joking.

  I apparently had two choices. Sit in the Cherokee while he had a burger or crawl over the driver’s seat.

  That was really only one choice so I expelled a heavy sigh, unbuckled my belt, hitched my purse up my shoulder and started to crawl over.

  I barely had a hand in the seat when his hands went under my armpits and he hauled me bodily across the cab. Automatically I reached out to clutch his shoulders and one of his hands went out of my pit and around my waist, the other one went around my upper back and he pulled me to his body. Then, sliding me down his body, he set me on my feet in front of him. Right in front of him. Full frontal in front of him.

  When he didn’t immediately let me go, I tipped my head back and told him, “I think I made it.”

  “You smell good,” he said in return.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You smell good,” he repeated.

  I pushed back against his arms but they didn’t budge.

  “Max –”

  “You call him?”

  I blinked at the same time I shook my head, confused. “Sorry?”

  “Your man, you call him?”

  Something strange shifted inside of me. I didn’t know what it was but I knew I wasn’t going to explore that either.

  “Yes.”

  “You tell him you were sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’d he have to say?”

  My hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, I put light pressure there but said softly, “Max, I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly back, “that’s what I figured he’d have to say.”

  “What?” I asked, back to confused but he let my waist go, put a hand to my belly and pushed me back several feet. Then he closed the door, beeped the locks, grabbed my hand and started walking fast with wide, long strides. “Max…” I called but stopped speaking.

  We hit the boarded sidewalk and he answered, “Yeah?”

  I decided to let it go so I replied, “Nothing.”

  We walked fast, side by side, hand in hand. I let the hand in hand thing go too. He was often a jerk but he had nursed me back to health and, anyway, his hand was big, it was strong, it was warm and the night was cold.

  I saw ahead of us that there were people hanging outside a door looking like they were waiting to be let in. When we passed the windows I saw it was a restaurant, rough looking but also welcoming. And packed.

  Max opened the door the people were standing around, pushed me through using his hand in mine and kept the contact as we went to the hostess station.

  The hostess wore no makeup, a t-shirt that announced she was a fan of the Grateful Dead and she had a mop of coppery curls pulled up in a mess on top of her head.

  She also had on a pair of unusual, huge, silver hoop earrings, the silver hoop a wide, curled, web. They were stunning.

  She looked up, her face brightened immediately when she saw Max and she shouted, “Max!”

  “Hey Sarah,” Max returned.

  Her eyes came to me, she did a body sweep and her face closed down, just a little bit but it did it and I thought that was strange.

  Max stopped us in front of her and didn’t let go of my hand.

  “Got a table?”

  “Yep,” she said instantly and I looked into the packed restaurant. Then I looked behind us. Then beside us. All the open space and outside was filled with people standing waiting for tables.

  I also noticed they were kind of dressed like me, except different, slightly more casual. But they were obviously tourists on vacation wearing vacation clothes, not locals.

  Locals, evidently, didn’t have to wait for tables.

  She grabbed some stuff from under the hostess station, turned and walked into the restaurant. Max tugged my hand and we followed her. She took us to the far, back corner where there was an empty booth that a busboy was still wiping down. He scurried off with a smile and a, “Hey Max,” before he passed.

  She slapped down white paper placemats, utensils wrapped in napkins and a plastic bucket filled with crayons.

  Then she turned to Max and asked, “Usual?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, using my hand to position me toward the side of the booth that had its back to the wall, facing the restaurant. “Two,” he concluded.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Wait,” I called when she started to move away.

  “Yeah?” she asked, eyes on me.

  “I like your earrings,” I told her. “They’re stunning.”

  She looked surprised a second before she lifted the fingers of one hand to her ear and muttered, “Thanks.”

  “Did you get them recently? I mean, is there somewhere I could buy a pair?”

  She studied me for a moment before saying, “Yeah, down the street, I got ‘em a year ag
o but they carry ‘em all the time.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled at her.

  “Sarah, this is Nina,” Max told her and she nodded to me.

  “Hey, Nina.”

  “Hi.”

  “It’s called Karma,” she told me.

  “What?”

  “The silver place. They got other good stuff too. Karma.”

  “Karma. Thanks,” I said again.

  “No probs,” she replied then turned and walked away.

  Before I knew what was happening, Max maneuvered me into the booth before I could take off my coat or purse. And again before I knew what was happening, he sat down in my side.

  “Max,” I said but he wasn’t listening, he was shrugging off his coat, his arm bumping into me twice as he did so. Then he threw it over the table to the opposite bench, turned to me and said, “Coat.”

  I pressed back into the corner, pulled the purse off my arm, Max took it from me, threw it over the table and it landed on his coat. I watched it sail then I watched it land.

  “You just threw my purse,” I informed him.

  “Yeah,” he replied then demanded, “Coat.”

  I stared at him a second, deciding that fighting about taking off my coat and the fact that I’d rather he not sit by me but across from me would keep me from dinner. Therefore, still pressed into the corner, I shrugged off my coat. He took it and threw that too.

  Obviously a gentleman.

  “Max –”

  He twisted, leaned toward me, put one forearm on the table, the other arm on the back of the booth and considering his sudden proximity, the sheer size of his frame, the effect of his clear, gray eyes on me and the fact I was pinned in a corner, I stopped talking.

  “Tell me, Duchess, how does an American come to sound like you?”

  I stared at him another second then murmured, “It’s a long story.”

  He looked over his shoulder at the restaurant, turned back to me and noted, “This ain’t fast food.”

  “That’s too bad, considering I’m hungry.”

  “So, the American passport and the English accent?” he prompted, ignoring my comment.

  “In England, they say I have an American accent,” I informed him.

  “They’d be wrong.”

  “Actually, they’re right.”

  He shook his head. “You aren’t answering my question.”

  I sighed then I said, “I’ve lived there for awhile.”

  “How long?”

  “Long enough, evidently, to pick up a hint of an accent.”

  “A hint?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than a hint, babe.”

  I shrugged, looked at the table and gave in. “If you say so.” Then I arranged the placemats and silverware, one for him, one for me, all the while I did this I tried not to think about how it felt, him calling me “babe”. Unfortunately, I failed not to think of this and decided it felt nice.

  When I was done arranging the table for our dinner, he asked, “How old are you?”

  My eyes shot to his and I told him, “That’s a rude question to ask a woman.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is.”

  “You older than you look?”

  “Probably.” Or at least I hoped so.

  “Should I guess?”

  I felt my body get stiff and I declared, “Absolutely not.”

  He gave me a grin and got closer. “Give me a ballpark figure.”

  “Older than Becca, younger than your mother,” I told him.

  His hand not dangling from the table came up and touched my shoulder. I looked down to see my shirt had again slid off. I rearranged it so it covered my shoulder, his hand fell away and then I glared at him.

  “That’s quite a range,” he commented and I shrugged then he said, “You look thirty,” well, that was good, “you act ninety.”

  I stiffened then leaned toward him. “I don’t act ninety.”

  “Honey, it was possible, I’d think you were born two centuries ago.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you’re uptight.”

  I leaned in closer and snapped, “I’m not uptight!”

  He grinned again. “Totally uptight.”

  “I’m not uptight,” I repeated.

  “Don’t know what to make of you,” he said, his eyes moving down my torso to my lap and he finished with, “contradiction.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked but I really shouldn’t have and I knew it.

  His eyes came back to mine. “It means you look one way, you act another.”

  I leaned in closer. “And what does that mean?”

  He leaned in closer too and we were nearly nose to nose. “It means a woman who owns those jeans, those boots, that shirt, deep down, is not uptight.”

  “That’s right, I’m not uptight,” I snapped and then jumped when two bottles of beer hit the table.

  I looked up to see a waitress standing there, tray under her arm, white t-shirt, jeans, ash blonde hair in a ponytail, pretty mountain fresh face, no makeup.

  “Hey Max,” she said.

  “Hey Trudy,” Max replied.

  “Hey,” she said to me then she smiled.

  “Hi,” I replied, not smiling.

  Her smile got bigger and without leaving menus she walked away.

  I looked at the beer and Max, thankfully, moved away, grabbed both, put one in front of me and took a pull off his.

  “Is that for me?” I asked and his eyes came to me around his beer bottle then he dropped his hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t order that.”

  “I did.”

  He did? When?

  I decided not to ask and informed him, “I don’t drink lager.”

  “What?”

  I dipped my head to the beer. “I said, I don’t drink lager.”

  “What do you drink?”

  “Ale, bitter, stout.”

  “So, you’re sayin’ you don’t drink American beer, you drink English beer.”

  “There are lagers that aren’t American. Heineken. Stella. Beck’s. In fact,” I went on informatively, “I think lager was invented by the Germans. In fact, I think beer, on the whole, was invented by the Germans.” I didn’t actually know this for a fact, I was just guessing.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, dropping his head.

  “What?”

  He looked back at me. “Duchess, you can argue about anything.”

  “No I can’t.”

  “So, now you’re arguin’ about not arguing?”

  I decided to be quiet.

  Max twisted and shouted, “Trudy!”

  Trudy turned from the table she was standing at, hands up, notepad in one, pencil in the other, table of tourists interrupted in mid-order and she shouted back, “What?”

  “You got any ale?” Max asked and I shrunk into the booth.

  “Ale?” Trudy asked back.

  “Ale.”

  “I think so, sure.”

  “Get the Duchess here one, will you?” he called, dipping his head toward me.

  Her eyes slid to me, she smiled and shouted, “Sure thing.”

  At the same time I leaned forward and hissed, “Max!”

  He turned back to me and asked, “What?”

  “Don’t call me Duchess in front of Trudy.”

  He grinned and replied, “All right, you tell me how old you are, I won’t call you Duchess in front of Trudy.”

  I looked at the ceiling and asked, “Why? Why me, Lord? What did I do?”

  My body went stiff and my chin jerked down when I felt Max’s fingers curl around the side of my neck and I saw that he’d gotten close. Not only did I see he’d gotten close, his face had grown soft and he looked amused and the combination was phenomenal. So phenomenal, I held my breath.

  His eyes dropped to my mouth and my lungs started burning.

  “Christ,
you’re cute,” he muttered.

  “Max!” I heard a man yell, Max’s head turned and I let out my breath.

  Then Max muttered under his, “Fuck.”

  I looked into the restaurant to see a tall man with a handsome, open, boyish face, light brown hair and a lanky frame headed our way. He was smiling.

  At his side walked a tall woman, thin and utterly beautiful in a very cool way. Flawless skin. Long, ebony hair, perfectly straight and gleaming, parted severely and then pulled back just as severely in a ponytail at her nape. She also wore no makeup. She had on almost the same thing as Becca this morning except her poofy vest was less poofy and was a muted, sage green and her shirt wasn’t a thermal, it was long sleeved, ribbed and dusky blue. She and the man were holding bottles of beer, Coors Light to be precise.

  Her eyes were on Max and she was not smiling.

  Then her eyes slid to me and for some bizarre reason her expression turned glacial.

  “Max, didn’t know you were back in town,” the man remarked sociably as they made it to our table and stopped.

  Max slid out of the booth and shook his hand. “Harry.”

  Harry looked at me and greeted, “Hey.”

  “Hello,” I replied.

  “Nina, this is Harry,” Max said then jerked his head to the woman and I noticed Max was also not smiling, “and this is Shauna.”

  Shauna? Shauna with a U of the password on Max’s computer? No wonder her look was glacial.

  Oh my God.

  “Hello, Shauna,” I said, trying to cover my surprise and discomfort.

  Her eyes grazed over me and she said to the wall at my side, “Hello.”

  “Man, it’s packed tonight,” Harry noted, looking behind him. “They’re clearing our table, you mind if we hang here with you while they do?”

  Then without allowing Max to answer, he shoved our coats and my purse to the side and slid in the booth opposite me. Shauna’s entire face grew so tight I thought it’d split open but Harry just grabbed her hand and pulled her in, oblivious to her state of mind. Or maybe he didn’t know his partner’s name was the password on Max’s computer and all that implied.

  I looked up at Max and saw just his mouth had grown tight but his face had grown that scary dark I’d seen the first night I met him. Nevertheless, without a word he slid in beside me.

  “So, Nina, you come back with Max?” Harry asked me.

  “Back?” I asked him.

  “Yeah,” Harry said, grinning a somewhat goofy grin.