High Stakes

by Lory Wendy

Taking a step forward, I lean in and force her to make eye contact with me. I search for her ticks, her tells that give her away when she’s lying, but her bright eyes stare back at me unmoving and unblinking.

  After a few seconds, I surrender.

  “Fine.” I sigh and take a step back. “Let’s say I believe you—which, for the record, I don’t.”

  “All right?” She stares at me, still yet to blink.

  “Tell me why you’re acting so shady.”

  “Only if you tell me why you’re asking so many questions. It’s like you want there to be a guy.” She turns back toward the closet, then whips around to face me. She nearly decapitates me with the hanger in the process.

  “Easy there, killer.”

  “Is that what this is? You want me to set you up on another date?”

  “No. Not really. I mean maybe.” I avert my gaze, finding the carpet interesting.

  Blaire clears her throat to get my attention, hips cocked to the side and her hand at her waist.

  Busted.

  “Fine. It’s not that I want there to be a guy.” I don’t. Not exactly. “I’m just curious as to why there haven’t been any lately.”

  For the record, I’m not desperate. But until two months ago, I was a student at the University of Colorado, a sister, and a friend. In that exact order.

  I hardly had spare time to breathe, let alone look for a man. I’ve gotten so used to the setups and blind dates, it’s gotten to where I look forward to them, depend on them. Every couple of weeks I have a guaranteed free meal and a hot guy blowing smoke up my ass reveling in my beauty. Don’t judge. It’s great.

  But the thing is, we were fresh off the high of New Year’s the last time I had one of those dates, and with Valentine’s Day looming around the corner and with no setup in sight, I’m confused. Not that I can blame Blaire if she decided on not setting me up anymore. Those so-called dates never ended all that well.

  “I can tell your mind went somewhere it didn’t need to go.” There’s a frown on her face, but her voice sounds cold. Tight. No, it sounds authoritative and almost motherly. “So, calm your tits and take a breath.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  Since she’s right, I don’t argue. I need to get it together, and I know just the thing to fix this. Heading straight to the kitchen, I whip through the cabinets and grab the ingredients for Irish coffee, my metaphorical chill pill.

  It was my mom’s favorite drink. She’d only let us taste it on special occasions when we were growing up, and we always looked forward to it on holidays. Nowadays, it’s one of those little things that calm me and Blaire no matter what’s going on.

  Mugs in hand, I go in search of my sister, ready to put those last weird few minutes behind me.

  I’m thrown off at her walking out of her closet wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt. Weather be damned, snow hasn’t stopped Blaire from dressing like a hooker before.

  “Aren’t you wearing that black dress?” I set her drink on her dresser and stare at her.

  She looks away to rummage through her purse. “Nah, tonight’s low-key.”

  Sitting on her bed with both my hands wrapped around my cup, I say, “So, I can wear jeans, too, and not be underdressed?”

  “Wear whatever you want. It’s your night.”

  “Is that so?” I take a calculated sip and stare at her over the top of my cup. “My night for what?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Yeah. It means she’s setting me up with someone.

  “Finally.” She pulls her phone out of her purse and straightens up. “Rocky just texted me and said he’ll be on his way soon. So…”

  I’m out of her room, chugging my drink, and running into my bathroom before she can complete the sentence. And after a short shower, I stuff my legs into a pair of pants and my hands through a sweater at the same time the doorbell rings.

  “Looking great, ladies,” Rocky says, giving each of us a kiss on the cheek.

  Such a simple compliment, yet my smile is wide and cheesy like he’d just announced me as the winner of a beauty pageant or something.

  “And you’re looking dapper as usual.” I grin and ignore Blaire’s mumble of, “Did you just say ‘dapper’?”

  Rocky looks at his watch and sighs. “Would you ladies mind if we made a quick stop before dinner? I have to pick something up from a friend.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say at Blaire who shrugs.

  “As long as it’s quick. I’m starving.”

  With Rocky driving, Blaire sits in the passenger seat. I sit behind the driver’s seat and stare at the side of Blaire’s head and the long blonde hair that flows loosely down the length of her back like layered liquid gold.

  Taking another good look at her then back at myself, I sigh.

  “You look nice,” I say. She always does.

  She turns back to me, beaming. “Thanks, babe, you too.”

  Appeased, I grin and sit back, focusing on looking out at the night view as Rocky drives away from Boulder. A sense of anticipation hangs heavy in the air, while the whiskey from the Irish coffee churns in my stomach.

  I startle out of a daze, twenty minutes or so later when the car lurches and stops in front of a house twice the size of mine.

  “Whose house is this?”

  “My homeboy,” Rocky says, opening his car door. “You guys want to come in?”

  Shrinking back into my seat, I stare out the window. People our age don’t have houses like this. Not even Blaire and me, who through shitty circumstances of our own, inherited a pretty nice one. “Is it his parents’ house?”

  “Nice right? But no, it's his. You won't have to worry about anyone’s folks tonight.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief at Rocky’s words. He’s spent enough time with us now to know my issues with meeting parents.

  At twenty-three, I shouldn’t have an issue with grown-ups, with authority in general, and I don’t, not really, but parents don’t like me very much. I’m afraid to say the wrong thing to them, so I keep my mouth shut. As a result, my hesitance is interpreted as having an attitude and being standoffish or stuck up. To put it bluntly, parents think I’m a bitch.

  Climbing out of the car, I take in the unfamiliar neighborhood.

  “It’s quiet around here.”

  “Yeah.” Blaire loops her arms through mine and pulls me forward to race us up the driveway. At the door, Rocky reaches for the doorknob first but steps back and guides me and Blaire ahead.

  “SURPRISE!”

  I jump back, scared as shit, as one of my fists fly in the air, only to stop at the sound of people laughing. It takes a little longer than I’m proud to admit for my brain to catch on to the happy grins and slow-fade clapping.

  A surprise party.

  “I didn’t know it was your birthday!” I turn to give Rocky a hug.

  “No, look.” Blaire stops me and points to the big “Congrats Grad” banner hanging from the wall. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to throw you a party for graduating?”

  Graduating? But I finished in December. “That was almost two months ago!”

  “And I’ve been planning this shit for three months. After all the drama we had to go through to get you to walk across that stage, there was no way we weren’t going to party.”

  Everything goes blurry as unexpected tears blind me. I fling my arms around her, caging her in a bubble. Nothing and no one else matters right now. It’s been an uphill battle these past few years with fights, pointed fingers, and even resentment at one point. No matter what, though, Blaire’s always been that person—my person. The one who looks out for me. The one who loves me more than anything. The only one who’s left to throw parties and celebrate milestones with me. We’ve walked through the gates of Hell, and moments like this show we’ve made it back to the other side, relatively unscathed.

  “Blaire,” I choke out.

  “Don’t cry.” She pulls back from our hug, waving a hand in front of
her face. “None of that shit tonight. Grab a drink and come meet some people. Plus, guess who’s here.” She grips my shoulders and turns me around.

  My eyes bug out as I take in everyone here, but they stop at one specific person. Hope Greene. My best friend, who I haven’t seen in a few months and, up until two seconds ago, was supposed to be overseas.

  “Holy shit! How long have you been back? Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I tackle her in a hug, rambling out questions.

  Hope’s blue eyes twinkle as she laughs. “I actually just got in today. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was here, by the way. I was part of this” —she waves a hand around— “surprise. We both know I’d have blown the whole thing. And, there’s nothing new.” She shrugs. “Not really, anyway. That job didn’t work out the way I thought it was going to, so there’s that.” She looks away but not quick enough to hide the crinkle in her forehead.

  “No biggie.” We loop our arms together. There’s so much more I want to say—like how my life isn’t going anywhere near the direction I thought it would either, and technically my current “job” doesn’t count—but it’s so not the time or place for pep talks or pity parties. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. We work the room, hugging, kissing, squealing, and taking shots with everyone willing to. I still can’t believe Blaire pulled off a surprise party right under my nose.

  At the thought of her, I search around the room, grinning when I see Rocky making his way over to us with Blaire tucked under his arm.

  “Thank you so much.” I try and wrap my arms around Blaire, but it’s made awkward by the way she keeps one arm wrapped around Rocky.

  “Are you having fun?” Blaire asks, her eyes shiny from a pool of unshed tears.

  “I am,” I answer with a wink at Rocky. “Thanks again for helping plan this and for getting your friend to let us use his house.”

  “Yeah, well, he owed me one.”

  “Lies. I don’t owe you shit,” a voice floats from behind him.

  Rocky’s face splits into a smile as the guy walks up and greets him with a ridiculously complex handshake. “Selena, this is Quincy.”

  Well, hello, Quincy!

  I offer the newcomer my hand, secretly hoping he pulls one of those cheesy rom-com moves and kisses the back of it. No dice, but the one dimple on his cheek makes up for it. His dark chocolate skin and round face make him cute, but the muscles peeking out from under rolled-up sleeves, and a brutal looking scar on the side of his head, make him look slightly intimidating. I feel bad at first when I get caught staring, but he just smirks and juts his chin out.

  “Battle wound.”

  Rocky groans and puts a hand on Quincy's shoulder. “Please, don't get him started.”

  “What? It's a good story!”

  “One Selena doesn't want to hear.” Rocky looks over, eyes pleading. “Trust me on that.”

  “That good, huh?” I shoot a flirty grin toward Quincy.

  “Don’t listen to Rocky.” He nudges me.

  Lifting an eyebrow, I say, “Huh?”

  “The story. If you really want to hear it, I’ll tell you.”

  I can’t help but laugh. He is too adorable for words and reminds me of a kid who rushes home to tell his mommy a story about the great thing that happened at school today.

  “Go ahead.” I cover my mouth, trying to control my unattractive laugh.

  He stares, and I don’t know if he’s stuck on the story he’s about to tell or trying not to react to my laugh that’s often funnier than the actual joke.

  “What the fuck?”

  The moment comes to an abrupt halt—interrupted by a chilling, but slightly familiar, voice. I whip around to face its owner, only to recognize him immediately.

  “You.”

  “Me.” Mr. Who-Trained-You from the other night, pins me in place with his glare and points to Quincy. “Are you fucking him?”

  Behind me, Hope coughs, choking.

  I, on the other hand, arch an eyebrow and size him up.

  I’ve stared death in the face before; surely he doesn’t think a pair of hazel eyes is going to bring me to my knees—no matter how pretty they are.

  “Well, are you?” he presses.

  “How is that any of your business?” I challenge back.

  “He's about to marry my sister. If he's fucking you, it's very much my business.”

  “You’re engaged?” I face Quincy. Had I known, I would have put my shameless flirting on lockdown.

  “So you are fucking him.”

  “All right, that’s enough,” Quincy says. “Come on, man, it’s not—”

  “Why can’t she answer?”

  This guy is rude as hell, but I can appreciate the need to protect his sister. If the situation was reversed, I would do the same for Blaire. So, I rush to reassure him.

  “No. No, we just met.”

  “Sure about that?”

  “Back off.” Blaire steps up between us.

  Jackass’s face softens, though the look in his eyes remains hard and almost hateful, as he reaches past me to grasp Blaire’s hand. “The lovely Blaire Monroe. It’s great to finally meet you.” He plants a kiss on her knuckles and follows with another kiss on her cheek. “And what was your name again?” He turns to face me now, but behind the greeting, I can feel nothing but coldness and hate.

  “Selena.”

  “Well, Selena ...” He bows, giving me the same greeting as Blaire: a kiss on the hand and a kiss on the cheek. However, he lingers. “Stay away from Quincy.” His voice comes out like the sound of harsh and hissing air being let out of a balloon. I flinch back, but a tighter squeeze on my hand keeps me in place. “He's a good guy and not the type to step out on his girl. But, trust me, I doubt any man could resist you, so heed my warning.”

  I wrench my hand away and stare back into eyes that are so damn near perfect it pisses me off. “Warning? Don't you mean threat?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” The corner of his mouth curls up into a sinister smirk that almost makes me shrink back. Almost. But fuck that. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” He swaggers off.

  I spin around to face the group. Their facial expressions differ, each still staring at the space Rude Guy just vacated. “Okay, seriously,” I ask. “Who is that guy?”

  Rocky’s the one who steps up. “That… would be Julian.”

  Chapter Four

  The majority of my night is wasted on trying to ignore Julian. But with my every move, I feel him watching, judging, and waiting for me to do something so he can pounce again.

  “God, he’s worse than that creepy Mona Lisa knockoff Mom used to have hanging over the old fireplace.”

  “Huh?”

  “The eyes,” I say, widening mine. “They’re watching me.”

  Blaire giggles, looking around the room. “What are you talking about?”

  Who knows? “Nothing, sorry, are you having a good time?” I lay my head on her shoulder.

  “I should be asking you that. You having fun?”

  I’m not, actually, though I would never admit something like that to her. Then again, I’m not having a bad time, either. I sent Hope home after the third time I caught her nodding off, and promised to catch up when she wasn’t so jet-lagged. Blaire’s been busy holding down the fort. So, essentially, I’ve been left alone to work the crowd. Everyone’s been nice enough and seem like they’re all having a good time, which is awesome. Meanwhile, I’m unnerved and hating this Julian guy even more for ruining my mood at my own damn party.

  “Hi, ladies.” Quincy smiles, eyes shining. This annoys me.

  “Should you be talking to me? Your brother-in-law might shit another brick if he sees you.”

  “Oh, don't worry about him. He's all talk.”

  “Yeah right.” My gaze lands to the corner. To no one’s surprise, Julian is glaring at us. This time, I don’t look away at the hard set of his eyes. Had we been five, I’d have stuck my tongue out at him, but I’m an adult now.


  I flip him off behind my ear instead.

  “He’s a good guy, you know.”

  My focus goes back to Quincy, eyebrow cocked as if to ask: And?

  “No, for real.” Quincy shrugs, his shoulders too broad to make the simple act look like anything less than a chore. “He’s just protective of his own.”

  “And you're dating his younger sister? Sucks to be you.”

  “Yeah, she's not around much, so he’s worried what I might do with all my alone time, I guess.” He shrugs again—the epitome of nonchalance—but through his eyes and marred features, anyone can tell the idea of not being trusted hurts him or pisses him off, or both. “It’s like he forgets she's my world too. Every time she gets deployed, she takes a piece of me with her."

  “Sorry.” I wish there were more I could say, like ask where she is or what branch she’s in, but I can't bring myself to be so nosy. Maybe another day, if we find a way to be friends after this.

  We talk for a while until I can focus on nothing else but that fact I might be dehydrating. “I’ll be right back. Want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  In the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from the massive cooler propped against the fridge, relishing a few minutes alone.

  “Hiding?”

  “Shit!” The lid from the cooler slips from my hands, narrowly slamming down on my fingers. I was right. Julian was waiting for the right moment to come at me again. “What do you want?” I yank the cooler top up again and grab the bottle of water I dropped.

  “Were you and Quincy having a good conversation out there?”

  I turn to him. “Yeah, actually, he was telling me about his girlfriend. You should try giving him some credit.”

  “You’re defending someone you don’t even know?” The corner of Julian’s mouth curls up. It’s condescending, with intrigue behind it as well, like the concept of someone defending others, or having to defend Quincy, is new and funny to him.

  “Well, he’s not here to defend himself. So…”

  “And you think he needs you to defend him?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Probably not, but I’m not afraid to stand up to you either.”