Playboy

by Katy Evans

  “Careful!” I call. “This is a super-important work!” I cry, hoping Cullen will receive the work in perfect condition.

  “We’ve got it!” Pepper assures me, coming out from around the corner. “Don’t worry. Go on—don’t you have a plane to catch?”

  I blush beet red. “Yes. I just feel bad about leaving again.”

  “Don’t. I’m thrilled for you.”

  “Thanks, Pepper,” I say, hugging her.

  After I power off my computer and switch everything off in my office, I grab my keys, ready to head to the airport.

  I step out into the hall and spot Emmett standing outside in the gallery room. I slow down my walk as he stares at me in confusion.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Emmett, hi.” I glance around to see if anyone’s with him. “Um . . . yeah. Did you need something?”

  He looks rather . . . sad. Did his restaurant get a one-star review somewhere?

  He points in the direction of my office. “Can we talk alone?”

  “Sure, I guess. I’m in a bit of a rush, so three minutes tops,” I say, pushing the door open.

  I allow him in. It feels odd having him inside my office. The place doesn’t sing with his presence. My body doesn’t . . . feel a thing. It’s hard to remember a day when I looked at him and imagined him as . . . well, as my forever.

  He sits on the edge of a chair. “Wynn, we need to rethink our breakup.”

  I don’t sit because he isn’t staying and I’m not missing my plane over this. At the same time, I won’t be rude. Emmett and I spent four years of our lives together.

  “What do we need to rethink?” I ask.

  “You and me.”

  I frown in confusion, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. Emmett, I’m running really late, can we do this another time?” I start for the door, but he stands and approaches quickly and with a hint of a pucker.

  “Whoa, and hell no.” I put up my hand to stop him.

  So much for being polite.

  He sniffs and smirks, but it’s wicked ugly and doesn’t suit him at all. It’s then when I realize he’s jealous. Really jealous.

  “It’s because of Callan’s brother, the gambler?” he says.

  “Poker player. Cullen. And yes.”

  “And yes?” he frowns.

  I look at him, stunned that he thinks I’ll explain anything to him. We’ve said what needs to be said and spent the last hours of our wasted time together a long time ago, a lifetime ago, or so it seems.

  “Whatever we had, Emmett,” I say, glancing at the door in frustration, “it wasn’t what it should be. It wasn’t love, not really. You’ll find love with someone and she’ll be great. She’ll be everything you wanted me to be and more. I know it. But it’ll never be me because now I know who’s the one for me. And right now, he’s waiting for me. And I need to leave.” I wait and he doesn’t move for a moment.

  He steps aside, and I open the door and step out. Emmett follows.

  “Wynn. Can’t you see? I made a mistake.”

  “Then don’t make another one,” I say, unwilling to give in. “Go and find someone who makes you fall so hard, you won’t even have time to wonder what happened.” I lean up and kiss his jaw. “I’ll see you around, Emmett.”

  “You were always too good for me,” he murmurs, with a small confused smile, turning and walking out of my gallery.

  “What was that?” Pepper asks from behind the small reception desk by the entrance.

  “Closure. I suppose.”

  I quickly summon an Uber, checking my watch, dreading the rain that has started, dreading that I won’t make it on time.

  When the car finally halts before me, the driver hurries out of the car, covering himself from the rain as he packs my suitcases in the trunk.

  “Hurry,” I tell the driver as soon as I climb into the car. As we head to the FBO to where Cullen’s plane lands, I dial Callan’s cell phone. “What’s up, sister-in-law?”

  “Don’t joke. It’s going to happen.”

  “You’re fucking joking?” He sounds shocked but glad, and I smile.

  “Well, not now, anyway. But this is the real deal, Callan, and I need you to help me do something special for your brother. I need to win him back and bring him the best gift in the world after he wins this poker championship.”

  That’s when I hear the screech—and feel the jolt of my Uber skidding on the wet pavement and crashing into the car in front.

  My phone falls from my hands, and I glance around, cursing this blasted rain as the driver of the car in front of us gets out and starts yelling at us.

  My Uber driver curses in Spanish. “Mierda!” he calls to himself, then glances at me. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Just started and jolted and . . . shit, I’m so late, sir.”

  He exhales and shakes his head. “You’re going to have to call another Uber,” says my driver.

  GAMBLING MAN

  Cullen

  I’m holding her close, refusing to let go, curling up and spooning, just waiting until she wakes. Her hair smells so damn good, like pineapple and coconut. Of course it would. We’re parked on a deserted beach with our toes in the sand.

  A loud racket in the hallway jars me to an upright stance. I’m on the floor looking around, frantic because I’m still living inside our dream. “Wynn?”

  That’s when I realize she’s not here.

  She wasn’t here when I dozed off on the couch or when I ambled off to bed at five this morning.

  She’s not here now that I’m wide awake.

  Wynn. Is. Not. Here.

  I drag my hand through my hair and look at the black shirts hanging in the open closet. When we arrived last night, Oliver hurriedly unpacked my things then asked for the night off. I’m pretty sure he had a date.

  Standing at the window, I wonder where Wynn is now. In a few hours, the tournament starts. In a few hours, it’s go big or go home.

  And I’m not the guy who leaves the party right after it starts.

  I glance at my watch. Wynn should be at the airport. I gave my pilots strict orders to update me when they took off.

  I haven’t heard from them, but should get the call anytime.

  Last night, I had a series of dreams, the recurring beach dream and a new one—a tender, sweet dream that included Wynn and my son. Did I have the dream because she told me she couldn’t give me a child? Do I care that she wants children? Do I want more children?

  I haven’t thought that much about it.

  Or right, maybe I have.

  Maybe I want to make her mine, in every way. Lady of my house. Mother of my children. Adopted, even.

  A casino is a lonely place for serious players. Anyone can get lost in Vegas but I don’t want to be lost. And I don’t want to be alone tonight.

  Am I thinking about this now because of the dream or because I’m waiting for Wynn to take her greatest gamble on me?

  With Wynn, maybe it’s possible to think about the things I haven’t had. Maybe I want some semblance of a family.

  Can I open up and talk to Wynn about my son?

  I need her to understand and not judge. See that Adam is the sweetest kid, and I am no longer willing to live without him.

  Adam’s mom is a tough nut to crack. She hates poker and everything about a gambler’s life. She berates me every chance she gets. She was a gold digger from the start. We were kids, but she still wanted wealth and status. The country club scene. She wouldn’t marry a poker player. Where’s the status in that, right?

  If only Mom shared her opinion.

  She thinks poker players have an endless stream of wealth. Like a few days ago, she called to ask me for “only” thirty grand. I can’t help but wonder what she plans to do with my money.

  You can’t think of it as yours once you give it to her. Callan’s words hum in my head. My brother refuses to support her, and maybe that’s why I always hand it over without questioning where it goes or who may end u
p with it.

  If I have it and she wants it, it’s hers.

  I don’t have anyone else to share it with. At least not yet.

  I’m impatient, checking Wynn’s nightstand once more, in case she arrives after I have to take my seat at the table. I’ve left a note—for good luck. I prop it against the lamp one more time and pace another circle when my phone buzzes, and Tim’s name, one of my pilots, flashes on the screen.

  Don’t wait for me . . .

  I clench my jaw as I remember her last words. Like hell I won’t. Something about her changed me. And something about me changed her too. We’re not the same people that went into this stupid dare.

  My lips twitch. Our dare was anything but stupid.

  I wanted her. I still do.

  I love her like I’ve never loved a woman. She’s in my veins, my damn bones. It didn’t make saying goodbye any easier. It made things worse, and as Wynn pushed me away because she fears I will one day tire of her, my chest collapsed onto itself and my damned heart shredded and burned.

  Deep down, she knows the truth—the truth that burned into us both as we got deeper and deeper into this dare. That come hell or high water, she’s my woman, and I’ll never want anyone else.

  I pick up the phone, my chest swelling in anticipation. “You’re late—I need you to fly that damn bird as fast as you can. I need her here, asap.”

  “Mr. Carmichael . . .” he says tentatively. “She didn’t show. She’s not coming.”

  I take a moment to register his words, my fist clenching on my cell phone.

  She’s not coming.

  Disbelief, frustration, regret, anger, helplessness: it simmers in my veins as I disconnect the call.

  I stare at the carpet, unseeingly, unable to believe that she’s really done with me. That she won’t come. “Fuck me,” I growl, swinging out and sending my laptop, the lamp, and everything on top of the hotel room desk crashing to the floor.

  Oliver enters the suite right at that exact time. He rushes the bedroom with his hand in strike position, his keys wrapped around his forefinger like he plans to use them as a weapon. “Sir! You all right?”

  I exhale, shake my head. “I’m fine. Lucky in play, but not lucky in love, right?” I shoot him a stony smile and try to pretend it doesn’t matter, but my jaw is clenched, my heart is burning and crumbling in my chest. I don’t like being in Las Vegas without her.

  I stalk out of the room as Oliver’s phone starts ringing. “Yes, Mr. Carmichael,” he answers. “No, he’s just left the room,” he says as I motion for him that I’m not in the mood to take calls. No more distractions, damn it to hell.

  I grab my jacket and storm toward the door, struggling to shake off my frustration, and think, Where are you, Wynn?

  POKER

  Hours later, and after missing Cullen’s plane and catching a last-minute commercial flight, I finally head to baggage claim, anxious to arrive at the tournament.

  “Oliver?” I’m surprised to see Cullen’s chauffeur.

  Dressed in casual blue shorts and a short-sleeve polo, Oliver probably didn’t plan on being here.

  “Miss Watson.” He’s smiling like he’s sitting on the biggest secret in the world.

  “Callan called you.”

  “Yes. And Mr. Carmichael—Cullen—doesn’t know you’re here. He was . . . in a bit of a mood before I got the call”—his eyes are twinkling, indicating he seems to think his mood was because of me—“and I thought it better to keep him out of the plan to avoid further distractions before his big game.”

  “That’s perfect. I want to surprise him—I’m not only bringing his usual lucky charm, but I’m bringing him a thirteen-year-old one too!” I clap excitedly, then realize maybe Oliver doesn’t know. “Did Callan tell you about Adam?”

  He nods once, his smile wide. “He had some trouble wrestling Adam away from his mother, but apparently, a free vacation for her was enough to let us enjoy him this weekend. His plane just landed. He’s right over there.”

  Heart leaping in excitement over meeting Cullen’s boy, I follow Oliver’s head motion. There’s a funny little quiver in my heart as I scan faces in the crowd. It only takes a moment to find the tall and lanky kid, the silver-eyed kid. He has disheveled dark hair, probably because he slept on the plane, and is wearing a “Poker Rules the Earth” T-shirt with a tagline: Approach with Caution. I can read you.”

  I laugh. “He’s his dad’s son.”

  “For sure, Miss Watson.”

  Tentatively, I head over to Cullen’s son and wait while he drags bags from the carousel. He has an unreadable expression and I immediately wonder if this was a bad idea. Not all kids like their dad’s significant other.

  Is that what I am?

  Geez, Wynn, this was absolutely a real bad idea.

  I’m in the middle of self-doubt when the kid sticks his hand out. “I’m Adam. Uncle Callan told me a lot about you.”

  I try not to overreact but I’m happy as hell as I shake his hand.

  “I’m Wynn. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. From your dad.”

  “Surprised he can talk about me at all.” He frowns. “Mom does what she can to keep us apart.”

  “Well, Miss Watson has brought you together,” Oliver says, shooting the kid a kind smile. “And your dad will be pleased to see you.”

  “How’s he doing?” Adam asks.

  “No updates yet.” Oliver looks at his watch. “He should be arriving at the tournament now. You’ll be able to watch the tournament at the hotel. It’s broadcasted live.”

  “Let’s go.” I exhale happily on Adam’s words. He’s about as eager to get there as I am.

  Forty minutes later, I’m slipping on my lucky black dress and earrings when I spot an envelope on the nightstand, the one that’s next to Cullen’s bed.

  Our bed.

  I peek inside and smile at the ten-thousand-dollar chip and the note that says, “Please don’t be late. You’re my lucky charm.”

  He’s so predictable and it’s that predictability that makes me think ahead with my own predictions for my special player.

  My man is about to win a title and bracelet.

  And . . .

  We’re on the edge of a winning streak that could last a lifetime.

  TEXAS HOLD’EM

  Cullen

  The new poker commentator is pumping up our credentials when I enter the roped-off area, ready to take my seat. Seven of the final nine players have won numerous bracelets. Only two of us play professional poker and I’m looking at the other one—the man who plans to get a “real” job.

  “You haven’t retired yet?” I tease.

  “After today,” he promises.

  Lucas comes to the final table with the third highest stack and those chips might as well be mine.

  “Where’s your luck?” Lucas asks before he sits down.

  I glance behind him. His groupies are hard to miss with their bouffant hair, flashy jewelry, and loud voices. “Couldn’t you leave the kids in daycare? I hear the casino has a real nice romper room.”

  He laughs. “Guess your woman isn’t coming.”

  “What’s up with the teenagers?” I can keep it real as long as the bantering continues. What I won’t do is let Lucas rattle me by talking about Wynn.

  Lucas sniffs. “They’re all twenty-one or older.”

  “Never would’ve guessed, man. I was about to ask who does the fake IDs for you.”

  “Insult a friend much?”

  “Only at the tables,” I tease, but I’m done talking so I stick out my hand and we shake. “Good luck, Lucas. Let’s get to the final four where the real money is.”

  Translation: You take fourth. I’ll bring it on home.

  He frowns at that and it’s disconcerting. If Lucas frowns at “luck” then that can only mean somebody’s helping him develop his poker skills.

  Damn Lucas. I wouldn’t care to see you on my heels at the finish, but now?

  C
an’t risk it.

  If I don’t freeze him out early, he could take the lead and keep it.

  Once again, I scan the crowd, looking for her, my lucky charm. While I may look like I have it together, I’m miserable here.

  I hate being in Las Vegas, at this tournament, without her.

  The commentator is ready to go. He rises. He says a few final words before turning to the table.

  The dealer shuffles.

  I have my first hand.

  But my girl isn’t here.

  I peer at the cards.

  How the fuck do I slow play this mess when all I want to do is fast forward time and see Wynn again?

  Wynn

  I’m so damn excited to see him that I barely notice the crowd until Mike’s beside me saying “Kind of overwhelming, huh?”

  “Oh, Mike. I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you.” I blush as soon as the words tumble from my mouth. I sound like a woman in love. “I zoned.”

  “It happens.” He holds out his arm. “Let me show you to your seat. Someone will be real glad you’re here.”

  Seconds later, I feel his eyes on me. We’re walking in front of the press when I notice the familiar warmth on the back of my legs. The pressure at my hips. The tingle across my back.

  I tighten my hand on the crook of Mike’s arm and almost lose my balance. We’re in front of a crowd of women when I hear someone say, “Look. That’s her. That’s Playboy’s girlfriend. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Mike pats my arm as if to say, “Go with it.”

  And I do. I go with it.

  I straighten my spine, take a deep breath, and gain every ounce of confidence when I finally turn.

  And time stands still.

  There’s no one there. No one in the crowd. No one at his table. No one next to me.

  It’s just us.

  He tosses in his cards without looking at them.

  There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches me take my seat next to Mike.