Poker Face

by Law, Adriana

  ****

  Lunch was awkward.

  Megan tried to behave like she normally did, but it was impossible. Every time her eyes met Drew’s across the table, he would smile, and as hard as she fought it, she could not keep from returning his smile.

  While conversation resumed at the table, Megan found herself glancing over at Griffin. He ate in silence, shoving forks full of pea’s and corn in his mouth. His dark hair needed a trim. When he wore it long like that he appeared older. Megan wasn’t the only one watching him, Emma, like usual, snuck a peek at him through the sweep of her curled lashes. Hmm… could there possibly be something brewing under the surface? Something brewing under the surface had her gaze sliding to Birdie, the round woman with a heart of gold, who always gave Tink as much hell as he gave. Oh man, Drew had her wishing she could pair up everyone she knew, so they could feel like she did. Wait. How did she feel? In love? That’s how she felt. She swallowed hard, a warm sensation creeping over her body. Tingles. Her traitorous eyes sought him out again. Hers. He was watching her with the same intensity.

  Did he love her?

  She was his first.

  Guys never forget their first, right?

  “I got you something, beautiful.” Tink bent over his pop belly, brought up a birthday bag full of pink tissue paper. He handed it to Megan.

  “It’s not my birthday.”

  “I know. That’s the only bag I could find. Kind of late, since we’re almost done… but I had to order ‘em.”

  Megan shot a questioning glance at Drew, who answered with a shrug, although his eyes sparkled with interest.

  “Well, don’t be scared, go on, look inside.” Tink beamed as he rocked back in the chair, waiting.

  Tissue paper crinkled as she plucked out the pieces one by one, her eyes watering when she saw what was inside the bag. She pulled out the pair of coveralls, tan, ladies small, her size. “This is the nicest...” her voice cracked, along with that wall she’d used to not let anyone in. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Birdie cleared a stray tear from her cheek.

  “Coveralls?” One of Emma’s brows shot up. “I don’t get it.”

  Tinks belly rumbled with laughter, “Well hell Filly, don’t say anything, just go put ‘em on, see if they fit. We got work to do.”

  Chair legs scraped over the linoleum as she pushed away from the table, her arms circled the old man’s thick neck. His fuzzy mustache tickled her skin. “Thank you, Tink. Thank you, “she whispered in his ear.

  ****

  Drew had never cried. Not once in all the years he’d lived with his father: the abuse, the neglect, the void where a mother should have been… none of it had been worth crying over. Men aren’t supposed to cry. It’s the law of the universe. The one’s that do, are either gay or a momma’s boy— he was neither. You take whatever the world throws at you, all the bullshit. That’s just the way it is. Life isn’t always fair, so why cry over something you can’t change.

  But watching the exchange taking place between Tink and Megan, done something to his insides, twisted them, muddled them. Honestly, he’d never seen anyone get under Tinks skin the way Megan had, not even him. Shit, she’d gotten under his skin too, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Of course, he was hard, again, sitting at the table with people who’d been the closest thing to family he’d ever had, imaging scooping her up in his arms and hauling her off to the bedroom where he would make love to her for the rest of the day. Would this insatiable thirst ever go away.

  He hoped not.

  Megan ran from the kitchen, and he considered following her, but how obvious would that be.

  “Guess you two are done fighting?” Tink inquired with the wiggle of one of his bushy brows. The man wasn’t stupid. He continued, “Smartest move I believe I’ve ever seen you make.” His voice lowered, “Be careful you don’t let the shit in.”

  If they’d been outside, working on the car, Drew might have said something, anything. But with Birdie and Emma gazes boring into them, all he could do was nod in agreement.

  And he had a lot of shit that could get in, ruin his… what had Lillian said? His one chance at true happiness. He reached for his iced tea, suddenly feeling as if he was choking.

  “What’d you think?” Megan asked, stepping into the kitchen looking like a Fudgsicle he wanted desperately to lick, up one side and down the other. He inwardly groaned. It was going to be a really long, long day. He’d never been so ready for nighttime to come.

  *****

  “Well, well, look what the devil drug up,” Mackenzie said, from behind the monstrous desk in his office that overlooked the city. “Thought you’d be long gone with my money by now.”

  Christopher Blackwell sank in one of the leather chairs angled in front of the desk. His black boots settled on a corner of the desk, ankles crossed, a permanent smirk on his sinful face. He balanced a manila folder on his outstretched leg, held there by a wide hand. “Six thousand dollars gets you nowhere. A rich man like yourself should know this by now.”

  “So you came for more money? Is that it? Need I remind you I paid you to make my son jealous, so he’d get up off his ass and make a move?”

  “Chill. I took her out to dinner. Not my fault she wasn’t interested. All she talked about was your damn golden boy.”

  Leather crunched as Mackenzie reclined slightly, getting more comfortable. A smile came to his smug face. “So there is one woman out there you can’t convince to sleep with you?”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “What?”

  Christopher clasped his fingers behind his head, stretched out the long, lean muscles along his side. “You getting under my skin. Besides the way I hear it… you’ve already won your bet. Heard Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie slept extra late this morning, and when I say extra… I mean till noon time. It doesn’t take a real genius to figure out they been doing the bump and grind.”

  The flat sole of Mackenzie’s polished shoes struck the marble floor as he sat up straight in his swivel chair, his hands making a fist on top of the desk. “She’s not a Mackenzie yet! And how the hell do you know the two of them… slept in.”

  Christopher chuckled. Realizing this game, the game Mackenzie was playing, might end up backfiring in his own face. Served him right.

  Another stretch. “Let’s just say, I have a little snitch on the inside.”

  Jonathan blinked, stared at the man. He really was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, wasn’t he? Could be his son, actually. “Who’d you bribe into doing your dirty work?”

  “Now, why the hell would I tell you?” He yawned.

  Mackenzie went over the options:

  Let’s see, there was Birdie. No. Not a chance in hell.

  Tink? No. He was too much of a do-gooder.

  Emma? Well, she was hot as hell. He had seriously been considering her as the next Mrs. Mackenzie, wife number eight. Seven had turned out to not be so lucky after all. Emma was a little young. Seventeen. But that only meant she had a lot of energy. Probably a virgin, but he’d teach her. But a snitch. She was way too innocent for that.

  He rocked back in his chair, folded his arms over his chest, laughter hurting his gut. “I got to hear this. How the hell do you get information from a mute? Did he scribble it down on a little piece of paper for you?”

  “Fuck you. You’re just pissed I figured out the boys a fake before you.”

  He was right about that. Jonathan could have used someone on the inside a long time ago.

  Christopher swung his feet down, tossed the manila folder on Mackenzie’s desk. “Anyways. Figured you’d want this.”

  “What is it?”

  “The ten thousand dollars Stratford paid me. It more than pays back what you gave me.”

  “Wait. Let me get this straight. Stratford and I, both gave you money?”

  “Yeah. He kept blabbering something about how I met all his criteria’s. He wanted me to “pursue” his daughter.”

  Jonathan la
ughed so hard tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. “Blackwell, your lack of morals never ceases to amaze me.”

  “Well, you won your bet. My obligation to you is over. You can shove your money up your tight asshole for all I care.” Hands on the arms of the leather chair Christopher pushed himself to his feet. For the first time in years, the weight he’d carried on his shoulders was gone. “See you around.”

  “Hold up, son. Not so fast…”

  Christopher stopped cold in his tracks. That weight was back, bearing down on him.

  Jonathan slid the manila folder across his desk. “You keep this, and they’ll be plenty more to go along with it.”

  The marble floor held Christopher’s attention. He refused to look at the worst excuse for a human being he’d ever met. It wasn’t about the money. He didn’t need it. Or want it. “What do I have to do?”

  “End this nightmare once and for all. No way in hell is Lillian’s daughter marrying my son. He deserves better than that.”

  *****

  “Here, you do the honors,” Tink dropped the key’s in Megan’s palm, key’s Drew was certain the old man would carry with him to his grave. The 1962 Chevy Nova had belonged to Mabel, Tink’s first and only wife of thirty-six years, his one true love. Oh man, now he was thinking like Lillian. One true love. Well, if there was such a thing, Mabel was Tinks. Her tombstone reads, “We’ll be together again, someday soon.”

  And getting that car to run was Tinks obsession.

  Drew couldn’t image loving someone that much, soul deep. At that moment he noticed the smudge of grease across Megan’s chin, her face lit, her fingers closing around the set of keys. Her gaze narrowed on Tink. “Don’t you want to be the one to start it?”

  Was the old man blushing? Tink waved a hand. His eyes danced with good humor. “Nah, you worked hard for it. Fire her up, beautiful. I’m not getting any younger.”

  She bounced around to the driver's seat like a kid with a new toy. “Does that mean I get to drive it?”

  “Don’t you think you need to start it first?” Tink said bracing his hands on his knees by the open driver’s door.

  “Okay, ready?” She waited for the green light.

  Tink’s crippled hand came down, “Now!”

  Megan turned over the key. Black smoke rolled from the tailpipe…

  “Come on baby.” He cooed. The car rumbled, and then went “gissh” as if something was on fire. “Dammit, start!”

  Megan’s foot rested on the gas pedal, her hands still gripping the key in the ignition. “Again?”

  Tink hung his head, shook it twice.

  “I’m sorry,” her hand lightly touched his bent shoulder.

  “It’s not your fault, Filly.” He kicked at the dirt, and then was gone.

  *****

  The room was dark. Darker than usual. Drew laid on top the covers wearing a pair of faded jeans and white socks, no shirt. Megan had showered, dressed for bed, and was curled up next to his side.

  They’d been silent for the last half hour, a comfortable silence. At one point he’d thought she’d fallen asleep, but then he’d felt the wetness of her tears on his chest, and he’d nearly freaked. He didn’t really know what to say or do. All he knew was… when she hurt, he hurt. Plain and simple.

  “You okay?” he finally asked, not able to take not knowing what she was thinking another minute.

  “Yeah. I feel sorry for him, that’s all. He doesn’t have much to look forward to, does he. I really wish that car would have started.”

  “He told you? About Mabel?” His arms tightened around her. There was no way to hide his surprise. He’d already kind of figured it out, by the way she acted, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Yeah. He needs to move past it. What about Birdie? I bet she’s lonely too.” She rose up on an elbow, locking her eyes with his. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because it’s not like that. Not with them.”

  “Why not? They’re both alone.”

  “I don’t know, Megan. I don’t think you can pick who you fall in love with. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “So, you believe in love?”

  Oh hell. Dangerous territory. He tried to divert his gaze, to anywhere in the room other than that hopeful face of hers, but she wouldn’t allow it. Her hands were there, along his jaw, forcing him to look at her.

  He panicked, his unintentional laughter filling the awkwardness. “You’re just like your mother…”

  His heart skipped a beat. How had that slipped out? Was he destined to screw this up?

  Megan sat up. Her eyes wide. “I figured you’d met Stratford, since him and your father are best friend, but I had no idea you’d met my mother. When?”

  He’d never been too fond of Poker. When he was younger, his father would force him to play. Made him practice his “poker face”. “When you lie, son, you’ve got to be convincing.”

  If he admitted to knowing her mother, then he’d have to admit to Megan that he knew her way before they’d even met (through her mother’s stories, during their lunches), and if he admitted to that, then he’d have to admit knowing about the bet. It was the snowball effect, all his shit compiling until it was hurtling towards him.

  “Drew?”

  “I haven’t… ever met your mother.”

  “But you said…”

  He leaned up seizing her lips, before she could say another word. Her lips tasted like strawberries. Her flesh smooth and soft under his touch. They both came up to their knees.

  “I believe I’ve created a monster,” she said against his lips, undoing the fly of his jeans.

  “You have no idea.” He grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, pulled it off over her head. His teeth grazed her bare shoulder.

  “Is it everything you hoped it would be?” she asked.

  He froze. His eyes found hers in the dark. “It’s more. What about you?”

  “Me what?”

  “Is it everything you hoped it would be?” he repeated.

  Her teeth caught his lip, and he groaned. “Well, I did have some pretty extreme fantasy, but I guess this will do.”

  He smiled, “Oh really?” Her hand was rubbing over his jeans, rubbing over what was rapidly growing under them. Curiosity had him grasping her shoulders, forcing her to slow down. “I want to hear more about these fantasies.”

  “I can’t really tell you. It’s more like I’ll have to show you.” Her smile brightened. “Want a demonstration now or later?”

  Women. She was teasing him. But it was fun. He’d play along. “Okay. Show me.”

  One minute he was on his knee’s kissing this amazing woman, the next he was flat on his back, wondering what the hell was happening.

  “Take off your pants, “she ordered before she darted off the bed. She swung open the closet door.

  He did as he was told, stripped off his pants and socks, and sat on the bed, eager, watching her rummage through the closet. “Um, can I ask what you’re doing?”

  “Shh, give me a second…” He couldn’t help chuckling as she dug deeper in all the chaos of his and her clothes smashed together on the rod. “Wait. These will work….” She turned, the corners of her gorgeous mouth pulled up, her eyes lit with a happiness that caused a painful tightening in his chest. Good Lord, Lillian had been right, hadn’t she? Her daughter was his one chance at true happiness. In a sense, he’d known Megan since she was ten. Were they always destined to be together? He found himself hoping so.

  He nodded at the contents she’d pulled out of the closet.

  “Four of my ties?” He’d always hated those ties. They were ugly as hell: paisley, polka dotted, flashy, all gifts from people that obviously didn’t know him at all. “And one really sexy red scarf? Mmm I’d like to see you wearing that, and only that...”

  He reached for her, but she eluded his searching hands. She was a quick little thing, he had to give her that. But he was quicker, once he had his hands on her, he pulled her on top the bed, so he could ha
ve his way with her. Slow and easy. Like he’d fantasied about a dozen times or more. Her knee on the mattress kept him from doing just that. She ran her hands along the length of the scarf, folding in over. “Not yet. Now, turn around….”

  A brow shot up, but he obeyed.

  She bound his eyes, and the room went black, he felt her tie a knot in the scarf on the back of his head. He felt her looping the ties around his ankles and wrist, tying him to the bed post, spread eagle. Oh shit, she was serious. What had he gotten himself into? “Um Filly, maybe you need to elaborate on these fantasy’s. See if it’s something I’m in to.”

  If she started whipping him… well, let’s just say that wouldn’t go over to well. He wasn’t in to pain. Kinky, he could do. Torture, not happening.