Seven Card Stud (Stacked Deck Book 7)

by Emilia Finn

  “I’ll pay you a hundred if you keep her up there for the rest of the day.”

  “Jamie!” Cam reaches out for me. “Save me!”

  “Go choreograph something for me.” I sit back and begin sipping her lukewarm coffee. “Show the babies how to do something cool.”

  “Jamie!”

  “Have you had any formal training?” Soph asks as she leads her to a door at the side of the stage. “Anything professional, other than what I put on the internet?”

  Cam

  Maybe Not So Expensive After All

  “Here you go.”

  Sophia freakin’ Solomon, the woman I idolize, the glitchy face on YouTube, the instructor whose lessons I sort of stole, the freaking legend who makes me almost cry, tosses a pair of tights at me so I have to catch or let them drop to the tiled floor. She reaches back into the glass cabinet and flips through a pile of leotards. Pink. Black. Gray. She settles on black and holds it up between us.

  “This size looks about right. Here you go.”

  I hug the fabric to my chest and swallow down my tears. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you can’t dance in jeans.” She snags a pink skirt and tosses that at me so it floats down to land on my pile, then she turns back to continue her shopping spree. “It’s too bad you don’t have your flats with you. I’d kill to see you on your toes right now.”

  “You would?” I lift to my toes without conscious thought. “You really would?”

  “Oh yeah. Jamie’s been bragging for a whole year.”

  “Bragging?” My pulse slams against my throat so hard that I feel it. “About what?”

  “Your dancing.” She crouches down to search for something in the bottom of the cabinet. “He said that you’d be back for Stacked Deck, and that it would be stupid of me not to meet you. He said you’re an amazing dancer, and would be an asset to the dance academy, if only I gave you a second to show me.”

  “But he…” Flashes of last year fly through my brain. I was mean to him. I was dismissive. Rude. “I never danced in front of him last year. I never…” I shake my head when she turns to study me. “He’s never seen me dance.”

  “Then I guess he’s working on blind faith.”

  “Oh god.” I press a hand to my stomach and try to suppress the urge to hurl. “Maybe I suck at it. Maybe I can’t dance at all.”

  “Well?” She stands tall and closes the cabinet. “Can you dance?”

  “I don’t know! I thought I could. I felt like I was pretty good at it, but I was the only one learning in my living room, so I only had my brother to compare to.”

  Snorting, she grabs my hand and yanks me through the room and into a hall. “I guess we’re gonna see. Put those on, come back out, and we can get started.”

  “Sophia…” I want to vomit. I want to scream. I want to run around and around and around in tight circles until this nervous energy burns out. “I don’t know what—”

  “If you’re not dressed and back in this hall in thirty seconds, you’re out. I have shit to do, so hurry.”

  “Soph—”

  She folds her arms and turns to look at the clock. “Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight.”

  “Agh!” I spin on a squeal, and slam the changing room door open so hard that it bounces off the wall and hits my shoulder on the way back. “Ouch!”

  Sophia’s snickering follows me in to the empty room, echoing off the tiles and empty bathroom stalls.

  I throw my new things onto a long bench, stumble my way closer to the wall, and on one foot, I hop and work on undoing my shoes. One. Then two. I unsnap my jeans and shove them down, and reaching up, I push my sweater off, and yank my beanie back on when it gets moved askew by my movements.

  I don’t have the right bra. “Sophia! I don’t have the right bra!”

  “Fourteen!” She pushes the door open, and grins in the space I see before it slowly swings shut again. “Thirteen.”

  “Agh!”

  I grab the tights and stab my legs in. One. Then the other. Then I plop down to sit on my butt and work on the slippers. My torso is bare. My leotard lays forgotten for a moment until I stand again and realize how stupid I look in the mirror.

  Snatching the black material, I work it on, pull it up over my tights, then I wind the floaty skirt around my hips and look into the mirror a second time to make sure I’m decent and haven’t forgotten something important.

  “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” I push up to my toes, but drop down again in an instant. “Oh god. It’s the Ellie Solomon Academy. It’s the Ellie Solomon Academy!”

  “Yup, it’s the Ellie Solomon Academy.” Sophia pushes into the room and throws a black and pink gym bag at my chest. It’s new, still has the creases, but the price tags have been torn off. “Put your shit in there. Bring it all out. You can drop it all with your man for safekeeping, or toss it at the side of the stage. No one is gonna take your stuff, though, so don’t panic.”

  “He’s… uh…” I toss my jeans and boots into the bag. “Jamie’s not my man.”

  She snorts and grabs my wrist when I finish packing the bag. Tugging me across the locker room and into the hall, she leads me in the opposite direction from where we came. “He sure seems to think he is, Cameron. I think this is gonna be one of those situations where your man is your man long before you acknowledge it.”

  “He’s not my man.”

  “He’s been pining for you for a whole year.” She snatches my bag and tosses it to the floor, then holding my forearms, she steps back and looks me up and down. “You sure as hell look the part.”

  “Oh god. Oh man!” To my right is a thick, maroon curtain. To my left, a heavy-duty pulley system. And all around us, music. Children’s music, but music nonetheless. “I’m gonna be sick.”

  “First of all, no you’re not. Second, not on my floors, unless you wanna mop it up. And third, your man is on the other side of that curtain. You ready to send him crazy with lust?”

  “There are children here!” I point at one that literally darts through the curtain and bumps into Soph’s legs. “Babies! I’m not gonna slide on his lap.”

  “Not on his lap.” She takes my hand and leads me toward the gap in the curtains. “Lap dances are so… cliché, you know? He could buy one of those at any club. Fifty bucks will get him a pretty girl, a five-minute dance, and maybe a chance to press his face to her titties.”

  “It annoys me that you put that in my head.”

  She grins. “It makes you jealous, despite your declaration that he’s not your man. And no, no lap dance. In this studio, what we do is much more subtle.”

  I watch as she leans around me and winks for a man I’ve never seen before in my life. I jump when our eyes meet — his and mine — and I slam into Sophia, stomping on her toe by accident.

  “Ow!”

  “I’m so sorry!” I cry out. “Geez, Sophia. I’m so sorry.”

  “My feet are kinda important to me, Cam. Stop screwing around.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  I want to cry. And scream. And throw my hands in the air. And hide under the filthy blankets back at the hotel.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” I whimper. “I didn’t start out today knowing I would be – or even wanting to be – standing in a leotard on your stage. I wasn’t able to prepare. I wasn’t given a chance to—”

  “Run away?” she asks. “Cute hat, by the way. I’m glad you kept it on.”

  I reach up and press my hands down over my head. “It’s Jamie’s.”

  “He’s so your man.” She lifts her arms when the music stops, smiles when the curtains begin opening. “Follow me, step for step. This is your audition.”

  “Oh god! Oh no!” I cry out when the pressure is too much. “I’m gonna die.”

  “Turnout,” Soph grumbles. She spins when the curtains are gone, and Bean shuffles her kids to the side of the stage.

  My eyes snap to Jamie’s, my face burns red when, instead of slouching back with his legs wide
open and his arms spread out on the backs of the chairs, he now sits forward, his elbows on his thighs, his eyes burning right into mine.

  “Cameron!” Sophia’s cutting voice snaps me out of Jamie’s laser focus. “I said follow.”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I look to the floor and try to block Jamie out of my mind, then I turn my feet out, lift my arms, and pray I don’t fall on my face.

  “Plié, jump.” Soph stands six feet away with her hands on her hips and her eyes burning holes into my legs. “Do it. Do it!” She claps her hands like I was a bratty five-year-old. “Plié. Jump.”

  And so I plié. Then I jump.

  “Land in plié.” Soph comes around me and shoves my chin up so my neck wrenches. “Stand taller. Open your lungs. Lift your chest, lower your shoulders. Then plié, jump, land back in plié.”

  “There’s so much pressure,” I whimper. “God, I don’t even know how to walk anymore.”

  “Where’s your turnout?” She kicks my ankles, snaps my chin back up again when I look down. “Plié. Jump. Plié. Then move into a pirouette.”

  I try to follow her instructions. My heart pounds, and my brain swirls with a billion thoughts.

  “Turnout!” she snaps. “Where’s your turnout?”

  I look down to my feet.

  Sophia snaps my chin back up until I growl.

  “Hey!” Jamie shoves to his feet. “Sophia! Cool it!”

  “Turnout, Jamie! Where’s her turnout?”

  “Give her a damn minute to catch her breath!”

  “Turnout!” Sophia kicks my ankles.

  She snaps my chin back up when I look down.

  Tears spring to my eyes.

  “Sophia!” Jamie roars. “Quit it. This was supposed to be fun. Not traumatic.”

  “No!” I cry out on a tear-filled laugh. “Don’t quit it.”

  Jamie’s face is red with anger. “What?”

  “This is like…” My smile is so big, it hurts my face. “Oh my god, I’m seriously being hounded by Sophia effing Solomon.”

  Soph leans around me and makes a teasing face for Jamie. “Don’t try to tell me how to teach in my studio, little boy, and I won’t tell you how to teach in your gym.”

  “You’re…” Jamie’s eyes search mine. “This is okay?”

  “This might be the most amazing moment of my life.” I look to Sophia, but I keep my chin high, and I turn my feet out as far as I can get them. “Here’s my turnout. Please don’t quit on me yet.”

  “Never ever.” She flips Jamie off without breaking eye contact with me. “Now, let’s move into chassé en tournant.”

  “Aw, shit.” My stomach whooshes with nerves. “I don’t speak the words. Just the steps.”

  Her smile creeps up, and her eyes sparkle with – dare I hope? – happiness. “The steps are our language,” she murmurs. “The words are not needed. Let me show you. Bean…” She waves her star pupil over. “Let’s do it together.”

  Hours later, two, three, maybe four – I have no clue! – I burst out of Sophia’s dance studio and into the freezing snow, but my heart weeps with joy. My smile breaks my face. My hand is wrapped around Jamie’s, and my new bag is slung over his shoulder because he insisted on carrying it.

  I drag him into the middle of the parking lot, look up into the sky, and simply… well, hyperventilate. “I can’t… I just…” I close my eyes as the snow slowly falls and rests on my face. “I can’t even form words right now.”

  “That was kinda brutal, right?” Jamie pulls me in so his hands rest on my hips and our legs twine together. But he doesn’t block my view of the sky. He doesn’t stop the snow from melting on my face. “She was mean.”

  “She was amazing.” Opening my eyes, I look into his and feel it; those first buds of love. The roots that will create a memory never forgotten. “You made a lifelong dream come true today. You made me so happy, Jamie.”

  “She kicked you a lot.”

  My laughter breaks out in loud puffs of white fog. “Sophia Solomon shouting at me about my form is like, the dance-equivalent of a wet dream.” I reach up and run my hand through his messy hair. “It was like… oh god.” I press my face to his chest and barely stop short of screaming. I have so much pent-up energy, so much pent-up excitement, that I feel like I might explode. “It was amazing.”

  “I didn’t like that she was shouting at you.”

  “Your dad was mean to you last year, right? That time I saw you grappling with your cousin.”

  “Mm. He was trying to teach us something.”

  “He was kinda mean. But he meant it all with love. He did it with the sole purpose to make you guys better.” I pull back and meet his eyes. “That’s what Sophia was doing. If she was too nice, I’d have considered her a phony, and left a little disappointed that my idol was a bag of air.”

  “But she wasn’t?”

  “Mm-mm. She was amazing. She was everything I ever dreamed she was.” I grit my teeth and do a mini, squealing jig. “She got down on the damn floor and pointed my feet when I couldn’t do it on my own. That’s like…” I shake my head. “That would be like Muhammad Ali fixing your jab, or GSP rolling with you in the octagon.”

  He looks down at me with a sweet smirk and adoring eyes. “You’re surprisingly knowledgeable on fight legends.”

  I can’t stop smiling. I can’t stop floating on my high. “I grew up with William Quinn in my space every single day. I know a lot of useless things about the fight world. Now quick, kiss me.”

  “What?” His eyes flare wide. “Why?”

  “You have to seal this chapter of my fairytale with a kiss.” Instead of waiting for him, I reach up and cup the back of his head, then I pull him down, and seal my own damn fairytale with a kiss.

  I smile against his lips, I slide my tongue along his when it comes out to meet mine, and I squeal when he reaches down and lifts me half a foot off the ground.

  “You’re so beautiful when you smile like that.” He takes back his power, so instead of me kissing him, he kisses me. Lips. Tongue. Heart. He lifts me higher, squeezes until my squeal turns to a pant, and when I want to be closer yet, I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Cameron, it makes my stomach cramp.” He pulls back with heaving breath, a pounding heart, dancing eyes. “One week a year isn’t even close to enough.”

  “Let’s just be,” I murmur. “Let’s exist in this week, in this time, and be happy with what we have. Don’t break our hearts yet. It’s too soon.”

  “Okay,” he rasps out. He slams his lips to mine and swallows me up. “Six days to go. Where to next?”

  The next day, with more snowfall, but without the biting wind, I walk across town and head in the direction my phone GPS tells me to go. For this week only, I won’t play coy or hard to get. I toss those thoughts of my pride away – because when it comes to Jamie, it’s not about losing my pride – I pull his knit beanie low over my head, and I trudge across town with Will following me only half the way.

  Progress, I suppose. He could have been on my heels the entire three miles. Or he could have tossed me over his shoulder and taken me back to the hotel.

  I dig my freezing hands into my pockets, I don’t worry about the map on my phone, and instead listen to the voice prompts coming through my headphones.

  The destination you’re searching for is three hundred yards on your left.

  Two-fifty.

  Two hundred.

  I meander my way toward the large estate the whole world – or at least, the fighting world – knows belongs to the Kincaids, and finally stopping at the large, wrought iron gate, I stand at what appears to be a security panel sitting atop a concrete pillar.

  The clouds in the sky are gray and ugly. Frigid and mean. But behind those, the sun battles valiantly to break through the gloom.

  Curiosity beats in my blood as I study the houses through the gates. Seven of them, identical in size, shape, build. But each are unique in their style – one h
as blue shutters, another has a red door, some have yard ornaments, and one boasts a Christmas display that tends toward the birth of a baby Jedi, and not that of a baby Jesus.

  I play a game in my mind and try to place a home with a Roller, but I don’t know them all that well. I know Bobby and Kit Kincaid are, for lack of a better description, the mom and pop of the group. The oldest, the speakers when on national television. So I place them in the house at the top of the estate. The one overlooking their kingdom.

  The one with Christmas lights that spell ‘FART’ in block letters on the roof.

  The house to the left of that has a giant halfpipe taking up all of the driveway and a little of the street. I don’t know of any of the fighters to be skaters, except perhaps Jack “The Jackhammer’s” wife. She always looks so cool when on TV, so edgy and sexy when she’s not in her schoolteacher clothing. So perhaps that’s their home.

  The house closest to the gates on the right bears trikes on the grass. Toys in the driveway. A ‘baby on board’ sign in the back window of an SUV. I filter each of the fighters through my mind and try to think of who has small children still. Jamie, Bean, Bry, and them; they’re all the children of the original Rollers, and they’re all grown now. They long ago stopped using trikes and toys.

  But The Jackhammer has small children, so maybe he and his cool wife are in this house. Maybe they take up two homes.

  Maybe I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about.

  Smiling, and shivering under my coat and Jamie’s hat, I look to the house on the left of the gate.

  The curtains are open, and one window shows a long line of… slime? It dribbles along the pane of glass and disappears when the window sill starts. The lights are out inside, so despite the curtains being open, it’s hard to see what’s on the other side of them besides a faint shadow.

  I have no gloves, I lost my pair, so I keep my frozen hands deep inside my pockets and turn back to the security screen. It reads Griffin Security, bears a lion logo, and below that, a touchpad for a code, I guess.