The Gambler

by Denise Grover Swank

  “So that’s why you let Mitch plan the wedding and wouldn’t let him pay for it.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than her. “You never wanted to marry him?”

  “You must think I’m a total bitch.”

  He slowly shook his head. “No, Lib. I love that about you.”

  “That I intentionally hurt Mitch?” she asked in disbelief.

  “No. That you believed in something so much you risked everything to make it happen.”

  “Fat lot of good it did me. Tomorrow’s my birthday and look where I’m at.”

  “You’re with me.” He studied her face as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “Libby, did you ever really think about who you were supposed to marry?”

  She shook her head, but a little voice inside her head was screaming that the answer might be right in front of her. But her palm told her differently. Which did she believe? The curse or the lines on her palm? Could she believe in one without the other? She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It doesn’t work that way. I wasn’t supposed to know.”

  “Think about it now. Tomorrow’s your birthday. Who are you supposed to marry?”

  Was he saying what she thought he was? “The curse isn’t real, Noah.”

  His gaze held hers. “I think it is.”

  “You’re not superstitious,” she whispered.

  His finger lightly traced her jaw, sending shivers of need down her spine. “I am now.”

  She wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, but now that she might actually have a shot at it, the fear that she would screw it up terrified her. She jumped off the stool. “I want to play poker.”

  His eyes widened. “Poker? Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You hate poker.”

  “I want to play anyway, but I need another drink first.”

  She flagged down a waitress and ordered another mojito. Noah watched her for a moment before ordering another gin and tonic.

  Her life was shit. She might as well get drunk.

  She knew it was stupid and irresponsible, yet that’s what she was. Irresponsible. Just ask anyone. No wonder the curse hadn’t worked for her. She didn’t deserve it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I need to go the bathroom before we play poker.”

  She’d had several drinks and she really did have to pee often, but he recognized what she was doing. He held on to her hand when she tried to pull away. “Don’t run away, okay? Promise me you won’t run away.”

  She looked into his eyes. “You’re still safe.”

  For now hung in the air as he dropped her hand and watched her walk into the restroom.

  Noah’s phone rang and he reluctantly pulled it from his pocket. Tiffany had called earlier. He knew he needed to set up a time to meet her, but he didn’t want to think about Tiffany when he was with Libby. It might have been different if he hadn’t slept with Abrahams’s assistant earlier in the year. It felt disrespectful to call her while he was with Libby, but how could he hope to make a life with the woman he loved if he didn’t have a job?

  He needed to talk to Tiffany, as much as it killed him to do so.

  But Tiffany wasn’t the person on the other end of the phone. Noah wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or thankful. “Hey, Gram. I thought you were at that old geezers’ show. They spit out their dentures already?”

  She released a belly laugh. “Ruby was snoozing in her chair.”

  “I was not!” Garrett’s nana shouted.

  Gram snorted. “Yes, you were, old woman. I can’t help if it you have the napping hours of a farm hand.”

  “I own a damn farm!” Ruby protested.

  “Why do you think I used that analogy?”

  “Gram,” Noah asked. “Am I on speaker phone?”

  “Seemed easier this way.” She cleared her throat. “Obviously, we left. How are things goin’ with you and Libby?”

  “Fine. She’s in the restroom.” He couldn’t very well tell her what was really going on.

  “Fine?” she barked. “Is she wearing that little black thing?

  “Uh . . . yeah . . .”

  “And things are just fine?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t know what it’s going to take to get the two of you to hook up if that dress didn’t do the trick. Do I have to lock you in a room?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Of course it’s obvious,” Ruby cut in. “A camel dying of thirst in the desert would spit his last sip of water to put out the damn fire between you two. Why do you think we’re really here?”

  That rattled around in his head for a few seconds.

  “So?” Gram demanded. “What the hell are you doin’ to get the girl?”

  “Maybe Libby should be the one trying to get me,” Noah said. “I thought you were a feminist, Gram.”

  “Damn straight I am, but you and I both know that girl’s even more of a commitment-phobe than you are.”

  “I said that too!” Ruby shouted.

  “Commitment-phobe? But she planned a wedding . . .” Noah said. “She believes in the curse.”

  Ruby laughed. “Boy, you got a lot to learn, don’t ya?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” His voice rose, uncertain that was the right answer.

  “Good boy. Admittin’ you don’t know everything is the first step to pullin’ your head outta your ass.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Libby’s like a kid who wants to go to the amusement park and ride a rollercoaster,” Ruby said. “She’s excited to get there, but she starts to chicken out before getting on the ride. She just needs some encouragement.”

  Noah grew indignant. “I’m not pushing her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  “You take me for an idiot, boy?” Nana Ruby barked.

  Noah jumped even though the woman was on the phone. “No, ma’am.”

  “Nobody said anything about dragging her onto the damn ride and tying her in.”

  “Unless she’s into that Fifty Colors of Gray BS stuff,” Gram said. “Then she might like to be tied in.”

  “It’s BDSM,” Ruby corrected. “Not BS.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s what Megan said. How’d you know?” Gram asked.

  There was a pause before Ruby answered, “I might have read it.”

  “Might have?” Gram asked. “How did you might have read it? Did you whack your head and get amnesia after you finished?”

  “No, dammit!” Ruby shouted. “Okay, I read it. Then I joined MatureSingles.com.”

  “And?” Gram encouraged.

  “I met a man! Are you happy? Don’t you dare tell those prude daughters of mine that I found a man who’s into spanking.”

  “Okay!” Noah interrupted. “That’s TMI!”

  “Only if she leaves her jaw open too long for oral sex,” Gram said. “Do you, Ruby?”

  “Oh, my God, Gram!” Noah shouted, drawing the looks of the people around him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get that mental image out of his brain. “That’s TMJ, not TMI.”

  “Oh, then what’s TMI?”

  “Too much information,” Ruby supplied.

  “How’d you know that?” Gram asked.

  “I got a Twitter account.”

  “I have one too and I still didn’t know that.”

  “My grandkids taught me to use it,” Ruby added smugly.

  “Huh,” Gram said, then returned her attention to Noah. “So is Libby into BPM?”

  “I give up,” Ruby groaned.

  “I don’t know if she is or not. It hasn’t come up in discussion.” Noah’s face was burning. “I haven’t even kissed her yet.”

  “What?” Gram shouted.

  “Maybe he’s old-fashioned,” Ruby said.

  That seemed to appease Gram since she swung the conversation a different direction. “Are you like those fundamentalist Christians who think they should fill their baskets full of kids?”

&n
bsp; “What?”

  “Their quivers,” Ruby said. “How do you get everything so wrong?”

  “Quiver? I bet those kids are quivering with lust. They can’t even hold hands or hug before they get engaged, and they don’t kiss until the wedding. I bet they don’t last thirty seconds on their wedding night. You don’t want that happening with Libby, do you?”

  Noah stifled a groan. How was he having this conversation with two grandmothers? “Look, I appreciate the advice, but I know how to handle women.”

  Both women started cackling.

  “What?” he asked defensively.

  “There’s a difference between handling tarts and handling the woman you want to marry,” Ruby said. “And it’s plain as day that Libby’s scared to make a commitment. Now how are you going to deal with that?”

  “My plan was to give her all the space she needs . . . but that dress . . .”

  Gram chuckled. “That’s why I called it a lucky dress. It’ll help you two get lucky.”

  But he still didn’t think that was what she needed from him. She needed to know he was going to stick around. “I just did everything short of flat-out telling her I love her and want to marry her, and she jumped up like I’d shot her and said she wanted to play poker.”

  “Libby hates to gamble,” Gram murmured.

  “I know.”

  “She’s gonna go looking for another man,” Gram said. “That’s what she does.”

  “She already did,” Noah said, trying not to sound defeated. “But she didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s good,” Gram encouraged. “That sounds like progress.”

  “She told me she wants to take time away from relationships. If that’s what she wants, I’m going to give it to her.”

  “While you play with your strumpets?” Ruby asked.

  “No,” Noah said firmly. “I’m going to convince her that she’s the only woman I want. Ever.”

  Gram chuckled. “There may be hope for you two yet.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Noah was stuffing his phone into his pocket when Libby emerged from the restroom. He must have noticed her questioning glance because he said, “Gram. I told her about dinner. They’ll meet us at the restaurant.”

  “Okay.” But Libby’s anxiety was making her skin feel too tight. Noah seemed more reserved as they made their way to the poker tables, yet his eyes never left her, making her more and more anxious.

  Don’t blow this, Libby. Don’t lose him.

  She still had no idea what he wanted. A fling? Something more long term? Their earlier conversation had insinuated he was interested in the latter . . . maybe even in marriage. But this was Noah, a man who’d informed her months ago that he was allergic to marriage. She would have chalked her confusion up to the alcohol she’d consumed, but she couldn’t do that since she’d barely even had a buzz all night. The drinks here must be watered down.

  She knew she should just ask him, lay all the cards on the table, but when she started to ask, her throat squeezed tight.

  They sat at a table with another couple and a middle-aged man with a Texas drawl. Noah was right—she hated poker—but you couldn’t really talk to your tablemates, so she had some time to think. But half an hour later, she was a hundred dollars poorer, totally sober, and ready to move on.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked. “Tomorrow is your birthday.”

  “My birthday,” she sneered. “A pox upon my fucking birthday.”

  He looked amused. “Someone’s been binge-watching Game of Thrones.”

  She curled her upper lip and looked for another waitress. Getting drunk sounded like an even better idea than before they sat down the poker table. She’d gotten sidetracked with her plan by the game.

  “Turning thirty’s not so bad.” He shrugged and grinned. “I survived it with very little scarring.”

  “I was supposed to have my life together by now, Noah.”

  “What do you think is missing?”

  “I wanted to have an exhibit.”

  “You’re working on it. You just need to get back on track. Once you get to Seattle, you’ll be able to devote all your time to it.”

  Seattle. Over the last few hours, she’d forgotten about moving to Seattle. If she moved to Seattle, what if they tried this and it epically failed? She couldn’t bear watching him sleep with woman after woman.

  Now she was even more depressed and confused.

  “What else you got?” he asked.

  The pact. The curse. She knew it was stupid and juvenile, but she’d thought it might mean someone would love her enough to stick around.

  “Libby.” His voice was gentle and coaxing. “Why are you so upset about turning thirty?”

  “My life sucks giant donkey balls.”

  He chuckled. “How giant? Anything like the Czechoslovakian egg? Because those would be some impressive balls.”

  She swatted his lapel. “Don’t make fun of me, Mr. I-have-my-life-together-and-I-had-a-fucking-girlfriend-but-I-don’t-need-her-because-I’m-sexy-and-all-the-women-in-the-world-throw-themselves-at-my-feet.”

  “That’s a very long name,” he murmured. “It’s really weird that I don’t remember changing it. And where’s this line of women? It’s the men who are lining up for you, Libby St. Clair.”

  “Who cares?” She didn’t want to talk about all the women he’d screwed. Then she had an idea. “It’s my birthday. I want to play a game.”

  Hesitation filled his eyes. “What kind of game?”

  “A drinking game.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the counter of a nearby bar. As soon as she had the bartender’s attention, she ordered six shots of vodka.

  Noah cringed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re planning to get totally shit-faced, huh? At least it’s not tequila.”

  “Vile stuff.” Back in college, she’d lost a few nights to tequila.

  “So what’s this game?” he asked.

  She laughed at the fear in his voice. “Truth or dare.”

  His eyes widened slightly before focusing on her. “Okay.” He didn’t sound any less fearful. “But I have to warn you that this seems like the wrong place for it. It’s kind of a classy joint. Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. This is us. All dressed up fancy but keepin’ it real.”

  The bartender started to pour the shots, and when he finished Noah stopped him before he walked off. “Can we have some shot glasses with water? Say six? And a draft beer.”

  “Sure.” The guy shook his head muttering something about weirdos as he left to fill the glasses.

  Libby was about to pounce on him, but Noah held up his hand in defense. “Since I’ve turned thirty and become an old geezer,” he teased, “I’ll pass out after three shots. Let’s make it last longer.”

  “Where’s the fun in drinking water?”

  “We’ll mix them up so we won’t know if we’re drinking vodka or water. Like a drinking Russian roulette game.”

  “Okay.” She had to admit it was a good idea. “And the beer?”

  “Hey, beer goes with everything. So how’s this work?”

  “We get to ask each other a question. If you answer my question, I have to drink the shot. If you pass, you do.”

  “What can we ask?”

  “Anything.”

  He pondered it for a moment, then the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “What about the dare part?”

  “Drinking the shots is the dare.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I’ll only play if daring is an option.”

  What was he up to? What did it matter? She was the one who’d suggested the game, and she’d done it because she wanted answers.

  After the bartender delivered Noah’s draft and their shot glasses of water, Noah mixed up all the shot glasses, then gave her a wink before he took a sip of his beer.

  She squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll go first.”

  Noah grinned. “I’m rea
dy.”

  “Truth.” She gave him a sexy smile and leaned forward. “Why did you break up with Donna?”

  She studied his eyes, but he gave nothing away as he rested his forearm on the counter. “Many reasons. She was a bitch. She tried to change me. She hated my apartment. She wanted me to get another job, preferably investment banking . . . and she hated you.”

  “She hated me? She didn’t even know me.”

  “She was jealous of you. I think she knew that she and I would never be as close as you and I are.”

  The giddiness she felt over Noah’s misfortune filled her with guilt, yet it was undeniable. But she could understand why Donna hadn’t understood their friendship. Right now she struggled to understand it herself. Better to focus on the other reasons. “She wanted to change all those things about you? What a bitch.”

  “She had her moments,” he said with an air of self-deprecation. “My turn.”

  “Okay.” She picked up a glass and drank, feeling it burn down her throat. Vodka.

  “Do you have any birthmarks or interesting freckles?”

  She set the glass on the counter. “Really? That’s your question?”

  “Hey, we’re just getting started. Gotta start with the easy ones and work my way up. So? Do you?”

  “You already know I have that brown spot on my leg.”

  He leaned forward, his hand resting on her exposed right knee. His fingertips made a slow path up her inner thigh, then under the hem of her dress and up a couple more inches. “Right here?” His hand stopped, his fingertips gently caressing her skin. “I saw it last summer when you were wearing that pair of jean shorts you love, the ones with the frayed ends. The ones that make your ass look amazing.”

  He’d checked out her ass that long ago? Focus, Libby, but it was hard with his hand so close to other parts of her that wanted to be touched. “You said it looked like a map of Australia.”

  “For the record, I was referring to your birthmark at the time, not your ass. Any more marks?”

  “One.”

  His fingers stroked a lazy pattern on her inner thigh in the area of the mark. He must have studied it extensively to find it so accurately without looking. The thought that he’d spent time studying her legs turned her on even more.