by Diana Gardin
“Looked like you needed an assist.” My voice comes out cockier than I intend it to. The last thing I need is to be lumped into the same category as all the other dudes in here, but I can’t help it. It’s like my tongue isn’t cooperating with my brain.
Her gorgeous, deep-brown eyes narrow. The thickest lashes I’ve ever seen frame them, and I’m stuck there for a minute, staring into her eyes.
“Thanks. I could have gotten it done, though.” Her voice is throaty with a sexy rasp. But it isn’t warm. No, her tone is cool, aloof. Like she doesn’t want to be here.
This woman is already a lot to handle, and barely spoken to me.
“Yeah. Well, now your beer is open. So, yeah. You can drink it.”
What the hell is wrong with me?
Her head cocks to one side. “Really? I can drink it? Thanks so much.”
Her tone teases.
Temps.
Stimulates.
“Well…” I scrub a hand over my face. “Look. It’s late, and it’s been a shit week. Forgive me if I can’t compute right now.”
Every exotic inch of her breaks me down. I shake my head to clear it, but then there’s those eyes again. Studying me. Picking me apart. Tucking information away for later.
“What happened to your hands?” Reaching out, she grabs the hand that I just used as a washcloth. She inspects my raw, scraped, tattooed knuckles with intense curiosity.
“You were in a fight.” Her final deduction is correct.
I don’t bother denying it. “You should see the other guy’s face.” My cocky tone appears again, and her head jerks up to stare into my face.
She scans me, but her head tilts to one side. Instead of annoyance, like I saw before, there’s comprehension there. Like she’s really seeing me. But how can that be?
“I’d be willing to bet it’s not a pretty sight.”
Her voice goes just a little bit lower, and it’s enough to send my body straight into overdrive in answer.
There’s a loud rap on the metal warehouse door, and I stand, looking that way. “What the—”
There’s a rule at the G-Ring, and everyone who plays here knows it. We keep our doors open for a window of time, but once they close, that’s it. No one else gets in. There’s no knocking.
I’m moving toward the door right along with X and Borg. Borg reaches it first. He opens it, stepping up to block the doorway. I’m right beside him, all thought of the beautiful girl pushed to the background.
It’s our uninvited guest from last weekend. Same guy, different suit. Hair a little wrecked from dragging his hand through it. Furtive eyes dart from the big bouncer to me and back, his facial expression looking a little too desperate for my taste. The scruff on his face is out of control, whereas the last time I saw him he was clean-shaven.
“I want in.” Simple words, but they carry a sharp edge.
Borg shakes his head, his expression impassive. “You missed the cutoff.”
The suit glances over his shoulder before his eyes drift back toward the action behind us in the warehouse. Dread gathers in my stomach.
“I’ll double the buy-in.” He glances at me. “Cash money.”
Aw, damn.
I built this business on cash. It’s almost like I can’t turn it down. Even when every single instinct I have tells me to tell this guy to kiss my ass and slam the door in his face.
“Every bet you make tonight is all or nothing. You’re late. I don’t accept people coming to the Ring late. Make up for it on my terms or turn around and walk away.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
There. There’s no way he’ll go for that. All or nothing? Nah.
But the Suit nods. “I’m in.” He pulls out the bills and hands them to me. Shock and disbelief rule my emotions. He shoves past Borg, who grunts in protest, but we let him go.
Because the dude just handed me four grand. In cash.
“What’s with the faces?”
Counts slips in the door and stands beside me, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. I glance at the Suit, who heads straight for the couches. My gaze wanders over to…shit, I didn’t even get her name.
Yet.
“That guy? The one in the suit? The one who doesn’t fit in here? He just slid me four large to get in here tonight. Couldn’t turn him down.”
Counts whistles low. “Hand it over. I’ll go count everything up now and make sure the house can pay out the winners tonight.”
I snort. “If we’re lucky, there won’t be any.”
Counts shakes his head. “There’s gotta be a few. Otherwise, what keeps ‘em coming?”
He’s right, of course. The house can’t win every time. We’ll pay out tonight. But not nearly as much as we bring in.
“I’ll catch you bac there later. I lift my chin at Counts pointing toward the hallway leading to my office.
Counts returns the gesture in acknowledgment before striding in that general direction.
My eyes flick to the Suit. He’s leaning forward in an anxious pose, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together as he zeroes in on the Braves playoff game.
That’s where all his money is tonight. But the air of desperation clinging to him is extreme, even for the Ring.
Most of the guys who gamble here only get desperate when their daddies discover the gap in their bank accounts. Then they’re scrambling to win it back. Sometimes they get lucky. Most of the time, they have to eat their losses.
The most vital rule about this place?
You tell no one.
No one gets into the Ring unless I’ve vetted them first. If someone wants to make a recommendation, they come to me, and I check that person out thoroughly. I’ve made myself enough of a threat in these circles that everyone knows not to cross me.
I glance down at my bloody fists.
I haven’t spoken to Mom since the night I kicked her new boyfriend’s ass at her trailer. It’s not the first time she chose a man over her son, but I’ll be dam sure it’s the last. I’m done with all of it.
I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
My eyes stray toward the woman in the black dress.
And my stomach clenches, because now there’s a dude leaning over the back of the couch, with his lips close to her ear.
I watch, noting that every muscle in her body tenses. I can tell from the rigid way she sits, from the stiff lines of her posture. The woman beside her, her friend, wears a carefree smile, but I would be willing to bet her friend isn’t. The dude, a guy I recognize from the Ring Noah something, places both hands on her shoulders and puts his lips on her neck.
I take an involuntary step forward, and then stop myself.
Watching. Waiting.
Another guy calls him from one of the poker tables, and Noah glances in that direction. Without a second glance at the woman I can’t keep my eyes off of, he jogs over to the table and sits back down at his game.
And I’m moving.
Back to the couch.
Back to her.
Six
ACE
“Your boyfriend left you all alone?” I slide right back into place beside her. “Mistake.”
Trying successfully to hold that swagger out of my voice this time, I keep my eyes molded to her profile.
She slides her gaze toward me. This time, she meets my eyes, but then she lets it slip down, over my neck, my shoulders, my chest.
“Oh?” Her tone is mocking. “Guns N’ Roses?” She snorts.
She’s referring to tattoo inked at the base of my throat, which pokes out above the buttons of my shirt. A pistol wrapped in roses, after my all-time favorite band.
I reel back. “You snorted at Guns N’ Roses? You serious right now?”
Her full lips curve into a smile. “I did. Because November Rain? Most boring rock song ever.”
I shove backward on the couch, a hand clutching the spot where my heart should be. No pretenses about that. I kno
w that thing went cold and dead years ago.
“Fucking blasphemy!” I point an accusing finger at her. “No one ever did it like the Guns.”
A smirk, too sexy for her own good, crosses her full lips again and for a second I just let my gaze settle there. “You sure about that?” She glances around the Ring. “Wanna bet?”
Her friend, who I’m noticing for the first time is still sitting next to her, offers a dry laugh. “You don’t wanna go toe-to-toe with her about rock music, dude.”
Her friend is a blonde, her hair the color of honey, and on any other night, I’d be all over it. Her legs are bare, her short red dress riding high on her thighs. But I can’t spare her a second look.
“Oh, yeah?” My tone lowers, going dark. Drinking in the girl beside me, I allow the challenge to show in my eyes. “Prove it.”
Leaning forward, her deep, dark gaze holds mine, giving me all the attitude she holds in that tight little body of hers. With an exaggerated motion, she moves her lips, forming the words slowly.
“Two words: Bon. Jovi.”
Dragging my gaze away from her lips, I shake my head in disbelief. First of all, I can’t believe she even knows who Bon Jovi is. Hell, she’d known who Guns N’ Roses was. But this was almost too much.
This woman really does like the good stuff when it comes to music.
“The band has its place among the greats, but Jon Bon Jovi is no comparison to Axl Rose. That’s just the truth.”
She leans back, mouth set in determination. “I disagree.”
At this point, it’s getting ridiculous. I need to know. The not knowing is digging a hole down deep inside me, and I’m falling in nice and slow.
I lean forward, chasing her with my movements. “What’s your name?”
Her friend’s soft chuckle doesn’t pry my eyes from the girl beside me. “This conversation is so over my head it’s ridiculous. I’m gonna grab another beer and check on Jaxon. He better be winning. You want another one, Ny?”
The raven-haired beauty glances at her friend and shakes her head. She’s been nursing the beer in her hand because she’s been tossing around an argument about rock music with me. A smug feeling warms my stomach.
“Oh,” her friend leans over the back of the couch and stage-whispers. “You came here with a guy. So, keep chatting it up with Mr.…” she glances at me and then looks back at Ny. “Guns N’ Roses. Should make Noah crazy with jealousy.” Grinning, she skips off toward the bar area.
She glances over her shoulder at Noah, and then back at me. She slides over on the couch, putting some distance between us.
When I raise a questioning brow, she shrugs and turns her body so that she’s facing the televisions once more. “I’m not about the games. I’m not trying to make him jealous.”
Forcing myself to stay where I am, and not move over so that I’m just as close to her as I was seconds earlier, I focus on her face. “That’s…different. I don’t know too many college girls who aren’t about the games.”
I shoot a pointed glance in the direction of her blond friend.
Her gaze follows mine, and then she looks back at me.
Every time. Every single time those chocolate pools focus on me, I fall in. Deeper and deeper. I can’t help it. It’s the whole package. And then she started talking about Bon Jovi, and I almost lost it right then and there.
Control, Ace. Something you’ve never been good at, but that you’ve struggled to find. Keep it together. Control.
“So, you’re here with him?” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “I don’t see it. And you still haven’t told me your name.”
She smiles, a real smile. Not a coy, flirtatious smirk, but something sunny and genuine, and it’s equally as dangerous. Something in my chest clenches so tight at the sight of it, my hand trails over the spot.
Like something gave me heartburn.
And it wasn’t something I ate.
“I’m Naima.”
I try it out, the word rolling off my tongue like it was always supposed to be there. “Naima. That’s pretty.”
“Thanks. And you are…” One dark, perfectly arched eyebrow lifts. “Don’t leave me hangin’.”
I grasp her hand in mine, raising it to my lips. Something I’ve never done before in my entire life, but somehow it fits her.
“I’m Ace Wells.”
She nods, like my name isn’t weird, and I frown. “What, you’re not gonna ask me if that’s my actual name?”
One thin shoulder lifts to her ear before she drops it again. “I’m not one to question anyone’s name. Have you ever met another Naima?”
“I see your point.”
A silence passes between us, one that isn’t uncomfortable. The guys on the seats in front of us let out a chorus of cheers and groans as the University of South Carolina makes a big play on the screen. Naima’s gaze lands on the television, before she glances over her shoulder. She takes a long swig of her beer, killing the bottle.
Gesturing toward the poker tables on the other side of the room, she sends me a wry smile. “So, obviously I’m keeping you from something.” She rises to her feet, before I can argue. “You sure as hell aren’t here to chat it up with me. So, have fun and all that. I gotta get back to…Noah.”
The lackluster tone in her voice makes me smile. It makes me so happy it’s not even reasonable. “I’m not—”
But she walks away then, whirling and sauntering toward the poker table where her friend now sits on her boyfriend’s lap. She leaves me with nothing but her name and a whiff of her perfume…or maybe it’s her shampoo? It’s spicy and sweet…like cherry and vanilla.
A rare and beautiful combination, exactly like her.
Standing, I take up a point against the wall beside Borg, just watching her for a minute. She grabs another beer, and then heads to the poker table where Jaxon and Noah are most likely losing all their inherited money to the house.
To me.
My eyes follow the path she blazes as she traipses to the table and stands beside Noah. He barely glances at her before focusing back on his game. I can almost hear her bored sigh.
Borg nods toward her. “She on the menu for you tonight?”
Shaking my head slowly, I don’t remove my eyes from Naima. “Nah. She’s not like that.”
Borg snorts in disbelief. “First of all, that don’t sound like you. Second of all, she’s here with that dude over there.”
A grin curls my lips upward. “Yeah, but look at her. She look like she’s into him?”
Borg takes another look, and I know exactly what he’s going to see. At the same time, Naima’s eyes lock with mine. The heat sizzles between us like fire spread by gasoline. It’s palpable; its tension stretched taut.
Borg chuckles. “Oh. Yeah…gotcha. Go get her, boss.”
But now isn’t the time. She cocks her head to one side, studying me. For the second time tonight I’m under the impression that she sees way more than I’ve ever allowed anyone to glimpse. I’m not sure what she views, but a small quirk of her lips tells me she doesn’t hate it.
The night wears on. Usually, a night at the Ring flies by because I’m busy while I’m there. I’m watching, waiting for some rich guy to screw up so I can toss him out. It’s too much fun to ever feel like work.
But tonight?
The hours drag until midnight rolls around and the last craps game slowly wraps up. The game bets were cashed out over an hour ago as the televised sporting events ended, and as my luck would have it, Jaxon and Noah’s game is the last table standing. Naima and the cute blond took over as Queens of the Couch an hour ago, both kicking off their shoes and lounging like they own the place.
Naima and I keep locking eyes, but I haven’t made a move. My security team has relaxed a little, taking up casual stances against the wall, waiting for the last game to end so they can call it a night.
At some point in the evening, a wild-eyed Suit jumped up from the couch and bought into the game of craps. He’s g
onna owe me at the end of the night, but that ain’t my problem. The desperation in his eyes says he’s confident he’ll win it all back at the craps table.
I say he’s got a gambling problem. And this will be the last night he sets foot in the Ring.
The G-Ring isn’t for his type. This is all supposed to be fun. Rich, college-aged dudes losing money their daddies will never know is gone. And just looking at the Suit tells me that every single bet he makes means more to him than a game.
I let my gaze shift from the Suit to Naima. She’ll feel the burn of it, if the heat sliding between us all night is an indicator. Sure enough, it takes seconds before she turns her beautiful, dark gaze in my direction, locking onto my eyes.
Hers burns.
I tilt my head toward the bar, a small gesture that she’ll understand. Then, keeping my eyes on hers, I stroll in that direction.
Bending low, I grab two sodas from the fridge, my attention turning to the craps table when I stand. I noted it when she stopped drinking a couple of hours ago and so did I, knowing I have a business to run for the remainder of the night.
Her man, or at least hers for about five more minutes, Noah, is staring intently at the dice as they bounce along the felt-topped table. The air over there is thick, tension seeming to build and stretch just because of the way the Suit carries himself. All the laughter and joking from earlier in the night are gone.
Serves me just fine. Because Naima whispers something to her friend and rises from the couch. She turns, walking toward me standing just behind the bar.
And the best part of my night? Just beginning.
Seven
NAIMA
I take the soda he hands me without hesitation, my fingers curling around the cold, sweaty bottle. He’s already unscrewed the cap for me, and I meet his hazel eyes as I take my first sip.
Studying him, I find that figuring out his age is a toss-up. He can’t be much older than me, but he doesn’t dress like any of the young men I’ve met on campus. They’re all buttoned up and straight-laced.
But Ace? He’s all hard edges and quick, flirty grins. From the way the casual way his suit jacket lays on top of his black button-down to the unfussed styling of his thick, sandy hair, I can tell he’s different than any of the men in this room.