by Marni Mann
“I’m fine,” I said before she could say it.
But when I took a deep breath, a memory came into my head. His face…his soothing voice…
He rubbed his knuckles across my cheek, capturing each tear that fell. “Stop worrying, baby. You’ve worked yourself all up, and there’s no reason for it.”
“Cody, I can’t help it. I just worry about you. Nonstop. And now, this has happened…”
“Let me do all the worrying, and you do all the smiling.”
I only grinned because it looked like he needed it. We both did.
“That’s it. Just like that. That’s what I want you to show the world, Brea—just how gorgeous your smile is.”
The tears had stopped, but the knot in my throat hadn’t shrunk at all. “You told me you would never get hurt.” I looked down at his hand that had just been wrapped in a cast and the paper bracelet on his other wrist that listed his name, his date of birth, and the name of the hospital. “And you told me you would never leave me. Both of those almost happened tonight.”
“But it didn’t happen. I’m fine.”
“You have a broken—”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, pulling me onto the hospital bed.
He tucked me under his good arm and pressed my face to his chest. I felt his lips on the top of my head.
“Are you trying to kill me? Because if the worry doesn’t kill me, getting another phone call like the one I got tonight definitely will.”
“No, Brea. I’m trying to love you with everything I have.”
“I’m happy you’re fine,” Frankie said, bringing me back to our conversation. “But if you’re not, it’s okay to tell me. We’ll figure out how to make you better—together.”
Better—I was that, yes. But I also knew I hid things under a fine layer of sarcasm. And it cracked sometimes when she pushed, so I became an expert at changing the subject.
“The bar can help with that,” I said. “We can start by going on Monday nights. And maybe Wednesdays, too.”
Her face tilted as she tried to read me.
“Or I can bring the wine to your house every night, so we can wear sweatpants and eat ice cream at the same time.”
“Brea…”
“I promise, I’m okay.” I waited for her to smile before adding, “Besides, my ass doesn’t need the ice cream.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I would kill for your ass. Now, get over here.”
She pulled me in for one of her death-grip hugs, one that didn’t mess up my hair or push her boobs against mine. What did happen was love, lots of it, pouring from her body as she squeezed me. No one hugged me like Frankie.
Not even Cody.
“I’m freeeeezing,” I said, feeling her shiver as hard as me. “We need warmth.”
“And wine.”
I pulled away and looped my arm through hers. “I’m so happy you said that.”
Trapper
“You know that prick Baylor is going to be in the tournament, too,” Roman said, looking me over from the other side of his desk.
He was trying to read my face for a reaction. I didn’t give him one. He cared about Baylor more than I did.
I pushed back in my chair, crossing a boot over my thigh. The coffee I was holding was so goddamn hot that it was burning my fingers. “Yeah, I heard.”
“You’ve got nothing to sweat. That kid’s all bluff and no bang. Haven’t seen him get a high pocket pair since the tourney in Connecticut last year. He bought his way into the Vegas one. Couldn’t even get a satellite seat.”
I wasn’t worried about Baylor winning the poker tournament or anyone else I’d be playing against in Vegas. Didn’t matter if I told Roman that; he’d still ramble on about each of the high-ranked players and their styles and betting averages. I knew the stats. I’d played most of them before. And I’d won. That was just Roman’s thing—recap, prep, recap some more. With him being my mentor and the owner of Aced, the underground poker room I’d been playing at since I was twelve, I expected it.
“He’s been known to get lucky on the river, but—”
“Roman, I’ll be fine.”
“You’re right, kid. I just…” His office line rang, and he ignored it. “So, tell me what’s happening at the compound. Things all good there? By the size of that coffee, I’d say you’ve had yourself a hell of a long day.”
“These long days and late nights are killing me.” The coffee burned my tongue before I swallowed, jolting me awake. “But, yeah, the compound is running the way it should be.”
“That Adrianna really keeps things tight over there,” he said, referring to the woman I employed to run the daily operations at the compound and the importing and exporting side of the business—a business that took as much of my time and was as important to me as poker.
“She does.”
“How about I stop by the compound while you’re in Vegas, make sure things are running smooth in your absence?”
I fucking hated when he asked that question because I hated telling him no, and I told him no every time. I could barely let anyone inside that place, much less him. Only a few had access—the workers who managed the day and night shifts, Adrianna, her assistant, and me. There were the buyers, too, but they didn’t enter the premises. They were escorted into a separate wing I’d built just for transactions.
Outsiders could make things messy, and shit was already messy enough.
“You know I can’t let you do that,” I said.
He leaned into the edge of his desk, his hands resting on top of it. “You let me in once.”
“And you know why I can’t let you in again.”
It took the compound a day to recover from his visit. After he left, I implemented the no-outsiders rule. Minimal contact was the only way to keep things in order.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But it didn’t hurt to ask again.” His brows pushed together, telling me he wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “You need anything for the place? I can send the boys over with some food and shampoo and—”
“We’re all good.”
“All right, kid. Just don’t be afraid to ask.”
“I’ve never been afraid to ask you for anything.”
There were two quick knocks on the door. Our heads turned toward the monitor on his desk. The top of the screen showed an image of Vera while the bottom was divided into three blocks, one for each of the private rooms.
“Come in!” Roman yelled.
The door cracked just enough for Vera to peek her head in. “Roman, your eight o’clock appointment is waiting for you in the lounge,” she said. Her eyes softened when she saw me. “Honey, I didn’t know you were here.” She walked over to me, and we kissed cheeks. She came with a breeze of her usual scents—stale smoke and that horrible flower perfume she’d been wearing since I was a kid. “Why didn’t you pop by the drink station to say hello?”
“I came in through the back. I was planning to come see you before I hit the tables.”
She nodded, her hand falling to my shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re playing again tonight.”
“Of course he’s playing tonight,” Roman said. “The kid’s got a tourney to practice for.”
“I don’t need the practice.”
Vera looked between Roman and me. “I’ll let you two work it out,” she said. “Come say good-bye before you go home, honey.”
“You’re on all night?”
She nodded and left the door open when she left.
I made my move toward it, hanging on to the frame as I looked back at Roman. “I’ll see you later.”
“Table Two tonight?”
I shook my head. “Four.”
“Try not to take too much off Victor. He’s already in the hole for twenty large. Any more, and I’m going to have to add another point to the juice.”
“Why are you going so soft on him?”
Roman had cut off fingers for much less than twenty thousand.
“I feel bad
for the bastard. He’s having some really bad luck.”
“Poker isn’t about luck. You’re the one who taught me that…which tells me you’re not going easy because Victor is catching bad cards. You’re going easy because…” Oh, hell. Roman might have been the worst bluffer at Aced. “You’re fucking his wife.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his shiny shoes on the desk and resting his hands on his belly. “She’s got one hell of a tight ass. The goddamn thing sucks my dick in and doesn’t let go.”
“That’s worth at least a few grand off his tab.”
“More than that, kid. Much more.”
I shook my head and moved out into the hallway, surprised to see the guy who was walking toward me. “Derek Block,” I said, shaking hands with the developer I’d hired to remodel my townhouse, who had turned into a good acquaintance. “So, you’re finally stepping over to the dark side.”
“I’ll stick with wood. Cards really aren’t my thing. I just came here to see a client.”
“This late?”
“Roman said it was the best time to find him. Thanks to your recommendation, he hired me to build him a house on the South Shore. I suspect you already know that.”
I chuckled as I remembered the conversation I’d had with Roman about this and the two-story closet his wife was now demanding. “I might have said something to him.”
“I appreciate the referral, Trapper.”
“You got it, buddy.”
“It’s been almost a year since we’ve had drinks. Where’ve you been hiding out?”
“Not hiding,” I said, remembering the few drunken nights we’d had. “Been traveling a lot for poker.”
“I hear that. I’m glad things are going so well for you.” He glanced down the hallway, through the tinted glass that overlooked the main poker room. “This is my first time here,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
I gripped his shoulder and shook it. “You thought we played on cement floors and a folding table?”
“Nah. But I didn’t think it’d be this nice.”
“We keep things classy around here.”
Boston had several underground poker rooms. I’d been to all of them, but I almost always played here. It wasn’t just my connection to Roman that kept me coming back. The guys who played at Aced were good competition, and the place wasn’t some pussy-filled dirt hole. That wasn’t to say we lacked pussy. There was plenty of that down in the lounge, plenty of fresh cunt hovering behind the tables. Plenty of old cunt, too. Dudes just weren’t getting sucked off mid game. Shit like that happened in the private rooms.
“It was good to see you, buddy. Let’s meet for a drink soon.”
“Hey,” he said as I passed him. “My wife and I are throwing a party on Friday night. You should come.”
“Wife?”
He laughed. “We have some catching up to do.”
“I leave early Saturday morning for Vegas. How about we get together when I get back?”
“Just come for a few hours, and don’t stay late. My new place is only three blocks from yours.”
I wouldn’t be getting much sleep if I stayed home. I never did the night before I left for a tournament. I might as well loosen up a bit at his place. Maybe I could even pick up a new buyer for the compound while I was there. I didn’t know his crowd. Whenever we’d hung out, it was only just the two of us. But Block had money. It made sense that he’d roll with guys who had some, too, and they were who I was looking for as clients.
“I’ll be there. Text me the address.”
“One last thing.”
I looked over my shoulder as he hesitated.
“It’s…kind of a…masquerade party.”
I pointed at my face. “You’re saying I have to cover this?”
“You should probably dress up a little, too,” said the guy who I’d only ever seen dressed in flannel.
Brea
I stepped out of the cab in front of Frankie and Derek’s brownstone and onto a red carpet that had been rolled out along the sidewalk—a sweet detail that was added just for the party. Two tuxedo-clad men stood at each side of the door with masks covering their faces. One held a tablet while the other had a tray of champagne.
“Brea Bradley,” I said.
The man with the tablet checked the screen, and then he tipped his head. “Ms. Bradley, please come in.”
I took a long drink of the champagne he had handed me as I entered.
With Derek’s taste more earthy and sensual and Frankie’s taste contemporary and sleek, the two had built a home that blended both styles perfectly. The place was extremely charming with details that only an expert craftsman and real estate agent would think of, like the under lighting along the floating stairs and the stone work that accented many of the walls.
Just as much planning and detail had been put into the party. The modern entrance had been transformed into something swanky and luxurious, swathed in dark tapestries and an antique chandelier. The music was sullen. An aroma of red wine and oak and cedar filled the cool air. It felt like I had stepped into the wine cellar of an ancient mansion.
Looking for Frankie’s plaid mask, I spotted her by the floating stairs.
“Girl,” I said as I hugged her, “I’m so not loving the masks. It’s impossible to recognize anyone when their faces are covered. I feel like I’m in some sort of horror porn.” Actually, it was kind of thrilling. It gave a sensation of daring that I couldn’t help but love.
Frankie laughed. “Yeah, they’re much more of a nuisance than I thought they’d be. I almost kissed Will’s girlfriend, mistaking her for my neighbor, Lena.”
“Wow. Maybe this is horror porn.”
“Imagine the catastrophe if I actually would have made mouth-to-cheek contact with that whore.”
We weren’t fans of Julia, Will’s conniving, manipulative girlfriend. We hated her even more now that she had turned him into a submissive. Will was Derek’s assistant slash controller slash right-hand man. Julia was a real estate agent, who was ranked second in the city, but her sales didn’t come close to Frankie’s. Even worse, Julia had been vying for Derek’s attention at the same time Frankie was pursuing him. Julia wasn’t just evil; she was gnarly.
“Oh, yeah, I would have died,” I said.
Derek stopped talking to his guest and joined his wife. He turned and kissed my cheek. “Good call on the flannel face wear,” he said.
I flicked the side of his mask before he pulled away. “I see your wife went back and got you one to match.”
“I tried making him a flannel one first.” She lifted her hand, showing me the burn on her thumb that ran across the whole knuckle. “The glue gun won.”
“But you tried, at least,” I said.
Derek kissed around the burn as their eyes connected. It was a powerful moment even though it was brief. There was so much love in that stare, in his tender embrace.
The memory—it just hit me out of nowhere…
“Tell me you love me,” Cody said.
I tried to wiggle out from underneath him as he had me pinned to the bed. His nose was pressed against mine while he tickled my sides.
“I can’t—” I screamed and laughed, both sounds mixing together into somewhat of a snort. “Breathe. Ahhhhh!”
“Say it, or I’ll torture you for hours.”
“No, that’s not fair! I’m furious with you right now, and I won’t cave just because you’re tickling me.”
He stopped the tickling, his hands moving to my cheeks. “You know I didn’t mean to miss your parents’ dinner party. I planned on going, but work got—”
“It’s always work. And I hate it.”
“Smile for me, baby.”
“No.”
“Smile for me.” A grin crept over his face as he began to tickle me again. “And then say those words I want to hear.”
I squirmed as hard and as fast as I could. It didn’t help. “No, Cody—”
“Say it.”
“I—” I cried out and laughed some more and tried folding my body, so he couldn’t reach the spot that tickled the most. “Love you.”
He stilled again, his lips coming so close to mine. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”
“Guys,” I said, shaking the memory from my head, “the house looks amazing. I feel like we’re at that wine cellar that we visited in Maine.”
Frankie smiled. “Our trip inspired the theme. And speaking of wine…” She waved her empty fingers.
“Stay here and greet your guests,” I said. “I’ll go get us some good stuff.”
“You’re the best.”
“I know.”
I gave her ass a soft spank. She did the same to me as I walked to the back of the house. There were several makeshift bars scattered throughout the interior, and through the windows, I saw one outside that was surrounded by gas heaters. I was sure they all had every liquor imaginable and a well-stocked wine selection. So, I chose the one in the family room, which seemed to have the shortest line.
“What can I get you?” one of the bartenders asked when I finally reached the front.
I placed the empty champagne glass on top of the bar. “Two glasses of pinot noir, please.”
“I have a 2012 reserve from Sonoma, a 2011 from Willamette Valley, a 2009 Russian River Valley…”
“The Sonoma reserve would be great.”
“Excellent choice.”
I felt my phone vibrate from inside my purse and pulled it out to check the screen.
Mom: I want a pic of you and Frankie in your masks. Talk to you in the morning. Love you.
Me: Love you, too.
“I’ll take an IPA,” the guy to my left said to the other bartender.
I glanced over to see if he was someone I recognized. Only his mouth was exposed. The rest of his face, including his neck, was hidden beneath a Batman mask. His voice was stirring but not one that I could place. Still, there was something oddly familiar about him, something I couldn’t pinpoint.
