Marry Screw Kill

by Liv Morris

  Harlow fixes her eyes on the dealer and his fast moving hands. The chairs around the table are full, and players have their betting chips laid down to play.

  Card are placed in front of the players face up. Some gamblers hold, others ask for another hit. The dealer beats them all with the queen of diamonds and ace of hearts, a perfect twenty-one.

  The dealer gathers all the chips left after his win. He made a good haul. Harlow gazes up at me, biting her lip. Her forehead scrunches together in either confusion or worry.

  “What just happened here?” she asks.

  “I’ll take you step by step with the next hand.”

  The next game begins with each player setting down the chips they want to bet. Most of the players put in a couple ten-dollar chips.

  “Each player bids on their chance to beat the dealer. Whoever comes the closest to twenty-one, wins,” I instruct on the basic level. The rules are simple; it’s winning that’s hard.

  “And the queens and kings are ten, right?”

  “Yes, and the aces are one or eleven, depending.” I nod toward the table so Harlow will look back as the dealer passes around the next hand.

  Each player receives two cards, face up. The dealer gives himself one down, and one face up. It’s a six of spades. Perfect. I can teach her the rules better now.

  “Here’s where the fun begins. Everyone at the table is guessing what the dealer’s card might be. A sixteen or lower means the dealer has to play another card. He can’t keep a hand below sixteen. Unless he has an ace, which would give him seventeen, then he’ll have to stick. For the dealer the ace is always eleven unless it would put him over twenty-one.”

  One woman brushes her fingertips in front of her two cards. “She’s signaling to the dealer that she wants another card.” Harlow looks up at me and nods. I knew she would be a quick study.

  Another player waves his hand over his cards. “He’s saying, ‘no more cards.’”

  “What do you think the dealer has?” She quirks her red lips to one side in thought.

  “No clue, but either way, he has to draw another card, unless he has an ace.”

  We watch the dealer turn over his card. It’s a ten of hearts. Since he is sitting at a total of sixteen, he draws another card. It’s an eight of diamonds, making him go bust at twenty-four.

  “Everyone at the table is still betting one, right?” Harlow asks me with a big grin. She gets it.

  “Yes, pretty simple.” Not wanting her to overthink the fun night, I play down the odds. There’s a reason this place has blinking lights and free drinks. Losers abound.

  We observe two more hands and Harlow is enthralled with the game, mesmerized by it. I tap her on the shoulder, breaking the table’s spell.

  “Hey, remember me?” I ask. She laughs in a hushed manner.

  “This game rocks,” she answers back, a sparkle in her eyes. I hope luck is in the air, because I would love to see her win. “Can I play now?”

  “Sure, babe,” I say, and we find a table with a smaller group of players.

  We sit side by side and Harlow bounces in her seat. “I am nervous and excited at the same time. You’ll help me, right?”

  “I’ll be your unpaid consultant.” I wink and she throws her head back and laughs in pure joy. Seeing her like this is everything to me.

  I lay a couple one hundred dollar bills on the felt-topped table. “One for each of us,” I instruct the dealer, tilting my head toward Harlow. The dealer is a woman, and that choice is on purpose. I want to avoid another distraction like the jerk at security. It’s official, I have gone caveman.

  “You bet.” The dealer smiles wide at me. I glance at Harlow and see her frown. Maybe that smile was too wide and she’s going all cavewoman on me? I take her hand in mind and bring it to my lips.

  “You’re here with me, and I’m yours alone for the night.” I turn to face the dealer. “My girlfriend,” I say with emphasis, “is new to the game, but I think she’ll be a quick learner.”

  “Girlfriend?” Harlow whispers.

  “What would you prefer?” I lean into her blond locks and let my words tickle her ears.

  “Girlfriend works,” she breathes.

  We play several rounds, and for the most part, she doesn’t need any help from me. Instead, it appears I might’ve needed her help.

  “Well, I’m busted.” I watch the dealer’s quick hands pocket my chips.

  “Really?” Harlow scans the felt in front of me. “So, I beat you, then?”

  “Apparently, I am a better teacher than player.” I rise from my chair and stand behind Harlow. Putting my hands on her shoulders, I lean forward. “Mind if I watch over your shoulder?”

  “Only if you whisper in my ear again.” She turns and smirks, and I continue to do as she asks.

  Harlow wipes out after two more games, so we leave the Blackjack tables in pursuit of more fun. She drags me over to the slots, insisting on playing the penny ones. I shake my head at her silliness. Pennies? But I remember we are from two different worlds.

  “This machine looks cool.” I cringe when she sits down at the Wheel of Fortune machine. She digs out her wallet and hands me a twenty. “My treat this time. Take a seat.” She pats the chair next to me, and I play along, because her smile tells me my plan worked.

  At midnight, our luck runs out, kind of like Cinderella. Harlow played for a while on her original twenty dollars. Penny machines can stretch out the playing time, and make a person brain dead while doing it.

  “Wanna come back again?” I pull out of the casino’s parking lot and see the garish neon sign in the rearview mirror, hoping she says no.

  “Nah. I mean, I had a great time. I can at least say I’ve been to a casino, but I should’ve stopped while I was ahead. You know, at the Blackjack table.”

  “When you can say that, you’re a real gambler.” I reach over and rustle her hair. It’s as soft as silk.

  “You mean a true loser.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  By the time we get back to the hotel room, I’m beat and ready to crash.

  We change into our non-sexy pajamas and I turn off the lights, but feel like she wants to talk. So, I wait. And wait.

  The hotel room is still and dark. I strain to hear anything from Harlow’s side of the bed, a small sigh or her quiet breathing—anything to let me know whether she’s awake or asleep. My body reacts to hers as an unnamed tension radiates between us. Some might call it body heat. I call it fucking torture.

  “Sin?” Harlow’s sweet voice cuts through the dark.

  “Yes, Harlow.”

  “I wonder if they have a room with two beds open tomorrow.” Yes, she’s feeling the same push and pull.

  “It’s rough for me, too,” I confess.

  “I want to touch you so bad.” Her voice rings with need.

  I grit my teeth to keep me from saying something I’ll regret. “Uh huh.”

  “How about this? Can we at least touch feet?”

  We both break out in laughter and in that one second, all the tension is gone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Harlow

  Over the last couple weeks, Sin has won my heart—all of it. Sweet and stubborn at first, he only allowed innocent toe touches under the sheets. We progressed to handholding. Then, finally, last night, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Now, I’m resting my head on his chest and nuzzling into his side. Hearing the steady beat of his heart gives me a calming sense of peace. Being held in his embrace is complete and total bliss. I have found a place I never want to leave.

  Morning sun shines through the hotel curtains, but I don’t want to get up from the warm cocoon of his arms. I peek over at the clock on the nightstand. We only have a few minutes before the alarm goes off. Dammit.

  I battle this needy struggle when he is near me. I feel him struggling too, but somehow, he triumphs over his desires. He hasn’t really kissed me since the day we were at the lake, and I long t
o have his lips on me again, kissing me until I’m so dizzy, I’m barely able to stay conscious.

  Sure, he kisses me on my cheeks and forehead, like he would a sister or friend, but I want the kisses stored up for a lover. Like the passionate ones he trailed across my neck where my knees gave away.

  Each night we lie in the darkness of the hotel room, tension hovers in the air from our suppressed desires. A want so thick, it presses against my skin.

  I bring my hand to my face at the memory and try to will back the sensation of his touch, but the feeling never comes. Nothing can replace his lips.

  At first, I asked him why he hasn’t kissed me again. He claimed it’s too soon for us to be together and I need time to heal from the past few months, find out who I really am again without trying to please a man.

  But don’t we want to please those we care for? And I care for him in unsettling ways, which scares me, mostly since he’s leaving me in a few days to head back to Manhattan. I push the thought away and try to live in the moment. It may be all we have together.

  I take a deep breath and savor his delicious scent. His arms tighten around me and I wonder if he’s starting to wake up too.

  “Hmmm.” His chest vibrates beneath my cheeks. Yes, he’s up.

  “Morning.” My voice is muffled thanks to his hard chest.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  “Like a baby.”

  “My baby, right?”

  “Yes, yours,” I say, because I truly am.

  “Maybe we should hit the showers.” He stirs, but I move in closer, not ready to leave the comfort of his side.

  “How about we do the shower thing together?” I tease, knowing the answer before he even responds.

  “Soon,” he sighs. “But for now, ladies first.” I rise off the bed and stick my tongue out at him, showing how mature I am. At least it makes him laugh.

  ***

  Sin and I shower and then stop at the hotel restaurant for breakfast. I watch him consume a mile high stack of pancakes. He uses so much syrup, they are floating on the plate. Disgusting.

  “Quit wrinkling your nose at me,” he says while stuffing half a pancake in his mouth.

  “How can you eat all that sugar?” I give him a pointed stare.

  “At least I’m eating.” He puts down his fork and reaches across the table to take my hand. Sticky syrup coats his fingers.

  “I’m fine.” I look down at my uneaten breakfast.

  He releases my hand and picks his fork back up. After spearing a pancake bite, he soaks it in the syrup. “Now, open up.”

  I roll my eyes, but open my mouth. After a few chews, I swallow. I hate to admit it, but all the syrup tastes divine. Like a little birdie, I open my mouth again and he feeds me more.

  “It’s good to see you eating.” He wipes the corner of my mouth with his napkin. “Even if you’re messy.” I roll my eyes again, and that simple act feels so good. I can express my likes and dislikes with Sin. He’s helped me learn that is how it should be.

  “The butterflies in my stomach haven’t stopped since Margaret gave me the card from Thomas.”

  Thomas Bradley was the man looking for my mother. Sin and I have been researching him online. We found a massive amount of information about him, which leads me to one conclusion: Thomas wasn’t your average Joe. He wasn’t even above average. He was money-falling-out-of-his-pockets loaded, since his family owned a large financial firm in Chicago.

  Thomas was ten years older than my mother and graduated from the Chicago University School of Business at the top of his class. Everything I read about him would make any mother proud. Not to mention the photos of him that popped up.

  He had the looks of a movie star—tall and handsome, with blue eyes as crisp and bright as a cloudless sky. It’s the one trait of his I share, but his complexion was dark for someone with such light eyes.

  After graduation, he joined his father’s company and became a partner. But his life took a sad turn. Like my mother, I can only speak about him in the past tense because he left this earth not long after he spoke with Margaret.

  All I can uncover about his death is a lengthy obituary and complimentary article in the business section of the Chicago Times. The article says he fought a long battle with cancer, but I have no idea what kind. When people say wealth can’t buy health or happiness, it is true.

  At this point, I have no idea if he was my father. Nothing links him directly to my mother. I can only speculate. Margaret asked if I wish I could have met him before he died, but I don’t know the answer.

  If he was my father, part of me is curious to know what he was like, but he rejected my mother and me before I was born. It’s a harsh fact I can’t easily overlook, especially on my mother’s behalf. She struggled to keep me clothed and fed while he lived a life of luxury.

  I will not hold a grudge of bitterness and anger, though. Feeding those emotions will rot away the good ones my mother filled me with—happiness, contentedness, no matter how little one has. Those are her legacy to me.

  I’ve had only one nightmare about the night she died since I left Rochester. Perhaps the first step in putting the past behind me was leaving there, and I have no plans to return.

  Margaret has opened her arms and home, already preparing the guest room for me. I plan on moving in with her after Sin goes back to New York City. It’s the only thing keeping me from freaking out about him leaving.

  We leave the hotel and swing by Margaret’s house to pick her up. Sin is driving us to Thomas’ private attorney for a meeting. He contacted the number on the business card Thomas left and connected to the attorney’s office. We weren’t given any details about the meeting aside from discussing Thomas’ will and my mother.

  The skyline of Chicago comes into view as we travel down the highway. I shift in my seat for the millionth time since we left Park Ridge. I think it’s nerves. Sin glances over at me, smirking.

  “Take my hand,” he offers, and who am I to refuse? I reach across the center console and place my hand in his. It’s warm and strong. The kind of strength that protects those he loves or stops those who harm them. He gives me a one thousand watt smile and my jaw drops in awe.

  Until I met Sin, I never believed someone could leave a person breathless. I thought it was just a crazy made up term used in poems and songs. But as I stare at his handsome, smiling face, my breathing stops for a couple seconds. It’s more than just me holding my breath; it’s me being unable to catch the very air around me and pull it into my lungs.

  “Are you doing okay, dear?” Margaret asks from the backseat.

  “My mother didn’t have a will when she died, so I am a little nervous. Visiting an attorney usually means someone is in trouble.” At least, in my world it does.

  “A probate attorney doesn’t deal with criminals. Worst thing he deals with is pissed off family members who aren’t happy with someone’s will. There’ll be no cross-examinations or gavels. It’s all good, babe.” His smiling face reassures me and draws the worry from my mind.

  “Okay, oh wise one,” I kid. He grins back at me and we laugh.

  Sin exits the highway and weaves through Chicago’s downtown streets. We’ve been exploring them together in the beautiful early summer weather since he had never been to Chicago before either.

  He believes Chicago is a smaller, cleaner version of gritty New York City. He promised to show me the difference soon, but I have to be realistic. Long distance relationships rarely work, especially ones built on a rocky foundation, like ours. If we stay together—God, I hope we do—people are going to ask how we met, and where will we even begin?

  We arrive at the downtown offices of Thomas’ attorney. Sin parks the SUV and we all walk toward the building.

  “You ready?” Sin asks, while giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “I am.” I think. “I just wish I knew what to expect.”

  “Me, too, but the attorney said it was in your best interest to see him,”
Sin adds.

  “I don’t understand why he couldn’t tell me more. It felt like he wanted to, especially when he said it would be beneficial to my future.” There was a hidden message in those words. I have no idea what it is, though.

  “You know what I think, Thomas wanted to leave something to your mother before he died,” Margaret says. “He had such an anxious face when he spoke to me that day. Like he was desperate to see her.”

  “But why after all these years?” I question. Surely, Thomas could’ve found my mother. He had the resources to pay for the best private investigator available.

  “Dying has a way of making people reflect on their lives,” Margaret adds, and she’s right. Being faced with our own mortality, or watching someone you love die, changes you forever.

  After a few more steps, we stop in front of the building. I look at Sin and take a deep breath.

  “Let’s do this,” he says.

  Sin opens the door and places his large hand on my lower back, guiding me to the reception desk with Margaret at my side. We breeze through security after confirming my appointment, make our way to the row of elevators, and enter an empty lift.

  Sin stands against the back wall and I lean into his side. He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer to him. It’s just what I need.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The familiar smell of leather and earth fill my lungs. We stand this way in silence as we wait for the elevator to stop.

  I let out a disappointed moan and untangle myself from his side as the doors open. We exit into the hallway and a shiny wooden door with “Myers and Simon” written across it greets us.

  “I need you here,” I say to Margaret, and hug her before going in to the office. We have years of hugs to catch up on. There’s something about a grandmother’s touch that melts the worries away.

  “I’ll always be here for you, Harlow. Always.” The crinkles at the corner of her eyes look more pronounced. She’s concerned for me, too.

  “I need you both with me.” I glance between Margaret and Sin.

  We enter the office and I let the receptionist know I’m here. After I check in, we are led to an inner office door. The receptionist taps on the door and waits for a response.