“Nope.” Mira made the word pop, keeping her lips like an O a second too long. “Not with us.”
In the distance, Nicola, Brandy, and Hannah walked toward the bonfire, laughing and dancing to the music thumping into the night. They saw him and Roman and waved.
The nights were cooler as September came to a close, but it was still warm enough to get away with the short-shorts that Nicola wore. He was lost from the current conversation, completely one hundred percent focused on Nicola. Mira and Jaycee both had on some absurd getup. Skirts. Fancy shoes. Way too much makeup. But even from way over here, he could tell that Nic rocked simple sexy. Sweet-ass shorts and a shirt. Plus flip-flops that neither of the girls in front of him would have ever worn. It made Nicola all the more attractive.
“Cash.” Jaycee’s voice called him back.
“Yeah?”
“So?”
He had zero clue what he’d missed. “What?”
“God, you’re annoying. We’re getting out of here. Bugs and shit are too much. Seriously, it’s fall. Shouldn’t they have all died by now?”
Whatever. He didn’t care. “Have fun.”
“You coming with?”
“Nope.” He shook his head.
Two pouty faces looked at him like he was insane. They both whined and complained. But the reason was over their shoulders, dancing with her friends, hair swinging back and forth. Goddamn, Nicola was going to be the death of him.
“Whatever.” Mira smirked at him.
As they retreated, Liz curled around Roman. “Good. Bye. Ugh.”
“Bored with them?” Roman asked, ignoring Liz.
“Something like that.”
“Well, something’s going on with you. Every time I see you, you’re hanging with Nic.”
A boulder the size of the bonfire settled in Cash’s throat. “Yup.”
Roman was silent. Cash was silent. Liz wasn’t. Thank God. She started in on Jaycee, and that was the perfect distraction.
Roman crossed his arms over his chest, leaving Liz abandoned and scowling. “If not Mira and Jaycee, then who?”
The fire was yards away, but Cash’s hot-under-the-collar feeling increased by the second. “Why’s there have to be someone?”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t going to go well. As if on some piss-poor karmic clue, Nicola turned their way. He only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but Roman looked at her for a long moment then tilted his head.
Cash drained his beer, trying for casual and feeling as obvious as a neon sign. Shit.
Clearing his throat, Roman stepped closer. “Is there—”
Another TKX who Cash would kill later, Andrew, moved close to Nicola and wrapped her in a hug. It was harmless fun. Nothing Cash cared that much about but it distracted Roman enough from finishing his question. The pause also gave Liz her in. She wrapped her arms around Roman and whispered into his ear.
“Be back in a few minutes.” Roman was already walking away. Liz giggled.
Right. A quick nod goodbye, and Cash was alone. Relief was immediate except for that churning guilty feeling gnawing at him.
He pulled his attention back to the fire. Andrew had moved on after his overly friendly hello. Nicola and some girlfriends had their arms in the air, singing and dancing to music. His eyes locked on hers, and she smiled. One of the girls around her called for him to come over. He shook his head. After losing his cool at her birthday party, standing anywhere close to a dancing Nicola was trouble.
But she wasn’t a mind reader. Still putting on quite the show, she was girly-drink fueled and vodka brave, calling to him as she danced. It wasn’t like a strip tease. Her clothes, as little as they covered, stayed in place. But she watched him as though no one else existed, like she was dancing for him, promising his every fantasy. He pitched his beer and weighed the options.
Nicola spun around. The bonfire’s light danced over her long legs, her ass. Cash sucked a deep breath. To hell with resolve. He was over there in a second. Her hands rested flat on his chest, her body moving against his. There was no control when it came to her. The inches between their lips were disappearing, and the closer she got, the more he knew he’d kiss her. His heart hammered, and his fingers flexed into her, pulling her tighter, slowly moving through the desperate seconds until his lips touched hers—
“Ow! Damn it!” Brandy shrieked.
Nic-kiss trance broke. He cursed under his breath and took a step back. Brandy was on her ass, holding on to her ankle and her drink. Job well done on that at least. “You okay over there?”
She scowled. “Does it look like I am, Cash?”
Ha. As much of a pain in the ass as Brandy was, at least she was entertaining.
Nicola and her friends crouched on the ground, offering a bevy of random questions and suggestions. Walk it off. What happened? Hold it up? Put it down. Did you fall? All of which, Brandy ignored.
The hows and whys of Brandy’s tumble didn’t matter. Really, Cash should thank her. His heart still raced from that almost lip lock. He focused on the positive. “At least you didn’t spill.”
She looked up, a genuine smile forming. “Amen to that.” Then she downed the rest of her drink.
The girls pulled her up, and Brandy tried to put weight on her ankle, flinching. “Stupid country bonfire. Why the hell do we do these?”
He stepped closer. “Come on, let’s see.” Her ankle was swelling. “Two choices. You’re sticking your foot in a cooler, or we’re heading back to ice it.”
“No!” she whined, wobbling on one heel that she never should’ve worn out there in the first place. Trying to walk, she fell over. He wasn’t sure if that was more the injury or the hooch, but either way, the night was done for her.
“Your call. Rock crutches in style on Monday, or you can ice it.”
Brandy’s mouth dropped open. Nicola giggled. No way was Brandy going to hobble on crutches if she could help it, that much he knew.
“Well, I’m not sticking my foot in a beer cooler.”
He shrugged and bent to pick her up. “Into your car we go.”
After the crutches threat, Brandy was done arguing. “Hey, Andrew.” Cash called over to the guy. “Can you carry Brandy?”
That was icing on the cake. Brandy smiled, playing her injured victim card as Andrew swooped in for the hand off. Within seconds, there was giggling and flirting, and Brandy tossed her keys to Cash.
“You okay to drive?” Nicola asked.
Nic, swaying, was not okay to drive. But he was. “Yup. I’ll get my truck tomorrow.”
A few yards away, Brandy was safely tucked into the passenger seat of her car and laughing loudly.
“Only Brandy can get a date out of a sprained ankle.” Nicola laughed too, then whispered, “You almost kissed me.”
He pulled her under his arm and started toward Brandy’s car. “Could say the same for you.”
“Maybe.”
He looked back toward his truck. No Roman in sight. “Roman’s going to figure it out.”
“I know.”
“Mira and Jaycee are going to figure it out,” he said. They were halfway there.
“Bitches.”
He chuckled. “Easy there, killer.”
“Cash!” Brandy hollered from the car. “I’m ready to go!”
Nicola bumped against him. “Guess that’s our cue to hurry.”
In the dozen yards it took to get to the car, they’d picked up Hannah and another girl, who crammed into the backseat with Nicola.
They all sang to the radio while he drove, and his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out as the girls hit a chorus. Roman. When they all took a breath, he accepted the call. “Hey.”
Brandy chose that moment to attempt a high note. Wow. That was bad. He laughed.
“What the hell is that?” He could picture Roman holding the phone away from his ear.
“That’d be Brandy.”
A long silent second passed. “So, it’s Brandy?”
“What?”
“Never thought she was your type.”
“Jesus, dude. It’s not Brandy.”
Brandy leaned over. “Not me, what?”
“Nothing.” Cash shook his head at her before talking to Roman again. “Anyway. What?”
“I meant to mention, I ran into our poker buddy at the Stop N Go.”
“Ah.” He looked at the girls in the back seat, but they weren’t listening to him. “What’s Gary up to?”
“He said you’re doing him a favor.”
Cash changed lanes, easing back toward campus. “Yup, I am.”
“Does this have to do with those shady games he’s caught up in?”
Basically. “He knows I can play, and he couldn’t come up with the moolah. He needed something. I needed something. We made a trade.”
“What’d you need?” Roman asked.
Well, fuck. Walked into that one, hadn’t he? “It’s nothing. I have to pony up some bank, but we both know I’m going to walk away with more money than I came with. Not a big deal.”
“What’s not a big deal?” Nicola asked from the backseat, clearly paying attention now. Her eyes were on him in the rearview mirror.
“Taking Brandy home.” Damn it to hell. Lying to Nic wasn’t on the to-do list tonight. But she, way more than Roman, wouldn’t be thrilled that he was playing poker with sketchy dudes his friend was scared of.
Brandy shrieked over a new song on the radio.
Roman laughed in his ear. “Nicola will have your ass for doing her roommate.”
“Probably right. If I was. Which I’m not.” Dropping his head back against the rest, Cash had nothing. Well, except for a reputation.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tonight was poker night. Cash had helped Nicola study and had dinner with her and her roomies, then he’d begged off. They let him go for no other reason than they had some god-awful Wednesday prime time reality television show to watch. Basically, a group of high maintenance women were auditioning for love. Seemed like a nightmare to him. Then again, there was a dude having sex with all of them on national TV, so he had to give the guy credit for that. Cash still didn’t want to watch it.
The poker game was at a ritzy hotel, and he had the room number with directions to go on up. The elevator door opened, and he ambled out, catching his reflection in a mirror. The swanky hotel was nicer than any place he’d ever stayed, and he looked like a college bum with a cowboy hat. That was exactly the look he was going for.
A wad of cash weighed heavy in his pocket, and even if poker didn’t make him nervous, the company he was heading toward might. When he arrived at the designated door, he knocked and centered himself, mentally wiping away anything that might let his opponents size him up.
A big guy opened the door. “What?”
“I’m here to play.”
The guy looked him up and down, then stepped to the side, holding the door open. He tilted his head, and Cash’s eyes followed. Typical poker table setup. Nine opponents encircled the card dealer. Each player had a mountain of chips. They looked like pros, some hiding with hats, some with sunglasses despite the smoky, dim light of the hotel room. It’d taken him over an hour to get there from campus, and though he was early, these guys looked like they’d been there for a while.
“Who’s the new guy?” A guy growled at the table.
Hello to you too.
Poker was a game of skill and science, at which Cash was a master, and he was already learning who the players were. He categorized every breath, twitch, and bead of sweat. He’d never played with this crowd before, and besting pro players wasn’t anything new for him, but this game was nothing but criminal. He had to play six hours. Then he was free to leave. Simple. The game organizer would take twenty percent, and Cash kept whatever he won.
As he took his seat, he could see why Gary wanted out of this game. In front of him was a stack of chips equal to the minimum buy-in: two thousand five hundred dollars.
“I said,” the man growled again, “who’s the new guy?”
Cash scooted closer to the table, pulled down his hat, and tossed in the opening bet. “I’m Cash.”
A few nods and hellos.
“Where’s Gary?”
“He couldn’t make it.”
There were a few more somber nods as though what Cash said had a much heavier context than his buddy not wanting to lose his ass in poker.
“No pay, no play,” came from the corner of the room. The big guy from the door, who was easily the size of a refrigerator, stepped away from a shady figure smoking a cigar.
Cash nodded and pulled out a wad of bills. Without acknowledging him, Refrigerator man scooped up the money, carrying it back to the corner. The cigar smoker gave the dealer the go-ahead, and without missing a beat, the dealer started sliding cards. The betting began, but Cash already knew how most of the men would bet. He cupped his hands over the cards, bending up the corners enough to see the color and number.
The first hand began as Cash expected. Nervous Nelly made mistakes. A poker shark overplayed his hand and fell hard. A few others were good, but not good enough, and he saw through each of their moves.
Cash turned over a pair of Aces—the best possible hand—and his toughest opponent threw his cards, face down, into the center.
The man stood. “Tell Gianori he got my money this week, but next time, I’m not leaving empty-handed. I don’t care what whiz kid—” He glared at Cash. “He brings in to screw with me.”
Refrigerator man and the cigar smoker said nothing, and the bested player stormed out. No one else dared to tangle with Cash, opting to fold every time he made a raise, and his time flew by.
The man in the corner puffed his cigar. “Last hand.”
Cash folded and counted his chips. After the cut to the dealer and the buy-in, his pocket would be well-lined. Very well-lined. He should seriously consider playing high-dollar poker more often. This could pay his rent for a couple of months.
A few minutes later, as he headed out with his score, cigar man said, “Hey, Cowboy.”
Cash turned. “Yeah?”
“We’d like to see you next week.”
The game reeked of bad decisions and easy money. It’d be fun, but Cash could see himself getting sucked in. A game of calculation and analysis where he made buckets of money? Yeah… But Nicola was the only addiction that needed to occupy his time. “Poker’s not my thing. But thank you.”
The tip of the cigar flared, and another smoky cloud billowed. “You did well.”
He shook his head. “Nah, just beginner’s luck.”
His plan tonight had worked out well: play smart, keep his head down, read the others, and make his moves.
Cigar man stood. “Come back.”
Adrenaline spiked in his veins, arriving too late to be a high from the game. If it came to fight or flight, Cash knew he could take almost everyone in the room. “This was a onetime deal for my friend.”
“Wait.” The cigar man motioned. Mr. Refrigerator lumbered over to block the doorway.
Jaw locked, his fists bunched. “What?”
“We have a tight-knit business network. You’d fit in well. We’re always looking for men to bank for our team.”
The way the guy said it struck him funny. It sounded like code for the mob, and come to think of it, these guys looked like they fit the profile. “Poker’s not my thing.” He just happened to be killer at it, and had no interest in running with small-town Gambinos or whoever.
“Take my card. Consider it an open invitation.”
Cash unballed a fist and took the card, shoving it into his pocket along with the wad of bills. “Thanks for the offer.”
He stepped around the big guy and let the door slam behind him. What a crazy night. He called the elevator. It was there in a flash, and he hit the button for Lobby. The descent was short. The elevator stopped a few floors down.
A hard-jawed man boarded, eyed him, then nodded toward th
e fat pocket. “Poker, huh?”
Trusting no one, especially after a game like that, Cash ignored him.
The man continued, “A good player has a sharp eye. Plenty of patience.”
“Something like that.” The guy was just as broad as he was. Cash had to give it to the dude. He looked imposing but still had a let’s-chat attitude. It was odd. “Business brought you here?”
Nodding, the man said, “Recruiter meeting.”
“Recruiting for what?”
“Army.”
Ah, that made more sense. Cash nodded back.
“Ever thought about it?”
“Military? Nope.”
“You should.” The man stepped closer. “Athletic requirements wouldn’t be a problem, I assume. Poker winnings pushing out your pocket says you’re smart and calculating. We could use men like you.”
Whoa, eagle eyes. Cash took a step back. “You don’t know me.”
“I know what it takes.”
“We’ve been in the elevator for ten seconds.”
He laughed. “And I’ve got you pegged. Don’t I?”
Cash shrugged despite the bull’s-eye guess. “Life’s got different plans for me. But thanks for your service.”
The man extended a card to him. “If something changes, let me know.”
Shaking his head, Cash hadn’t been more sure of the way things were going than right now. “I’m good. Thanks though.” He paused, looking the guy over. “You joined the Army because someone handed you a business card?”
They reached the lobby. The recruiter shook his head. “No. I joined because life crapped on me, because I needed direction and structure, because somehow, someway, I needed to take all the anger in me and do something that wasn’t self-destructive.”
Well, hell. That was pretty damn honest. “And the Army did that?”
One curt, military nod. “Saved my life.”
Manners more than anything else pushed Cash to accept the recruiter’s card. He pocketed it next to the mobster’s card and his winnings, then walked out with the guy and wished him luck. Seems like anyone who had to have the Army pick him off the ground and save his life needed a little bit of luck. Then again, what the hell did Cash know, and who was he to judge?
Sweet Girl (Titan) Page 12
