by DeSalvo, Kim
“Now hold on; don’t be hasty…did you say five gallons of Goose? Where are my manners?” Sean pushed the door open and motioned him in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Do bring your copious amounts of food and drink into the parlor straight away, won’t you?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“About freaking time you showed up for one of these, Miller,” Sean said, taking the tray and giving Dylan a friendly pat on the back. “Glad you could finally make it.”
“Me too, mate. I’ve been looking forward to taking your money all day.” He pulled off the wig and tucked it back in his bag, shaking out his hair.
“Oh thank God,” Sean said with overzealous relief. “I was afraid that the hair was part of your strategy. No way anyone could keep a poker face with you wearing that dead rat on your head.”
“Ah, feck you, Sean,” Dylan said smiling, trying to throw a little Irish into his voice. “Tia said it looked like a dead possum.”
“Isn’t that just a giant rat anyway?” Sean rubbed his hands together. “Everyone’s here. Ready to put your money where your mouth is, my friend?”
“Lead the way,” Dylan smiled.
Dave, Tim, Scott, and Brian greeted him with a collective, “Heeeeyyyyy!” as soon as they turned the corner. “So glad you could finally make it. I hope you brought a lot of cash—I’m looking forward to taking it off your hands,” Brian added with a smirk.
“We’ll see about that,” Dylan said, shaking hands with them and taking a seat at the oval table that dominated the center of the room. This was a definite man’s space, he thought, as he took in the battered leather furniture, the neutral walls devoid of decoration, and the well-worn wood floors. A long table along the wall held open bags of chips, grocery store tubs full of dips, a stack of paper plates, and a roll of paper towels. Beneath the smell of cigar smoke drifting up from the tip of Brian’s stogie it even smelled like a place inhabited by men; fried food, musty laundry, and stale smoke layered under the mask of spray air freshener. It reminded him of his early days in the States, living with Bo and hosting their own poker games on an almost weekly basis, and he inhaled deeply. Ah, how he missed those days sometimes. “Sweet place,” he said with a smile.
“Thanks,” Sean said as he connected the tap and poured a pitcher of Goose and transferred it into six mismatched mugs and steins that were most likely stolen from a variety of local establishments. Dylan was handed one from Harry Caray’s; the familiar face and the words, “Holy Cow!” etched into the glass.
They spent an hour just bullshitting, eating, and putting a damn good dent in the Goose before they even settled down to play. Dylan was having a hell of a time; trading digs with them all and taking a beating over his recent engagement.
“Now why in the hell would you want to go and do that for, Dyl?” Brian teased. “I mean, Tia’s a great girl, don’t get me wrong, but you know, once you tie the knot, no more ‘most eligible bachelor lists’ for you!”
“Married or not, though,” Scott added, “the girls are never going to stop falling at your feet, man. Damn, I wish could be you for a day.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan smirked. “That’s not all it’s cracked up to be, mate, believe me. I really miss nights like this. They don’t come around often enough,”
“Well, we’re here pretty much every Tuesday,” Sean said. “You know you’re welcome any time. And for the record? I’m really glad you and Tia are tying the knot.”
“As am I,” Dylan smiled. “I can’t wait to get hitched, actually.”
“Better you than me,” Dave said, raising his glass for a toast. “Here’s to getting off the subject of true love, and getting down to some serious poker!”
“The name of the game, gentlemen, is Texas Hold ‘Em,” Brian said as he shuffled the cards. The men pulled out their wallets and tossed bills onto the table, exchanging them for chips. Sean stuffed the cash into a cigar box and threw it carelessly onto the couch. “Minimum small blind is a buck, maximum, five.” He dealt the hole cards, and turned to Dave at his left to lay down the small blind.
Dylan checked his cards—an ace of hearts and a jack of clubs. Pretty good start. He pasted on his poker face and happily doubled Dave’s small blind of two bucks. The first three community cards came up a two of clubs, a five of diamonds, and a king of spades, and Dylan raised two dollars. The third community card popped up a ten of hearts, and Tim raised five bucks, which Dylan raised five more. Scott and Sean folded.
“Got a high card on the table,” Brian said as he dumped a burn card and flipped the river; a queen of diamonds; giving Dylan a solid straight.
“Well now,” Dylan said, fingering his chips and contemplating the table, “this does make things interesting.” He tossed a small pile of chips onto the pile, raising the bet five more dollars. Tim studied Dylan, rolling a chip expertly between his fingers.
“I don’t know,” he said, “it seems to me that you are one lucky bastard.” He drummed on the table for another moment before tossing his cards onto the table.
Dylan grinned. “Read ‘em and weep, ladies,” he said as he swept the chips from the table and began stacking them in front of him.
“Beginner’s luck,” Sean said, pouring himself another beer and settling in for the next game. “No way the rich boy takes the next one.”
“Oh my God, this lobster bisque is to die for!” Lexi exclaimed as she spooned the last of the creamy broth from her bowl. “This has to go on the menu.”
“Agreed,” Jessa said, jotting it in her notebook. “But for the wedding soup, or for one of the other nights? If we have lobster on the menu at the wedding, we don’t need two dishes with the same ingredient. How about this for Saturday night? That way, all the guests will be there to enjoy this little taste of heaven…”
“Perfect,” Tia nodded. “I like this wine, too. It would go perfectly with a lobster main dish, don’t you think? It’s light and smooth with just a touch of sweetness.”
Jessa wrote the name of the wine in her notebook. “Got it,” she said, as the sous chef brought out a sampling of cold salads.
Every single dish the chef created in her new incredible kitchen with panoramic views of Lake Michigan; from soup to salad to main dish to dessert; was like a sexy dance on Tia’s tongue, and Jessa took careful notes and arranged them into menus for each day. They helped Neil and his assistant chop vegetables and mix sauces, and in between started working out the seating arrangements for the night of the wedding dinner.
“You know, this would be a lot easier if I knew which of the guys were bringing dates.” Lexi’s ears perked up and she quickly lowered her head before they noticed her interest. She didn’t know how she would feel about Bo bringing a date, but she did know that she wasn’t relishing having him and Ryan in such close proximity for the long weekend. Ryan had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Bo or any of the other guys, and had been a serious downer at every function they’d attended so far that had anything to do with Tia and Dylan. In the pit of her stomach she was dreading the possibility that he’d ruin her fun by being anti-social and rude. Obviously she wasn’t going to be able to spend any time with Bo one-on-one, which meant they wouldn’t have a chance to resolve the uncomfortable feelings between them. If anything, having Ryan there would only increase the level of discomfort between her and Bo, and she saw the potential for Ryan to suck the fun out of the whole weekend. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and saw that Jessa had already moved on to another topic.
“It certainly doesn’t help that I don’t know a thing about the venue,” Jessa groaned. “I don’t even know if we’re indoors or out, I don’t know what the weather will be like…what sort of centerpieces are we going to put on the tables? There’s a big difference between, say, an elegant dinner in a swanky hotel and an informal meal on the beach.”
Tia just smiled. Ever since they’d gotten there, the girls had both been digging for clues about the location, but she refused to gi
ve them even a hint. “I guess we’ll just have to be prepared for every eventuality, then.”
“I’m not used to having so many things outside of my control,” Jessa said, “and I have to tell you that the person from the venue is frustrating the hell out of me. I don’t know anything about the décor of the place, the china patterns, the stemware—all I keep getting are assurances that everything is ‘top notch.’ That’s just not enough for me to go on. I don’t even know if this person is a guy or a girl, because they won’t even talk to me—I only have an email address, and ‘Sam’ has ignored all my requests to speak in person or connect me with someone else who can give me some straight answers. I’m going with guy, though, because a woman would understand how important all those details are. All I’ve been able to get out of Sam are some hand-drawn maps of the table layout and a fuzzy picture of a place setting. I think he might be certifiably insane, if you want to know the truth. Do either you or Dylan actually know this person?—because I’m really starting to worry.”
Tia covered her mouth with her hand and coughed to stifle a giggle. She knew that “Sam” was actually Tony, and that in the interest of keeping the secret for his own reasons, he wasn’t even letting his own assistant in on the details. Dylan had told her on a few occasions that Tony was having entirely too much fun messing with Jessa along the way. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “Let’s just worry about the things we can control, OK? Who brought the catalogues with place cards and wedding favors?”
Tia was putting away the last of the dishes when the elevator door opened and Dylan all but tumbled out. “Heeeyyyy baaaby girrrll,” he slurred, wrapping his arms around her and leaning against her for support.
“You, my love, are drunk,” she smiled. He reeked of cigar smoke and whiskey, and his eyes were spider webbed with squiggly red veins. “I’m guessing you had a good time?”
“I had the bessst time,” he smiled, “but I missed you. Did you pick us out a fabulous wedding meal?”
She led him over to the couch and helped him down, pulling off his coat and tugging off his shoes. He swung up his legs and melted into the leather. “I’m thinking we need to hire Neil to cook for us every day. He’s nothing short of a magician.”
“We could do that,” he mumbled, his eyes closing. “Anything for you, love.” He took one big breath and began snoring softly.
Tia leaned over to kiss his cheek and covered him with a blanket from the other couch. “Sleep well, baby,” she whispered. She put a tall glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the side table, and smoothed his hair before slipping into bed alone.
Chapter 30
The thing about an affair, Ryan quickly learned, is that you have to become at least three different people who each want to kick the living shit out of both the others. When he finally summoned the strength to walk out of the bathroom, Tiffany was striding around the kitchen, presumably making coffee. It was impossible for Ryan to notice what she was doing, because she hadn’t dressed or even slipped on a robe—she was completely naked and she looked really damn good. Every logical neuron firing in his brain was telling him to run—to get the hell out of there before things got really out of hand…fuck me once, shame on me—fuck me twice, shame on you! Trouble was, there were only a handful of logical neurons even functioning in his alcohol clouded brain, and they were all firing in different directions. Before he could even form an excuse that would get him out of there she gave him a look that got him hard again and before he fully realized what was happening, he found himself laying on a weight bench in a spare room with her straddled over him and riding him like a mechanical bull. Shame on me, he thought even as he came with the power of a pent-up volcano.
His first instinct when he woke up the morning after the “incident” with his second hangover in as many weeks on a work day, was to break things off with Tiffany before he got in too deep. He thought that with time he might be able to justify making one huge and horrible mistake (technically two, but since they happened so close together he was counting them as one) while under the influence of alcohol and a great deal of stress; and Lexi would never have to know. There were other gyms he could join to keep up the façade of the “big project;” gyms that didn’t have Tiffany the Temptress playing on his deepest emotions. Problem was, he really was intrigued by the idea of bringing in a huge contract to the firm and solidifying his place at the helm, which would also help to alleviate the guilt he felt for lying to Lexi in the first place. Truitt Industries was that huge, and Tiffany was the perfect ally.
Fucking irony, he thought as he made a strong pot of coffee and tried to put his thoughts into some sort of order. He’d been pissed off at Lexi because he thought, for a few brief yet hellish seconds, that she’d slept with someone else; and now he had blatantly betrayed her trust by screwing the brains out of a woman he barely knew. He gave Lexi all kinds of crap for lying and hiding things from him, and now he was making up a huge and elaborate fabrication that depleted the time he could spend with her, cost him at least a couple grand in lost deposits, and made her postpone her dream wedding. What kind of prick would do that?
He had every intention of calling things off with Tiffany—ending it while he could still hold onto at least a shred of dignity and build on that until he could respect himself again. Of course it would mean another lie—it’s not like he could tell Tiffany the truth—that he was a cheating bastard who just needed to feel like he was number one for a little while to stroke his own bruised ego.
When his phone rang at lunchtime and she invited him to her place for dinner he accepted, with the sole purpose being to end it. Somehow, however, he ended up in her bed again, and again the following night.
On Saturday morning he sat nursing a cup of Irish coffee and wondering how he’d become the epitome of everything he hated in such a short time. When his phone rang and Lexi’s face popped up on the screen, he immediately felt nauseous and the guilt rose up like bile in his throat.
“Hey,” she said quietly into the phone. “You stopped calling me.”
Hearing her voice made him realize that he’d really missed her—the last couple months had pretty much sucked, but they had almost five years of building something good together before that—something he thought was worth a lifetime. The guilt slammed down on him like a lightning strike and he realized that he probably didn’t deserve her. Not anymore. “Well,” he said, “you weren’t calling me back.”
“I know,” she said. “I was really mad. But it was your fault, so you should have kept trying.”
“Probably,” he replied, sounding genuinely sorry, “but I was really busy at work, too—and your ignoring me was really throwing off my focus.”
“I’m sorry, Ryan,” she murmured. “I was really hurt that you wanted to postpone the wedding, and I took it personally. But I know how important your career is to you, and I’ve decided that I’m willing to reset the date.”
Ryan rested his forehead in his hand and tried to think. The last thing in the world he expected was a complete turn-around by Lexi. She sounded genuinely sorry, and it wasn’t her usual style to let things go so easily—especially not something as big as this.
“I kind of thought you were wanting to call the whole thing off.”
“I never said that!” she exclaimed. “Shit Ryan, we’ve been through too much to let one argument rip us apart. Of course I’m upset—any girl would be. I’ve been waiting a long time to marry you, and it doesn’t seem fair that I have to wait another whole year to make it happen.”
“I didn’t say a year,” he said. “I said a few months.”
“It might as well be a year,” she answered. “We’ll have to rebook everything, and the whole theme, not to mention my dress, won’t work except in the summer. I still want a July wedding. But it’s OK. I’ll wait. I won’t lie and tell you I’ll be happy about it, but I’ll do it for the sake of your dreams and our future.”
I won’t lie. Her words were like a slap in his face, and
he instantly wished he could go back in time and get excited about the freaking firework invitations.
Way too late for that now.
“Really?”
“Really,” she answered. “I tried to put myself in your place, and even though I don’t like it, I get it. I know it means a lot to you to make partner, and I also know it’s been bugging you that Tia’s wedding would be so close to ours and that it has the potential to take some of the spotlight off of our own celebration. I guess I just need to suck it up and take one for the team.”
Take one for the team? Ryan thought sarcastically. He should have felt relief at her words, but instead, for some inexplicable reason, they pissed him off. If she’d had this epiphany a week ago, he wouldn’t be in this shitty situation. Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew that wasn’t true, but it was a hell of a lot easier to place the blame on Lexi’s little hissy fit than it was to put it squarely where it belonged—firmly and heavily on his own shoulders. Now that she sounded so sorry, so sincere, he felt even shittier. “I don’t know what to say, Lex.” At least that was the truth. “I guess I’m kind of surprised.”
“Glad surprised?”
“Yeah.” What else could he say?
“Want to come over tonight? I’ll actually cook,” she offered, a huge thing for her since she almost never did more than throw something from the freezer into the oven.
“I’m so sorry Lex, but I can’t tonight,” he said. “I have something for work…” He couldn’t possibly go see her without more warning—he needed some time to get his stories straight in his own head. Lexi knew him better than anyone—she’d see the lie on his face, he was sure of it.
“During the week, then,” she said quickly. “How about Monday?”
“Monday’s good.”
“Come after work. I’ll put something together for us.”
When she opened the door, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “I really am sorry,” she breathed. “I missed you terribly.”
