The One

by Kristin Vayden

I held a hand up in defense. “Yes, sir.”

  He glared then started passing out the seven cards needed for the game. He flipped one card over from the stack and set it aside.

  “Are you sure you remember how to play this?” He asked, studying his cards.

  “I think I can remember.” I put my cards in order according to numerical value and suit, planning my attack.

  I was an accountant. Numbers and I were tight.

  “Ladies first.”

  “Ah, and here I thought you were going to say age before beauty.” I smiled sweetly as I reached out and drew my first card. I slipped the four of hearts between the seven and five of hearts and discarded a nine of spades.

  “Go.”

  Kirby drew a card, discarded another, and nodded.

  And so it went, for the first three rounds. The discard pile grew richer and richer and my fingers itched to take it and lay out some serious points, but I was one card off from going out, and doing so would leave Kirby with at least a hundred points in his hand.

  One hundred points in the hole.

  It was too sweet of a temptation.

  Kirby discarded, it was a five of hearts.

  I bit my lip to keep from smiling, and grabbed the card. In a smooth motion I laid out my points one set, by one set — watching as Kirby’s eyes narrowed. Finally, with one card left I set it on the pile and leaned back. “Boom, there it is.” I raised my hand like I was in the club and danced in my chair.

  “Shit.” Kirby threw his cards on the table. He was one card away from doing the very same thing.

  The one card he needed, I had just discarded.

  Victory was sweet!

  “That sucks.” I shook my head.

  “Tell me about it. You know this means war.” He glared, counted his points and then pushed away from the table.

  “Tucking your tail and running already?” I asked sweetly as I collected the cards and started to shuffle.

  “No. Just making it a bit more interesting.”

  “What are you up to?” I paused as I cut the deck, watching as he pulled out a bottle and two glasses from the basket.

  “Winner takes two shots, loser takes one.”

  I spread the cards out on the table and took one, tipping the deck back and forth in a cool little trick, grinning to myself when Kirby paused mid-step as he watched.

  “So Vegas, when did you start working the strip?” He sat down and put a glass in front of me.

  “Intimidated?” I spoke in my most pitying voice.

  He laughed. “No.”

  I smiled as I collected the deck from the table, cut it with one hand and then shuffled it — all while holding out my glass toward him.

  “Okay, change of rules. Winner takes three shots, loser takes none.”

  “You’re a sore loser.”

  He paused mid pour. “I — I am a poor loser? This… coming from the girl who was so bitter about losing to me at gin when she was twelve that she cut up the entire deck of cards and threw it out the window like confetti!”

  “I was celebrating your victory.”

  “I was washing my car. It was completely wet and the stupid card confetti stuck to it no matter what I did!”

  “That was unfortunate.” I shook my head.

  “For me!” Kirby shouted, then poured himself a shot as well. “I need this just to deal with you.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” I lifted my glass.

  “I bet you will. Deal.” He took a sip.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bind.” I started to hand out the cards.

  “Not wearing panties. Neither are you… mind you.”

  “But I am swathed in a huge quilt so it counts.”

  “Whatever. You go first. You won.” He sorted his cards, and I did the same, grinning when I saw that I was easily going to win again.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you.”

  I took my turn, then waited.

  Kirby drew a card, set down three aces with a condescending grin, and discarded.

  Damn. Aces were worth more points, and he’d just made bank.

  “Drink your whisky, Merry.” Kirby lifted his glass, toasting his awesome hand, and drank.

  “Bite me.”

  “You say that a lot. I’m beginning to think yer serious.” He set the glass down, a teasing smile on his face.

  Ignoring him, I drew a card, discarded and took a drink. The fire of the alcohol burned down my throat and warmed me from the inside out.

  Kirby took his turn again, discarded, and nodded for me to go.

  I picked up the card I was waiting for, took a deep breath of relief, and laid out my cards, this time ‘floating’ because my final card matched with his set of aces.

  “Shit!” Kirby leaned back in his chair and raked his hand through his dark hair. “You’ve been practicing.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” I collected all the cards but the ones he needed to count and started to shuffle again.

  “I’m still one hundred in the hole.” He tossed the cards he finished counting on the table and poured another shot in my glass.

  “Getting me drunk won’t make it easier to win.” I took a sip.

  “It won’t make it any harder for me to lose.” He shook his head. Lifting his glass he took the final sip of his single shot and poured one more.

  “Please tell me we’re not playing to a thousand points.” I paused mid-shuffle.

  “Five hundred.”

  “Better.”

  And so it went for the next hour. Kirby made a small comeback, but it was too late since my lead was so epic. As we played the final hand, I blinked, trying to keep the cards in focus. I’d lost track of how many shots Kirby had poured for me, but I damn well knew the score.

  I needed seventy-five points to win.

  Easy-peasy.

  Kirby needed one hundred and sixty-five to win — nearly impossible. The game would have to carry on forever, and I planned on going out within the first five draws.

  He drew, laid down a set of threes, then discarded.

  I drew, laid down three queens, then discarded.

  The line up on cards in the pile was growing, both in size and temptation as neither of us gave an inch.

  Kirby paused after I discarded again. He bit his lip, drawing a bit of his beard between his teeth and then regarded me, as if trying to read my mind.

  I held fast, holding his gaze.

  Then he took the entire pile of discarded cards, and started to lay down set after set of matched cards on the table.

  It was a risk, because if I went out in the next few hands he’d be stuck with more points that would only deduct from his score, making me the clear winner.

  But if I didn’t go out…

  Shit.

  “Your turn.”

  I counted his cards, he easily had over a hundred points and I was only at fifty. I drew a card, groaned inwardly and discarded it, holding my breath.

  Sure enough, he picked up my discard and used it to make a run with a Jack and Queen.

  He just added thirty points to his score.

  After he discarded, I took a drink of my almost gone whisky and drew a card.

  It was a seven of spades. I needed a seven of diamonds. I discarded and groaned out loud when he picked it up and used it in another run.

  “How you holding up over there?” Kirby asked, his grin wide and showing off his white smile. Damn.

  “Bite — Never mind.” I waited as he discarded and I went again. This time drawing my seven of diamonds. “Yes!” I threw down my cards, knowing I had at least eighty points — five points to spare — and danced in my chair.

  “You’re floating.” Kirby grinned.

  “Yeah…” I watched in horror as he met my gaze, and drew a card. He glanced to the card, then to me and I knew.

  I had lost.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  “Read them and weep.” He laid out the last of his cards, stood up and r
oared.

  “Shoot me.” I hung my head, knowing what was happening next. Thankfully, due to the whisky everything was blurry.

  Sure enough, Kirby started doing his victory dance — which was the love child of a football touchdown dance and the Macarena.

  Don’t ask.

  “Stop, please. My eyes!” I groaned.

  That only encouraged him, he turned around and shook his booty through the quilt and then dropped it like it was hot, thankfully still holding the quilt.

  “Fine, you won. Happy?” I asked, sounding less than thrilled.

  “Say it.” He walked over to me, towering like a Greek god and every bit as beautiful.

  I swallowed hard. “You’re the champion.”

  “Whose champion?” He leaned down slightly, just a breath away.

  “Don’t make me say it,” I whimpered.

  “Say it, Merry…”

  “Mine.”

  “Thank you.” He grinned as he reached around and slapped my ass through the quilt and then walked to the basket once more. “Since you’re the loser, you pick up the cards and I’ll get us something to eat.”

  “Yay. I need something to absorb all this alcohol — from winning so many hands…” I drew out the words.

  Or maybe I slurred them.

  I wasn’t exactly sure.

  “You’re a lightweight.”

  “Yup.” There was no denying it.

  “Have a cracker.” Kirby walked over to me and shoved a cracker in my mouth.

  I tried to bite his hand.

  “Hey now… be nice.” He patted my head. “If you want a piece of this, all you have to do is ask,” he said and walked away.

  “When freezes hell over.” I collected the cards then paused. “When hell freezes over,” I corrected.

  “Yeah, you’re cut off.” He took my empty glass away and gave me water instead. “Drink it unless you want the mother of all migraines in the morning.”

  I glared, but drank it all. I hated headaches.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to give some sort of reply, but honestly, I had nothing.

  “I’m going to get you drunk more often. You’re quieter.”

  “That would pre-suppose that you’re going to actually be around me for an extended period of time,” I said, sliding the cards back into their box.

  “At least for the foreseeable future.” He shrugged.

  I stared at the cards.

  “Kirby?” I took a deep breath, knowing the alcohol was talking — but powerless to stop it.

  “Yeah?” He turned and set a little basket of crackers and cheese on the table then sat.

  “Never mind.” I picked up a piece of cheese and took a bite.

  “He was an idiot. It was all him. None of it had to do with you.” Kirby patted my hand then swiped the cheese from me and popped it in his mouth.

  “I know. I know that… but… rejection sucks.” I took a deep breath.

  “Merry, be thankful your pride is what suffered the blow, not yer heart.” He held up a cracker like a peace offering. I bit back a grin and took it.

  “You’re right.”

  “You honestly can’t say that enough.”

  I shook my head.

  “Merry, everyone… we all want to be wanted. To be known—”

  “Yes!” I smacked the table, rattling the water glasses. “That’s it! I just… I want someone to want to know me… I want someone to know me so well that they can read my eyes.” I nodded once and bit the cracker.

  “Read… your eyes…” Kirby repeated, his expression confused.

  “Yeah. Okay, so you know how in all the romantic movies there’s always this split up, some huge obstacle where someone pushes the other away for one reason or another, and when they ask, ‘do I stay?’ It’s in her eyes, she says yes in her eyes but her words say no. I want someone who will read my eyes… my heart.”

  Kirby took a piece of cheese and chewed it slowly. “So you want a man who will read your mind?”

  “Uh.” I hadn’t actually thought of it like that. I wasn’t exactly at my best. “Yeah?”

  Kirby nodded sagely. “Because for centuries, men have prided themselves on understanding the inner working of the feminine mind.”

  “Well, no but—”

  “I get it though, Merry.” He shrugged. “As a guy, I willna ever be able to read your or any other woman’s mind. But I think what you’re saying, is that you want someone who will choose you, even when you don’t know how to choose them.” His blue eyes speared through me and never had I felt more exposed, like my soul was completely naked.

  I swallowed. “Yeah.”

  Kirby grabbed the pitcher of water and refilled my glass. “You’re going to hurt like hell if you don’t drink.”

  “I know, I know… how did I let you talk me into drinking so much.” I drained the glass.

  “You lose all logic when competition is involved.”

  “It my kryptonite.”

  “Amongst other things. Have I mentioned how awesome it is to be the champion? I mean… it must suck to have lost… after such a lead too. I mean… whew. It must hurt.”

  “You have no idea.” The alcohol had relaxed me, combined with the warmth of the room from the fire and the cozy softness of the quilt, I was starting to fade.

  “Are my clothes done yet?” I asked sleepily, slipping down my chair so that my head rested at the back.

  “A while ago actually, but you’re in no condition to walk anywhere and as strong as I am, I’ll not be carrying you.”

  “Hmm.” I sighed. I was so warm. Wait. My clothes were done?

  “Why didn’t you tell me they were dry?” I asked, cracking one eye open. When had they even closed?

  “Dinna worry, Merry. If I wanted to seduce you I’d have done it long ago.”

  “As if you could.” I scoffed and closed my other eye.

  “Merry… you’re already naked. Half the work is already done.” He took a deep breath and before I knew it, his arms reached around my shoulders and under my legs, lifting me from the chair.

  My eyes shot open and I quickly grasped his neck for support. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to bed. You can’t sleep in the chair.” He laid me on the bed, adjusted the quilt so that I was covered and left. The bed was soft and inviting, then a pillow slammed me in the face.

  “Hey!” I pulled it off and sat up, glaring.

  “Hey yourself.” Kirby nodded to my chest.

  I pulled the quilt back up and glared, too sleepy to be embarrassed. Everything was so fuzzy, I decided I didn’t even care anymore.

  “Night, Kirby.” I sighed, slipping into the inviting peace of sleep.

  “Night, Merry.”

  And I fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SUNLIGHT MADE MY eyelids seem far too bright, even though they were closed tightly. Good Lord, what time is it?

  Groaning, I rolled over and reached for my phone.

  My hand hit something warm and solid instead. What the hell?

  I drew my hand back slowly and opened one eye.

  Kirby was sprawled out next to me, his face less than a foot away from mine. I opened my other eye. The smile lines around his eyes were softer, his expression peaceful, and I studied him, memorized the way everything about him was unguarded.

  “It’s creepy when you stare at someone when they are asleep, Merry,” Kirby spoke with a gravely tone. “Go back to sleep.” He rolled over and laid a heavy arm across my chest.

  “Move, you’re heavy.” I tried to lift his arm, but he was lying on his stomach and his arm didn’t exactly bend backwards.

  “It’s just my arm, you’re fine. Go to sleep.” He pulled up the covers and pulled me in closer. His body was so warm, so inviting. I dozed, even as part of my brain tried to register that I was sleeping next to Kirby.

  Basically cuddling.

  And I liked it.

 
It was a sweet middle ground between sleep and awake. I rolled to my side and paused. My body was pressed up against Kirby… only Kirby.

  As in, there was nothing between us. No blankets, no clothes.

  “Holy shit, you’re naked,” I whispered, freezing in place.

  “Holy shit, you’re really slow in the mornings. You’re naked too. Go back to sleep.”

  “Wait… why am I naked? Why Kirby?” I thought back over last night. It was kind of blurry, I remember losing at cards…

  “Kirby?” I asked, my heart starting to pound. I didn’t sleep with him… did I?

  “Lass, if I’d bedded ye, you’d not be wondering.” He heaved a deep sigh, rose up on one arm, and regarded me. “Give me a little credit.”

  “So we didn’t…?”

  “No. But…” He grinned, his gaze raking across the quilt covering my body. “You were right about one thing…”

  I swallowed. Oh no. “What?”

  He leaned in. “You don’t snore. You do purr. Like a freaking lion.”

  “Shit, you freaked me out! I told you I purr!” I grabbed the pillow from under him and smacked him with it.

  “Yeah well… let’s just say I get it now.”

  “Pain in my ass.”

  He chuckled, then smacked me in the head with the pillow.

  “Fine, we’re even.”

  “Not even close.” He rose from bed and walked to the bathroom. “Oh, and check your phone. It’s been ringing like crazy, and I finally silenced it.”

  “When did you silence my phone?” When did it ring for that matter? I must have slept really hard.

  “Mid purr.” He gave me one final and glorious view of his naked body and then closed the door.

  I bit my lip. Even with the mild headache starting to pulse through my head, I was still more than tempted to blame it on the whisky and meet him in the shower.

  I took a deep breath and got out of bed. First thing I pulled my clothes from the dryer and put them on, then searched for my phone.

  I pressed the home button and my phone was lit up with green missed calls and texts.

  All from Roxi.

  I shot her a quick text.

  Me: Alive.

  She wrote back immediately

  Roxi: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU AND WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING YOUR PHONE!

  I was not telling her that story.