Gambling for Ashleigh - E M Hayes

by Police

  I'll take it.

  I notice a picture in a frame on the mantel, and I pick it up to get a better look at it.

  There's a younger version of Callum smiling in the picture. I can tell because there's less pepper in his hair, and he has this carefree look about him that isn't there now. Like he hasn't had life fling shit at him. He looks like a happy younger man.

  A photograph of him on the mantel proves without a doubt that this isn't just a random cabin that he's squatting in—whoever owns this place clearly knows him, so I can at least take solace in that. I feel a little bit better about being here with that.

  But that's not all that I see. There's a beautiful woman next to him in the picture, and she has her arms wrapped around him as he has his arms wrapped around her. It looks like the photographer snapped a picture while they were sharing a serene, happy moment like I'm getting a peek into a private moment between the couple. His smile is clearly meant for her, and she looks at him like he's the only man in the world.

  Something stirs in my chest. Jealousy? Disappointment? A creepy vibe? Or maybe it's a combination of all those because I had no idea that Callum has a girlfriend.

  Or, I realize as I see a ring on Callum's finger, that he has a wife.

  And now I'm in a cabin alone with him. And while he hasn't done anything romantic toward me—other than saving my life, which is pretty standard for police officers—I realize that I've started developing feelings for him. Feelings that I shouldn't have.

  Shit.

  "Hey."

  I quickly put the frame in its place on the mantel and turn away just as Cal turns the corner into the living room. He's drying off his hair with a towel and isn't even really looking at me as he heads out, which is good. I'm sure my cheeks are bright red because he's not wearing a shirt, showing off his washboard abs and biceps that are muscular and as thick as my thighs.

  I gulp and smile at him as he looks up. "Hey," I say, trying to act cool. Like I'm just speaking with a friend and that I didn't just pry into his private life.

  Except it comes out as a squeak.

  He pauses, and our eyes meet, and for a moment, I want to ask him about the woman in that photograph and who she is to him. But before I can do that, he speaks. "Can you help me?" He gestures with his thumb to indicate his back. "I tried patching up in the bathroom, but there are a few that I can't quite reach."

  Right. Yes. He was injured in the blast, protecting me.

  I swallow and nod. "Absolutely, sure."

  He nods. "Thanks. Let me grab the first aid kit."

  He ducks back down the hallway, and I take that moment to stare guiltily back at the picture. I mentally apologize to the woman for having impure thoughts about her husband. Because seeing his naked torso is a sight to behold, and I can't help but wish I could run my fingernails down that chest. I shift my weight as heat pools between my legs, and I need to keep my thoughts in check.

  Callum comes back, carrying the plastic box, and sits down at the foot of the sofa. I grab the kit and take my seat, mentally fussing at myself to not turn this into some sexual fantasy, as I'll be touching the skin of his muscular back. I'm just putting Band-aids on, that's it.

  At least, that's what I'm telling myself right up until I see the extent of his injuries. I nearly drop the kit. "Oh my god!"

  He hisses. "That bad, huh?"

  That bad is pretty damn bad. He was able to clean up his entire back and put some bandages on the areas that are easier to get to. But there's a whole area of little nicks and more significant slashes that aren't covered and the deeper ones still ooze some blood, probably reopened from him trying to put bandages on. My hands hover over the expanse of his back, as I debate what I should do next.

  "You should really go to the hospital," I find myself saying. "Get stitches. This is more than I know how to deal with."

  Callum shakes his head. "No. I can't go to the hospital."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm not leaving you alone. And it's pretty suspicious that I have Swiss cheese for a back after someone blew up your car. You can bet that Gary will either be at the hospital or have someone there waiting for anyone who's injured. Waiting for you." He peers over his shoulder to look at me. "So I won't be going to the hospital. This will be fine."

  I bite at my bottom lip, struggling with indecision, but I know that he's right. Going to a hospital is a huge risk right now. And as much as I don't want it to be, this is the only way moving forward.

  "Okay," I say softly. "But I'm not a doctor. And if this gets infected or worse, then..."

  He clasps his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. I can't help the butterflies that explode within me at the contact. "It will be fine, Ashleigh. I promise."

  I swallow nervously and nod. "Right. Okay."

  And then I realize that it's his left hand over mine and that he's not wearing the wedding band that I saw in the picture.

  He must notice the flicker of a frown on my face because his eyebrows pinch together in concern. "What's wrong?"

  "I..." Finally, I decide on telling him what's on my mind. "I just thought you were married."

  He turns entirely around on the floor to give me a weird look. "What makes you say that?"

  His eyes are on me, fierce and intelligent, and I force myself to nod toward the mantel. "I was looking around while you were showering and saw that picture of you with your wife." I think.

  He follows my gaze, and I can see the tension ripple through his back as he looks at the very picture. "Oh." He casts his gaze down. "You're right, that's a picture of me and my wife, Samantha."

  I lick my lips. I think back to everything I ever said to him, wondering if I've thrown myself at him in too obvious of a way. "I didn't realize you were married."

  "That picture is also eight years old."

  I blink, confused. "So..."

  A flicker of pain crosses his face. "Samantha passed away four years ago."

  My heart leaps into my throat. "Oh my god," I whisper. No wonder he looks so happy in the picture versus now. "I'm so sorry, Callum."

  He doesn't say anything as his gaze grows distant, and I can guess that he's mentally in the past, wishing that it were Samantha here bandaging up his back instead of frumpy me. Pieces are falling into place now, how he said that he had gone through a rough time, leaving the police, gambling, and everything else. He's still recovering from his wife's death.

  And, understandably, he misses her.

  "It was melanoma," he murmurs. He shakes his head. "Samantha was always covering up and putting on sunscreen because her mother had skin cancer before her, but it wasn't that bad. Samantha never spent very long in the sun, and she never, ever went to a tanning salon because she was worried about going through what her mother did. But for some reason, when Samantha got it, it ripped through her, and..." He sighs, and his shoulders slump. "It was the hardest year of my life."

  "Callum." I scoot down on the floor just so I'm on his level. "I'm so sorry."

  He opens his eyes, and he doesn't have that faraway look in them anymore. Instead, he's back here with me. Present in life. "After it all happened, I started drinking. Found my way into a bottle of vodka and didn't come out of it until I got kicked off the SAPD and I had to figure out what to do with the rest of my life." He sighs. "Sorry I didn't tell you about her."

  "No." I shake my head vehemently. "I'm sorry for bringing her up. I just thought, since you weren't wearing a wedding ring, that you..."

  A smile curves his mouth as he regards me. "You thought I was taking you out to a cabin for a sordid affair?"

  "Well..." How else am I supposed to answer, because that's exactly what I thought it was. "I was just suddenly worried for Samantha, since you've been risking your life for me, and—"

  "Nah. I think she would have liked you. You two may have even been friends." He glances around the cabin. "This is her parents' place. They had all the money, not Samantha or me. We used to use it when we wanted to escape
town."

  No wonder he didn't know what flowerpot had the key underneath it. "When was the last time you were out here?"

  "Since before she passed." He inhales a shuddering breath as he looks at me. "It actually hurts less than I thought it would."

  I notice how close I am to him right now. He's watching me with an expression that shows he's at peace, if a little ill at ease with the thought of it. He's done so much for me already, and...

  I close my eyes and close the distance between us, and my mouth lands on his.

  It has been way too long since I've kissed a man other than Trevor. Some people rebound by going out on the town and finding someone to fill that void where their exes have been. Me, I moved jobs and cities to get away from that. As such, this is the first kiss that I've had since before my breakup.

  And it's everything I wished it could be.

  Callum's lips are soft and sweet, which is a contrast to the rest of his chiseled physique. The light growth of his beard tickles at my lips, making me want even more. I can imagine that scruff on my breasts as he kisses them, on my stomach, between my legs, and—

  He pulls back with a gasp. "I'm sorry."

  My eyes widen with horror because everything is coming to me now. I just kissed a man who was just telling me about his dead wife. Fuck, what kind of a hussy am I?

  I wipe at my lips with the back of my hand. "I'm so sorry. I just..."

  He holds up a hand and shakes his head. "No, it's not you, Ashleigh. It's me, I—"

  But he doesn't say anything more. I can't decide if he's trying to spare me from further embarrassment, but if the world opened up and swallowed me whole, that would be perfect. Not this awkward moment between us.

  It's too late to do anything about it. I silently scoot back up on the sofa and patch up the rest of his back.

  The good news is that his back doesn't entirely turn me on in the same way now. Wordlessly, I finish up with treating his injuries.

  "I think I'm done," I say at last. "But again, if these get infected..."

  He gives me a wan smile as he gets to his feet. "They won't get infected," he says. "I trust you."

  Just like I trust him, except I was the one who kissed him first. I can only nod dumbly.

  "You should probably shower and get to bed," he says. He puts a strand of hair behind my ear, and I can't tell if it's meant to be tender or if I'm just sweating that much and it was bothering him. "You'll be tired tomorrow after everything that happened today."

  "Yes." Perhaps a cold shower will knock some sense into me. And getting into some clean clothes.

  Except I don’t have any.

  As if reading my mind, Cal says, "You can wear some of Samantha's old clothes. You're a bit taller than she was, but I think you're about the same size everywhere else."

  "Really?" I sneak a peek back at the picture on the mantel because it sure doesn't seem that way. Instead, it's like anything that she could fit into wouldn't get past my ass, but I don't say that. In fact, I'm a little flattered that he would think I'm a similar size. It's probably the best compliment I've had in a long while.

  "Okay," I say. "And I'll just sleep in the—"

  "In the master bedroom," he clarifies. "I'll sleep out here on the sofa. Keep an eye on things." He winks.

  "Callum, you really don't have to do that."

  "I do." He meets my eyes, telling me with his expression to not push the issue any further. And if he has some great memories here and slept in the master bedroom with Samantha, I can imagine that it would be tough to sleep in that empty bed.

  I just nod. "Okay."

  I head to the bathroom, turn on the shower and rinse off everything from today. Maybe if I clean myself well enough, I can escape whoever is trying to kill me and these feelings that I have for Callum. But that doesn't work too well, because those dominate my thoughts.

  I came so damn close to dying today. Like, if Callum hadn't stepped in, I could very well be a Jane Doe that my parents would cry over. And having just moved to a new city, I have this horrible mental image that there would be no one at my funeral because all my friends are still up in Dallas.

  I wanted a fresh start. Instead, I almost found my end.

  A tear slides down my cheek, and I fight back the despair that threatens to overwhelm me. I finish up showering and go to the dresser to find the clothes that Cal said were Samantha's. To my complete surprise, they actually fit me, even though the pants are a little short. Cal had been right, and I feel a bit shell-shocked at fitting into a dead woman's clothes.

  Morbid thoughts. Much like everything else on my mind right now.

  I swallow thickly and lie down on the big king-size bed. I pull up the covers to my chin and look at the ceiling.

  Sleep doesn't come easily to me. I can't stop thinking about the handsome man that's sleeping out in the living room and the horrible man that's trying to kill me. What's next? What can I do to save myself?

  How am I ever going to survive this? Moreover, with Callum so close, how am I ever going to protect my heart?

  Callum

  My third rule about gambling is that if you don't have your poker face mastered, you shouldn't even bother playing. Up until spending a week with Ashleigh in the cabin in the woods, I thought I had my poker face mastered.

  Now, I'm not so sure.

  A week after it happened, I still find myself remembering that kiss between us. I don't know what to make of it. Did Ashleigh pity me so much after learning about Samantha that she kissed me? Or did she think it was a form of gratitude?

  Whatever it was, it has created a little bit of a ripple through whatever relationship we have. And it has done terrible things to my poker face. I'll suddenly realize that I'm staring at Ashleigh, imagining our naked bodies together as I thrust myself into her. Or she'll say something benign like the weather is lovely outside, and I'm rendered speechless because I'm imagining picnicking with her outside and then fucking her on the grass.

  Proximity is a bad thing when you have lustful feelings for someone you shouldn't. And I'm spending every hour of every waking day with Ashleigh. The only reprieve I get is when I lie on the couch in the living room, keeping watch over the place. Even then, I'm not safe. I dream of her. I want her here with me.

  And that's a terrifying thought.

  "Cal?"

  My name on her lips breaks through my thoughts, and I realize that I'm staring at her again. I look down at the half-eaten plate of eggs in front of me. Half-eaten, and I don't even remember eating anything. I've been an absolute zombie trying to think with my brain and not with my cock. Ashleigh watches me with a perplexed expression on her face. I'm still learning all of her facial expressions, and each one is more endearing than the last. Ashleigh could have been an actress if she wanted to, rather than go into software—she's pretty enough and has the range to do it.

  I blink and set down the fork. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

  She cocks her head and gives me a skeptical look—which I'm confident I deserve—before smiling softly. "I'm saying that we're running low on food." She nods at the eggs that I've apparently been pushing around the plate. "That's the last of any protein that we have."

  "Oh. Right." I look back down at the plate. "I'll run to the store again and pick something up after breakfast."

  I went to the store the day after we arrived at the cabin to pick up some food. Granted, I haven't really eaten that well since Samantha passed, and even Ashleigh scrunched her nose up adorably at what I selected.

  "Cal?"

  Shit, she's speaking again. I push the plate away. "Sorry. I must be exhausted or something."

  "Or something, all right." She crosses her arms and sits back in her chair to look at me. "What's wrong?"

  I comb a hand through my hair. "Just a lot on my mind."

  I've been working it through my mind how to keep her from Gary. We can't go to the cops, because he'll kill her before they find him. I obviously can't pay him off. We're
at a standstill, really, until something else happens. And what that something is, I have zero idea.

  It's a thought that I'm not happy about, especially since despite everything, I'm enjoying my time with Ashleigh.

  "Well," Ashleigh says with finality, "I have a lot on my mind, too. Which is why I want to go with you to the store."

  "No, absolutely not." I get up from my seat, taking our plates with me and going to the sink. "It's too dangerous, Ashleigh."

  "It's too boring here," she says after me. She follows me to the sink, and I feel myself stiffen at her closeness to me as I scrape off the food into the compost bin next to the sink. "I have to get out of the cabin, Cal. Otherwise, I'm going to go crazy. There's no TV, my phone's off, no internet—"

  I regard her with a smile. "You seem to be doing all right with playing the games on your laptop." Her work laptop has a bunch of different video games on it. She's shown me on multiple occasions the different kinds of games with fantastical creatures and tremendous stories that rival the most epic of novels. I'm not that familiar with them, and she has complained that she's basically handicapped without the internet to play online, but she has shown her mettle with her playing skills. "Plus," I add with a wink, "my guitar-playing skills aren't too bad."

  "Your guitar-playing skills make me wish and pray that the store had sheet music," she says, putting a hand on her hip.

  I scoff. "What's wrong with my guitar?"

  "Nothing's wrong with your guitar. It's that I can only take Hotel California for so long before I want to scream."

  Admittedly, Hotel California is the only song I know how to play. Before I met Samantha, it was incredibly useful for picking up women. But I'm guessing tactics like that don't work on Ashleigh.

  "Please," Ashleigh insists, leaning into me. "Take me with you to the store. I doubt that anyone will see us there. And I have to pick up a book or four to read. And we both know that you could use some help picking out the food."

  I snicker.

  "I'm serious," she says, although she can't stop smiling. "I promise you, there's more to food than Hamburger Helper. Just," she reaches out and grabs my hand, "please?"