This Thing of Ours (The Gamblers Spin-off Novel)

by Sarah Curtis

  “We’ve actually known each other a long time, but we’ve just sort of started things.”

  Bobby raised a brow. “Things?”

  Marco wasn’t sure how to explain. Gabriella and his history was complicated. Well, complicated if he couldn’t include all the Family details. He had a feeling Bobby suspected what he did, but they’ve never acknowledged it. Marco wanted to keep it that way.

  “I’m close with her family. Something happened to her recently, and I just found out tonight that the something was not good.”

  Bobby took a minute to ponder that before he said, “Seems to me, something that would upset you so much would upset her doubly so.”

  Marco’s mind instantly conjured the picture of Gabriella as he’d walked out the door, and her look of confusion and even a little hurt that she couldn’t completely mask behind a blank expression. His stomach dipped as a pang of remorse for leaving her in that condition finally penetrated the fog of anger he’d been shrouded in.

  He shouldn’t have left her alone, especially so late at night. He was an idiot.

  “Ah, I see the light has dawned,” Bobby cackled. He taped the last piece of gauze to his tattered knuckles and slapped his shoulder. “Go to her, boy.”

  Standing, Marco dipped his head in gratitude and left to do just that.

  One hand on the railing, one foot planted on the bottom step, Marco fixed his gaze at the top of the stairs. He could just make out Gabriella’s silhouette. She was lying on her side, back facing him, buried under a pile of covers. She looked peaceful, and he knew the right thing would be not to disturb her, but he found himself taking a step up anyway.

  Then another.

  Soon he’d reached the top.

  He’d showered at the gym, so he stripped down to his boxers, uncharacteristically throwing his clothes carelessly on the floor, which he didn’t think twice about as he slid under the covers. Wrapping an arm around Gabriella’s middle, he pulled her to him until she was flush against his chest.

  She stiffened. “You’re home.”

  He grunted, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the floral scent.

  “I was worried.”

  His hand dipped under the hem of her t-shirt, and he rubbed small circles over the soft, warm skin of her stomach.

  “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  He nosed the hair covering her neck away so his lips could have access. Her skin was soft and warm there, as well.

  “I left a message and a text.”

  He parted his lips and sucked a bit into his mouth before lightly biting down. She tasted better than she smelled.

  “Are you planning on answering me?”

  He heard the edge to her voice. Knew she was angry and knew he needed to apologize. “I’m sorry.” Mouth still busy, his words came out muffled.

  “Sorry’s not an answer. Hell, it’s not even a crappy excuse.”

  He raised his head, talking to her profile. “Told you, I needed to blow off steam. I was at the gym.”

  She snorted as if she didn’t believe him.

  “My phone was in my locker. Got your message and your text, but it was late and figured you’d be asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.” He pressed his body closer, and the hand on her stomach dipped lower to tease along the edge of her panties.

  She grabbed his wrist. “We’re not having sex. I’m still mad at you.”

  He buried his face in her neck again and mumbled, “I’m trying to apologize so you’re no longer mad and we can have make-up sex. I’ve heard it’s quite enjoyable.”

  When she flipped around to face him, she lost her grip on his wrist, and he took advantage of the freedom, moving his hand to her hip.

  She got up on an elbow. “You’ve heard? So, you don’t know?”

  He tucked his free arm under his head. “Never been around a woman long enough to argue, so no, I don’t know. Do you?” He wasn’t sure why he asked that when he sure as hell didn’t what to know the answer if it was a yes.

  “Um…”

  He mirrored her position, getting up on an elbow. “Um’s not an answer.”

  Apparently not liking his height advantage, she sat up, crisscrossing her legs. “Then the answer would be no, I’ve never had make-up sex, but…”

  He didn’t like how hesitant she was acting. It raised his hackles. Deciding he’d rather be sitting, too, he scooched up, leaning his back against the headboard, crossing his legs out in front of him.

  “With, um, how angry you got earlier, there’s something you need to know.”

  His whole body stilled, and he held his silence, waiting for her to finish.

  “And it’s best that I tell you before, rather than during,” a blush hit her cheeks, “um, sex.”

  He ground his teeth, really starting to fucking hate their conversation.

  She continued, staring down at her lap, totally oblivious he was hanging on to his temper by a thread. “You see, there’s a reason I’ve never had make-up sex, and it’s because, well, I’ve never had any sex.”

  It took a moment for her words to register and then another to make sure he heard her right. Did he hear her right? How could she still possibly be untouched? Not that he was fucking complaining. His dick hardened with just the thought of her only belonging to him. And that wasn’t the only part of him that swelled. His heart did, too, making his chest feel tight.

  She started fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt, her head still bowed.

  “Hey, look at me,” he said in a soft voice. He waited for her to meet his eyes. “You’re a virgin?”

  She nodded, her blush growing deeper.

  “And you thought I’d be angry about that?”

  “Well, no, not angry, but I thought you might get upset if I sprung it on you while we were in the middle of things. I didn’t want a repeat performance of what happened earlier.”

  He closed his eyes, feeling like an ass all over again. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know how to process the shit going on in my head. It was a dick move, leaving you like I did, but at the time, I couldn’t see that through my anger.”

  She nodded, hopefully accepting his apology. “And you really went to the gym?” She pointed to his damaged hands. “There’s not some poor guy out on the street, recovering from a beating?”

  “First off, if I did beat someone up, he wouldn’t be some poor guy, he would’ve deserved it. I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t have it coming to him. But this,” he held up his hands, “came from beating a punching bag.”

  She gave him a small smirk, and he felt a wave of relief when he realized he was about to get a dose of her sass.

  “Looks like the punching bag won.”

  He lunged, scooping her up, and placed her on his lap. “You think that’s funny?”

  She giggled. “A little.”

  “You want to know what I think is funny?”

  “What?”

  “This.” His fingers found her sides, under her armpits.

  She shrieked. “No, don’t tickle me. Please. I’m sorry. I take it back.”

  He could barely make out her words through all her laughter.

  “Please. I’m sorry. You won, not the punching bag. You.”

  She’d managed to squirm off his lap so they both lay flat. He stopped tickling and wrapped his arms securely around her, turning serious. He buried his face in her neck and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry I left you.”

  Her arms wrapped him up tight, and she rested her head on his chest just under his chin. “I accept your apology, but if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open for a good long while.”

  Marco grunted. No doubt, that was probably a good idea.

  Minutes passed, and he was losing the fight with his heavy lids when he heard her whisper in the stillness of the room, “Hands scare me now.”

  His lids popped back open, and his body stiffened, on high alert.

  “Men’s hands,” she clarified, still whispering.
<
br />   He stretched an arm out to click on the bedside lamp to see her features clearly, but her next words stopped him.

  “Please don’t. I like the darkness. I’m not sure I could face this in the light.”

  He returned his arm to the bed, making sure to keep his hand off to the side and out of her line of vision.

  “You know, Dr. Greene didn’t do anything wrong, really. He just reached for me. It triggered something. Took me back to that cold room.”

  His hand on the bed balled into a fist, while his other one moved carefully from Gabriella’s shoulder to her back where he started rubbing soothing circles—his hands a portrayal of emotional contrast.

  “His name was Peter. And he had really large hands that he liked to use to cover my mouth to keep me from screaming.”

  “Gabriella…” He trailed off, unsure what he wanted to say, only knew he had to stop her words. He’d never considered himself a pussy, but right then, in that moment, he knew that he was.

  Because he wasn’t sure he could handle whatever else she had to say.

  Lifting her head off his chest, she propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. Dark shadows muted her features but a stray beam of light, highlighted her eyes, making them shine. “I thought about it while you were gone—what happened to me.”

  Fuck he was an asshole. He should have never left her. “Cara mia—” Fingertips landed on his lips, silencing him.

  “Let me finish first. If I don’t say this now, I might never say it.”

  He took a breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to hear. If she was strong enough to live through it, then fuck him if he wasn’t brave enough to listen to it, even if each word would cut him like a blade.

  And then she talked.

  Until her voice grew weary.

  And his heart was broken.

  Chapter Twenty

  After applying a coat of lip gloss, Gabby studied herself in the mirror. She was getting ready for date number two with Marco. He was taking her to the movies. Said he hadn’t been in years and that she could pick what they went to see. The only request he’d made was she didn’t choose a chick-flick and seeing as Gabby wasn’t a chick-flick kind of gal, that hadn’t been a hardship. They’d see the latest superhero movie. She didn’t mind spending a couple of hours watching the newest Hollywood hottie encased in a tight rubber suit. She had a feeling Marco might have another opinion on that, though.

  She wondered how the date would end. Even though she was apprehensive about getting naked with Marco because she had no idea what she was doing, she still hoped it would be a replay of the night before—minus the part where Marco stormed off.

  Checking her phone, she noticed they needed to leave within fifteen minutes if they were going to make it on time. Dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, a cream cable-knit sweater, and knee-high leather boots, she was all set for the chilly December evening and even colder movie theater. She grabbed the strap of her purse and threw it over her shoulder before heading downstairs.

  She found Marco on the couch, zoning out to some sports talk show on the TV. He clutched a remote in one hand while the other absently stroked Fred who lay curled at his side.

  She stopped at the end of the couch. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  His head swung around, his eyes taking her in from top to bottom. A smile pulled his lips and lightened his eyes. “You look beautiful.”

  Gabby had heard that phrase a few times in her lifetime, but the way Marco said it, and the look he gave her while saying it, it was hard to deny he really meant it.

  Gabby smiled back, returning the compliment, really meaning it, too. “And you look unbelievably handsome.”

  And he did. He was dressed more casual than usual, meaning he was still wearing slacks but he’d ditched the tie and jacket.

  He raised a brow but didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes trained on her. She felt her blood heat, her nerves tingle, and her pulse race at his intense gaze. She took an involuntary step forward as if some invisible line pulled her to him. He stood, the movement fluid, causing more heat to fill her.

  Was it crazy she found just the way he moved hot?

  Like a big, black panther, he prowled toward her. And she’d never felt more like prey. His eyes, already dark, were almost black as they raked over her features, only stopping when they landed on her lips. He licked his, his tongue barely peeking out to touch the top one.

  She cleared her throat. “We should get going, or we’ll be late.” And there were those darn nerves, acting up again.

  His lips tipped up. “They play lots of previews.”

  That was true. But still… “I want popcorn.”

  He took the last step forward, so close his chest brushed hers, and she needed to tip her head back to keep him in sight. “Pretty sure the concession stand doesn’t close as soon as the movie starts.”

  That was true, too. “So, does that mean we’re going to be late?”

  “Might be.”

  “Might?”

  “Uh-huh.” He took an impossible step closer, tipped his head down, bringing his face so close, their noses touched. “Depends on how long it takes for you to kiss me.”

  As it hadn’t taken her long to kiss him, they arrived at the theater right on time. And by that, she meant, after Marco equipped her with popcorn and a soda, the previews were over, and the movie was about to start.

  Marco insisted they sit in the back row. She almost laughed at that peculiarity until she realized why—he didn’t want anyone at his back. And the why of that was sobering.

  Settling into their seats, she placed the extra-large tub of popcorn on her lap and the soda in the cup holder on the opposite armrest she shared with Marco.

  “You eat all that, you gonna have room for dinner?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Probably not.”

  “I’d better help you, then.” He reached into the bucket and grabbed a handful.

  “Hey.” She slapped his hand. “If you wanted some, you should have bought your own.”

  “I figured with the amount you got, we could share.”

  “Well, you thought wrong,” she said, hugging the tub protectively.

  It was hard to see his face clearly in the darkened theater, but she was pretty sure he raised a brow. “So, I guess that means I don’t need to share any of these?” He scooted down in his seat, stretching a leg straight to reach into his pants pocket and pulled out a king-size box of Junior Mints.

  She loved Junior Mints! She eyed him suspiciously. “When did you get those?”

  “When you went to the bathroom.”

  “So, before I got my popcorn? And you’ve been hiding them this whole time. You weren’t going to share?”

  “Well, I was. I figured we’d have them after the popcorn, but that was before I discovered how stingy you are.”

  “Do you two mind being quiet?”

  Turning her head toward the anonymous voice, she connected it to some guy glaring their direction from two rows in front of them. Her eyes darted up, and she noticed the movie had already started. They hadn’t been talking loudly, but they had been talking, and that was rude.

  She was about to apologize, when Marco said, “You wanna mind your own business?”

  Gabby placed a hand on his arm and whispered, “We were in the wrong. Just let it go.”

  And she knew he was going to. She saw it in the softening of his expression.

  But instead of being smart, the guy had to go and open his big mouth. Again. “It is my business when you and your bitch are disrupting the movie.”

  Bitch. Really? What a jerk.

  They were drawing the attention of the people around them. Marco leaned over, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and said, “Sorry, cara mia.”

  And that was all the warning she got before Marco stood, stretching his six-foot-two frame across the row of seats in front of them to grab the guy by the collar of his shirt and haul him up and out of his seat.<
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  Of course, the guy protested. “What the fuck, man?” And then he shouted, “Someone call security!” Which was followed by a stuttering groan, as Marco gave the guy a good shake.

  She saw but couldn’t hear Marco lean into the guy and tell him something and at the same time, in her periphery, saw someone dart out of the row and exit into the aisle.

  She set her tub of popcorn on the floor and tried to grab Marco’s attention by tugging on the arm that he used to keep his balance on the chair in front of him.

  He was oblivious.

  The guy started nodding his head vigorously, obviously in full agreement with whatever Marco was saying.

  “Now, apologize to the lady.”

  The guy’s eyes were bugged out and his face was turning an alarming shade of red, but he managed to get out, “I’m sorry, ma’am,” before Marco let him go without a care. The guy landed on the floor between the rows of seats, his arms splayed out to his sides and legs practically up over his head.

  Marco’s gaze landed on something over her head, and Gabby turned to find a security guard in the aisle at the end of their row.

  “Sir, you need to come with me,” he said, shining a flashlight in their faces.

  Gabby had just brought a hand up to shield her eyes, when Marco said, “Grab your popcorn, baby. I need to deal with this rent-a-cop.”

  “Please don’t do anything stupid.” She picked up the tub and cradled it in her arm—yeah, she wasn’t leaving it behind.

  Marco followed the security guard inside an office while Gabby waited just outside of it. A few minutes later, Mr. Big Mouth arrived and entered the office, not meeting Gabby’s eyes as he passed her. Another few minutes after that, Marco came out.

  He took her hand. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Are you free to go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “No.”

  “Then yes, I’m ready to get out of here.” They made their way to the exit, the concession stand guy and ticket seller’s eyes on them until they left the building.

  After a minute of Marco not sharing, she asked, “Are you going to tell me what happened in there?”