So Screwed

by Melissa Marino

  And she seemed to not want a damn thing to do with me.

  At least, that’s what she gave me to work with. During our numerous other meetings, there were times I thought I was feeling the vibe that she was interested. But then I’d ask her out, and she’d decline. I wasn’t sure if she was playing hard to get or if Callie was swaying her decision, but I didn’t give a shit. There was such an insane chemistry between us, judging just by the look in her eyes, and I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I wanted that girl.

  My focus returned to the game in front of me. These underground poker games were always in different locations—restaurant basements, empty warehouses, and tonight, a closed-down nail salon that still smelled faintly of whatever the fuck chemicals they used.

  I was losing. Badly. My mind was everywhere else except the game, and it was showing. In an effort to try and dig myself out, I was confident when I was dealt a pair of queens and went all in. Everyone began to fold after me, and it appeared that things were going how I wanted.

  The girl across from me with very long dark hair and olive skin, who I’d seen at other games, called. Her heavily made-up eyes, covered in purples and blues, were enough of a distraction without her fondling a thin gold necklace that landed right in her cleavage whenever she dropped it. The rest of the table folded.

  We were heads up, she and I, and we turned over our cards. The blood rushed from my head when my eyes landed on her ace and king. The flop came down, and I hit with three of a kind. The next two cards were two kings, giving the lady her three of a kind that trumped me.

  I tossed my cards on the table and stretched my arms behind my head. “Shit,” I said under my breath.

  I drained what was left of my Scotch, and before I could even ask, a cocktail waitress set another one down next to me. It was how these high-end places worked. Paid to get in. Free drinks. Liquor up and spend all your money. I had to take it with a grain of salt, looking at the entire picture as whole. In the several months that I’d been frequenting these games, I had done well.

  Very well.

  A bad night here and there wasn’t going to make or break me, especially since Benji, the ringleader of this gambling circus, had taken me under his wing. The guy wasn’t much older than me, but had created an empire in the hidden poker game ring. We met during my run of gambling in college, and when we ran into each other a few months ago, he invited me to one of the games. So, I went, and getting the extra cash was working to my advantage. It was harmless.

  He knew I was strong player, and the last couple of losses resulted in a strong pat on the back from him and reassurance there was nothing to worry about.

  There was only one very big problem with me being at this table at all.

  The thing was, I wasn’t supposed to be gambling.

  Four years ago, I’d gotten in over my head when a friendly poker game led to high-stakes ones multiple nights a week. When my debt exceeded far into the six figures, I had no choice but to turn to my parents for the money.

  It was one of the most humiliating moments of my life.

  I’d given my parents my word that I would never revisit the poker table for money again. The debt I owed cleaned out my trust fund and solidified my forever status as “fuck-up son” of the century. The older son, Aaron, was and still held on to the title of “golden son.”

  * * *

  I pushed off from the table, taking my drink with me and throwing my suit jacket over my shoulder. The alcohol buzz was definitely flowing. Hell, I deserved it. I spent my nights bartending and serving the drunks. It was okay for the tables to switch every once in a while. I made my way to the makeshift bar, which was nothing more than a few large pieces of plywood haphazardly screwed together with a flimsy, booze-soaked top. After settling into an empty chair in front of it, I placed my drink down and my head in my hands.

  My mind was spinning; thoughts and decisions hung all over me like spiderwebs. I couldn’t shake it and it clouded everything around me

  It was more than the funeral and Aaron and losing. It was still the girl. Evelyn. Every time I ran into that girl, I reacted, and it wasn’t anything I was used to. She didn’t buy into my suave bullshit like so many other girls. I didn’t mind the chase, but she acted like she didn’t want to be caught. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she stirred something in me in other ways besides what’s in my pants.

  The stories she must’ve heard about me, Aaron’s playboy, freeloading brother.

  I was sure it was all exaggerated even if at the core there was an element of truth.

  The cleavage chick from the table was now focused on me and not the game in front of her. She gave me a wink, but I wasn’t sure I was feeling it. As she rose from the table, the clingy black dress she was wearing fell to her ankles. With a slit almost up to her thigh, her long, bare legs swayed as she strutted toward me with her red fuck-me heels clicking against the linoleum floor.

  I sipped my Scotch just as she slid into the seat next to me. The scent of her perfume overwhelmed me.

  “Tough loss,” she said with a smooth European accent.

  I turned in my seat toward her. “I was…distracted.”

  Her hand settled on the middle of my thigh, and she looked up at me from beneath her fake eyelashes. “Any reason why?”

  Her voice rolled the r of reason just so, and I knew she had to be Italian. I wanted to ask, but I had a hunch there would be time for questions later.

  Okay. Maybe I was feeling it. Or maybe it was her fingers inching higher and higher up my thigh. I wasn’t sure. The only thing I was sure of was I didn’t care.

  Right or wrong. I didn’t care.

  She was here. The woman I wanted wasn’t.

  Sometimes you just needed to feel needed.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, placing my hand on top of hers.

  “Dafne. With an f.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, and I knew this girl was going to pull out all the stops. Sometimes they worked too hard. I was sure there were classes they took on the art of seduction, but we didn’t need all that shit. Men were simple creatures. If we wanted you, we were there. Even if we didn’t want you, we’d probably still do it.

  I stood and grabbed my jacket. “I’m Abel. Well, Dafne with an f, why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter and I’ll tell you all about my day?”

  I extended my hand to hers, and without skipping a beat, she slid her own into it. It was a shitty day all around. I’d be lying if I said that a beautiful woman like this wasn’t going to softly massage my ego back into top form.

  We headed outside and to my car. As I opened her side, she paused before sitting. Her long hair blew in the wind and across her face.

  “No wife? No girlfriend?” she asked.

  “Nope. Just you. Just for tonight.”

  I was nothing if not one thing.

  Honest.

  Chapter Three

  EVELYN—

  There were times I ran on caffeine and adrenaline. I glanced at my phone to check the time: 9:48 p.m. Bridget told me before I even started a year ago that the spring and summer months were going to be the busiest. I was unprepared the first time around. This year I knew what to expect. Sometimes it really was all about work. My twice-canceled plans with Callie since the funeral last month was proof of that. Luckily, she was always understanding. Good fortune was also on my side that I didn’t have to balance a boyfriend along with everything else. My life, with career first, was designed around my dreams. I created it that way ever since I learned how much of a distraction men were anywhere outside of the bedroom.

  I was finishing up addressing invitations for an NHL player’s upcoming wedding when it all became very ironic. My ideal job and formulated social life was all thanks to the incredibly hot but very intense hockey player I dated in high school through my freshman year of college. Patrick wasn’t a bad guy. We were bad together. It wasn’t love, but rather an obsession that led to us shutting out the rest
of the world. Learning young that when life revolves around a man you don’t have room for much else was a retrospective gift.

  Bridget poked her head out of her office. “How many do you have left to do?” she asked.

  I checked my spreadsheet and color coded the ones I had marked as done. “Seven more.”

  “Okay. When you’re done, we’ll go over the itinerary for the Miller wedding on Saturday.”

  “All right.”

  It was nearing the end of April, and things were already in full swing.

  “Hey. I have an idea,” she said, leaning on my desk. “How about when we’re done tonight I take you out for drink?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you have other plans?”

  I considered telling her I had plans with my Friends DVD box set, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth, especially to my boss.

  “Nope. No plans.”

  “Great,” she said, walking back to her office. The door was almost closed before she stuck her head out again. “Oh, and Evelyn? This place where I’m taking you is very—what is the word for it?—intimate.”

  “Intimate?”

  What did that mean?

  “It’s very exclusive,” she explained. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  It was close to eleven p.m. by the time we were headed out to get our much-needed cocktail. The stress of the day weighed heavily on my shoulders, and I hoped that after one drink, I could get home to unwind. Most importantly it’d include me taking off my bra and heels.

  “Should I get a cab or I can drive if you want?” I asked as we exited the building.

  Bridget adjusted her white raincoat, tying it tight across her small waist. “No need. We’re just going around the block. Actually, on the opposite side of the building.”

  I followed her as we walked toward the corner. “I didn’t even know there was a bar on that side. I thought it was offices and the deli.”

  She stopped, turning to look at me. “That’s what most people think,” she said with a wink.

  We continued along the side of the building and turned when we reached the next corner. Bridget stopped on a neon-orange spray-painted star on the ground. It was odd, but then again, so was Chicago.

  “Come stand next to me,” Bridget said, waving me over.

  I stepped next to her, as she pointed her finger to the ground. “Twenty-eight from the star,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “The orange star. Count twenty-eight steps forward from standing on the middle of the star.”

  I stepped alongside her, stopping when we reached twenty-eight. Bridget pivoted and approached the side of the building. As she ran her hand along the brick exterior, I wondered if she was just overworked and in need of a good sleep. None of this made any sense at all.

  Her hand stopped on a wooden panel that blended in with the bricks. She knocked three times and stepped back, fluffing her hair as she did. A door, seamlessly hidden, opened and a handsome man, who appeared to be in his early thirties with short, curly brown hair dressed in a dark suit, appeared.

  “Well, hello there, Bridget,” he said. He held the door open and stepped aside to let us pass.

  She walked in, with me close behind, and gave the doorman a playful tap. “Long time no see, Tyler.”

  I looked around, trying to gauge my surroundings, because this was, in fact, not a bar. All I saw was darkness. A hum of music buzzed around us, and my feet vibrated against the concrete floor. Bridget was standing close and talking softly to Tyler before she looked my way.

  “This is Evelyn, and she is wonderful at keeping secrets.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. Secrets? What kind of secrets? Where has she taken me?

  “Fantastic,” Tyler said. He reached his hand out to shake mine. “Very nice to meet you. Let me take your coats.”

  We handed them to Tyler who opened an expansive cherrywood armoire that was hidden behind eggplant-colored velvet drapes and hung them up.

  “Now, if you want to follow me,” Tyler said.

  He stepped ahead of us, and Bridget followed with myself close behind as we traveled a narrow, darkened hallway. We stopped when we reached a velvet rope, which Tyler unhooked and allowed us to pass before taking the lead again. I tugged on the back of Bridget’s shirt and yanked her toward me.

  “What is going on?” I asked.

  “I told you. I’m taking you for a drink.”

  This was seriously weird. It was like one of those underground clubs, places I had read about that were sex clubs or something. Could that be it? Was Bridget trying to introduce me to something…new?

  Dimly lit lights lined the now-carpeted floor, the hue getting brighter and brighter as we walked toward the sound of the music. I heard voices, laughter, and conversation. Not loud like a dance club or something of the sort, but of a restaurant.

  Tyler stopped in front of a leather tufted door and smiled. “Welcome, Evelyn, to WET.”

  The door opened, and I was relieved it wasn’t an underground sex club. No, it was something much different. Golden hues and sparkling chandeliers lit the small room while the mahogany floors matched the small bar. Six high-back stools lined the front of the bar and low marble tables, surrounded by plush burgundy couches and armchairs, were scattered around the room. It was exquisite. And so were the people.

  I raised my eyebrows at Bridget, wondering what this wonderland we walked into was.

  “Speakeasy,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “You know, like in the days of Prohibition, they had hidden places to drink booze.

  “I know what it is. I just didn’t know they still had them.”

  “I only know of this one. And for the record,” she said, leaning over, “that was no joke about keeping this a secret. This place is strictly members only, and you have to be invited to become one. Very private.”

  “Holy shit!” I pointed to a small U-shaped sofa along the far side of the wall. “Is that what’s-his-name from that movie and no! That is so not his wife. Do you think—”

  She yanked on the edge of my hair. “Private, Evelyn,” she hissed.

  I tore my eyes away from the movie guy and scanned the rest of the room. There were several other familiar faces, a politician or two. A hockey and baseball player. Yes, this was elite. There was beauty and power, and most of all, money.

  “How did you find out about this place?” I asked.

  “Seriously?”

  It was dumb of me because Bridget knew almost everyone in Chicago. If she didn’t know them, she knew someone who did and made whatever connections she wanted with one phone call.

  “The owner is Aaron Matthews, super heavy hitter in the hotel and restaurant game in Chicago. He is—”

  Bridget kept talking, but I stopped listening. This was one of Aaron’s bars? It was strange, but also not. Like Bridget said, I knew he owned several bars, but this place? My eyes scanned around the room again, and then something came to memory. Callie and I had a conversation once regarding a secret club that Aaron owned and took her to.

  “My best friend’s boyfriend,” I muttered, my mind still reeling.

  “Huh?” she asked.

  My head snapped to her. “My best friend is dating the owner.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “Your best friend is dating ‘the’ Aaron Matthews? Wow. That’s quite a catch.”

  He was a catch and I couldn’t be happier for her. However, I knew how nosy Bridget could get, and I wasn’t going to dish the dirt to her about Callie and Aaron.

  “Yes. They are both quite the catch. Come on. Let’s go get a drink,” I said, tugging on her sleeve.

  She shrugged, knowing I was finished with the discussion. As I followed her across the room, a mixture of expensive fragrances and pricey cocktails surrounded me. Once I sat on the seat next to Bridget at the bar, I opened my purse to casually look to see if I had any cash on me.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite bartender,” Br
idget said.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite wedding planner,” a deep voice said, approaching us. “How are you, Bridget?”

  “Wrecked.”

  “I’ll ease that out of you. Want the usual?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll get a bottle. Evelyn…Evelyn…what are you doing?”

  “I was just looking in my purse for—”

  “Hey,” the deep voice said. “Evelyn.”

  Shitttttttttt…

  Because of course, why wouldn’t Abel work at a bar his brother owned?

  It took me several moments to recognize him. Maybe it was because he was behind the bar and wearing such a slim-fit, white button-down shirt. Maybe it was the lighting or the sheer surprise of seeing him.

  Or maybe it was because he seemed even more handsome than the last time I saw him.

  “Hi. Wow…small world,” I said.

  Bridget looked between us, confused. “You two know each other?”

  “Yes,” he said at the same time as I said, “Kind of.”

  He bit his lower lip and laughed. “A little of both?”

  “He’s Aaron Matthew’s brother,” I said with an eyebrow raise.

  “Well,” she said, inching forward on her stool. “How come you never told me this before, Abel?”

  He smoothed his hands down the front of his crisp white shirt as he shrugged. “You didn’t ask,” he said, turning his attention to me. “You look as beautiful as ever, Evelyn.”

  I could see Bridget, out of the corner of my eye, staring at me, her lips upturned in a smirk. “Well, well, well…”

  “What?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  I stared at Abel as he added some ice to a martini shaker and fastened the lid to the top. He shook it rapidly, the strong muscles of his arms pulling against the tight white fabric of his shirt. He caught me gawking, but before I could even be embarrassed, he winked.