by Police
And it's the please that breaks down my resolve, and I know that my poker face is gone. I nod. "Okay," I say. I waggle my finger at her. "But at the first sign of trouble, we're out of there. And if you don't feel safe for one second, we're out of there."
She lets out an excited whoop and thrusts her fist in the air. Meanwhile, I can't help but feel as though I just made a huge mistake.
I hope not.
God, I hope not.
"Come back in here, you look like a dog trying to stick her head out the window," I say rolling my eyes, although I'm doing it in a good-natured sort of way. We're in the Jeep on the way to the general store, which is a small, family-owned establishment about six miles from the cabin. I've never seen someone so excited to go out in a car ride before, but then again, neither Ashleigh nor I have been in hiding like this before. And as I've learned, Ashleigh has this zest for life that draws me to her, even back to that first night at the casino.
And right now, she has the window rolled down, and she's practically standing in her seat to stick her head out the window, the wind catching the long, blond, platinum waves of her hair. I keep stealing looks at her as we go. She has no idea how beautiful she is. How gorgeous, stunning, and absolutely confident she is.
"It feels great outside," Ashleigh says, closing her eyes. "You know, I've grown up my whole life in the city. I wasn't one to go camping."
"I figured." After all, even though the cabin isn't considered camping for most people, there were things she had to get used to. Such as looking out for ticks when we were outside or how to build a fire in the fireplace in the evenings. Ashleigh is a city girl through and through, combined with a bit of computer science nerd.
This has been enough of an adventure to take her mind off the danger at hand, so I'm grateful for it.
"Well," I say with a frown, "keep your seatbelt buckled. I don't want anyone pulling us over."
She glances at me. "I thought you used to be in the SAPD?"
"Yes, but out here, I don't know the cops as well," I say. "And they may know Gary." I know, for a fact, that Gary has a few dirty cops in his pocket. I'm not sure if there are any in Vanderpool, but I'd rather be cautious at any rate.
This seems to bring Ashleigh down from her high, and she sits back into her seat and looks out the window for the rest of the drive. I want to apologize and tell her that we'll be fine. But I don't. And it's that odd sense of guilt that racks up in my throat.
We pull up to the general store and go in. Ashleigh peruses the aisles with me, picking up things as we go and dropping them into the basket. The store is basically your quintessential general store with wood paneling and wooden shelves filled with the essentials. There's a produce section and a refrigerated meat and dairy section, along with tons of canned goods, but not much else other than that.
"Should we get a bottle of wine?" Ashleigh asks suddenly as we pass by the wine racks. "I could certainly use a drink after all this."
I look at them and feel that familiar thirst in the back of my throat. "No. I don't drink anymore."
“Right.” She walks over and picks up a bottle of margarita mix. At my confused expression, she winks at me. "I used to drink margarita mix back in middle school, thinking there was alcohol in it." She rolls her eyes. "I thought I was so cool."
I bark a short laugh so loud that the cashier looks up in curiosity. But I appreciate that she doesn't push the issue.
She playfully glowers at me as she puts it in the cart. "Now you can see why I wanted to let loose a little bit at Windy Wood."
As we walk to the checkout, Ashleigh halts in front of an aisle, and it takes me a moment to see why. It's the store's limited selection of books, and she goes down and grabs a copy of each book. She glances at me, almost daring me to say something, as she picks up what I recognize as the latest erotic romance. Not that I have a whole lot of access to romance novels, but this book is so popular, everyone has heard of it, and I've seen it all over the place.
"Don't get any ideas," she says. "These are just my guilty pleasure."
I shrug. "What's to be guilty about?"
She hesitates and worries her bottom lip. "Trevor used to make fun of me because of this. I took to reading them on an app so he wouldn't know what I was reading."
"Wait, who is Trevor?"
She blanches. "He's my ex."
"He sounds like an asshole."
She snickers. "You're right. He was." She bites her lip again as if thinking about the past. "I should have taken that as a sign."
I hate seeing her indecision and her embarrassment over her reading material. I pick up the book and look over it. "Sounds like your ex has no taste."
She smiles gratefully at me, and then her eyes land on something behind me. "What's that?"
She brushes past me, and I turn to look just as she holds up a familiar red box. "We should get this," she says, shaking the Yahtzee box. "Just for a bit of fun."
I quirk an eyebrow. "I'm not a huge fan of board games." In fact, I'm not sure I've ever played Yahtzee. It was either poker growing up or Monopoly. Never Yahtzee. And now that I think about my childhood addiction to playing with poker, suddenly all my life decisions make sense.
She shakes the box in a teasing way. "Come on. Mr. Professional Gambler is too afraid to throw some dice?"
I open my mouth to protest, then I glance between her and the box. Finally, I take it from her and then put it in the cart. "All right." I grin. "You're on."
Ashleigh
"Yahtzee!" I exclaim as the dice land on six sixes. I cackle wildly as I check off the box on my scorecard.
Callum only glares at me. "Fucking hell, I'm even losing at a game that's like poker with dice." He puts his hands on his knees and runs a hand through his hair. He eyes me warily. "Are you sure you've never been to a casino before that night we met? Because it seems like you have some great beginner's luck otherwise."
"Nope, never gambled or gone to a casino before then," I say. I scoop up all the dice and put them into the cup for him. "I played Yahtzee religiously when I was younger, though."
Suspiciously, he takes the cup from me. "So you get how to play poker then?"
"What? No." I shake my head. "Just Yahtzee. Now, roll the dice before I get bored." I pick up the bottle of margarita mix and take a big swig from it. I was telling the truth earlier about me drinking margarita mix and thinking I was drunk when I was younger. Now it all seems so funny, but I'm slightly amused by the prospect and thought of it. As much as I wanted something to take the edge off everything that comes with being in hiding, I heard the note of panic in his voice when he said he didn't drink. And it weirdly breaks my heart.
Margarita mix it is. In a show of solidarity for the man that saved my life.
I wink at him as I set the bottle down. "Go on, play."
He rolls his dice and looks down at the combination before trying again. He curses under his breath and shakes his head. "Seriously," he mutters. "You would think that I'd be better at this."
"I think you're trying too hard." I lean forward. "Just have some fun."
He scoffs and shakes his head. "I can't have fun with this kind of stuff."
"Sure you can."
His lip curls. "Gambling and games haven't been fun for a very long time."
I stare at him for a moment, feeling the truth to his words, and I think about how the trajectory of his life changed from being a cop to being a professional gambler and all this. I feel a tinge of sadness for him. That something so simple as playing a board game could feel like work. Then again, I used to love programming. That is until I did it for a day job.
"I guess anything can turn into work," I murmur softly.
He sighs. "It does feel like work." He steeples his fingers. "I used to play poker for peanut butter cups with my brother, Trey." He grins in reflection. "I think about all the fun we had, doing it up in my family's treehouse. Then I joined the force, and we would have a poker night at one of our houses. It d
idn't feel like work then. But doing it with a psychotic murderer on your tail makes it goddamn stressful."
I nod and take another sip of the mix. "It sure sounds like it."
He watches me for a long moment before speaking again. "It was like that for a long time." His eyebrows draw together as he frowns. "Until you came and sat down next to me at my blackjack table."
Oh, shit. I'm entirely caught off guard by his words because they're so sweet and sexy, I can't quite process them correctly. He just said the sweetest words anyone has ever said to me in a long time, and I feel my heart in my throat. Not only that, but my pulse is pounding in my ears, and I'm acutely aware at how he's looking at me with his eyes bright and his lips parted slightly. His strong jaw tenses as he looks at me and all I want to do is feel those lips on my skin.
"Callum," I whisper, setting down the margarita mix.
He pauses before answering. "Yes?"
I scoot closer to him, and the heat radiates off his body. I want him. God, I want him so badly. "Seriously, why did you save me?" I ask, having been fearful of this for a week now, that I'm kidding myself. I'm afraid of both the question and the answer. Because I've imagined it and hoped that there would be another reason behind it. Not that he's merely saving a damsel in distress.
He keeps his eyes straight forward as if he doesn't even dare to look at me. "Because..."
"Yes?" My voice is nearly a moan.
He swallows again before looking at me, the heat smoldering in his eyes as our gazes connect. "Because you were the brightest spot in my life. Ever since I got kicked off the force. Ever since Samantha died. Ever since..."
I made a mistake earlier when I kissed him without too much pretext. That was before we'd spent a week together. That was before I got to the bottom of what makes Callum Young tick. That was before I truly understood my feelings for him.
And right now, I know what my feelings are telling me.
So when my body says to kiss him, I gladly oblige. I kiss him long and deep, feeling the scruff of his beard on my own mouth. He's more ready now for me, as I haven't caught him off guard. He strokes the side of my face before cupping me behind my ears.
There's too much distance between us, and I have to rectify that. Stat.
While still kissing him, I get to my knees and straddle across his lap. I have a skirt on, so with my legs in this position, I only have a pair of panties between me and his jeans. I can feel his hard thickness beneath me, aching to be set free. Aching to be inside me.
Hell, I want him in me. Fuck everything else.
Now that I'm straddling him, his barely-maintained restraint snaps, because one of his hands grabs my ass. I gasp against his lips at the strength in his fingers as he holds me. I want those fingers inside me, too. Hell, I want all of him.
His other hand comes up underneath my t-shirt—because Ashleigh Chapman wears the most unsexy of clothing when she wants to sleep with an Adonis of a man—and he slips his fingers underneath my bra. I gasp as he gently squeezes my breast, almost tentative at first. But then he tweaks the nipple, ever so playfully, and I let out a yelp that's more from being so turned on than anything else.
"You liked that, didn't you?" he breathes along my neck as he pinches my nipple again, this time harder.
"Uh huh," I manage. I'm past the point of words right now. Just grunts and noises to tell him what I want.
"Maybe I should do more," he murmurs.
He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. My hair is so long, it nearly tangles up in it, but he knows what he's doing as I'm suddenly free of my shirt. He kisses me again as he tosses the shirt somewhere else in the living room.
"You still have your shirt on," I mutter as he moves to kiss my collarbone. "I need to get this off."
"Patience," he murmurs to me. "Rule number four of gambling."
I chuckle. "And that's all I am? A gamble?"
"Just with my heart," he says. His fingers work at the clasp of my bra. "Because I think I'm all in."
And with that last word, he has my bra undone. My full breasts are now exposed, and I'm topless while he's still fully clothed. Better not be for any longer or else I may incinerate from lust. He runs his fingers down my skin, almost as if in wonder before massaging my breasts again.
"You are so beautiful," he whispers.
Beautiful. Not many people have called me that in my time. I was always the nerd, the weirdo, the one who did strange things. But beautiful? Very rarely. And I've never felt as beautiful as I do now.
I kiss him again because I want more and more of him. I grind against his hardness, and his hand on my ass guides me along his length. I'm moaning right now, and I don't even care. My panties are as good as soaked through right now. And this is also before we've done anything else exciting.
There's a noise. I barely register it mentally, because I'm too wrapped up in him. And he doesn't make a move to stop whatever is causing that noise, so I continue kissing him. Relishing him. Enjoying this from him.
The noise comes again.
It's his cellphone.
He breaks the kiss and looks at me apologetically. "Hang on."
Hang on? Hang on? Just when we are about to have scorching hot sex on the sofa?
I let out a disappointed murmur, but he doesn't seem to hear me as he looks at the caller ID on his phone. His entire face goes white, which sends a ricochet of fear down my spine.
Nothing kills the mood like a bad call.
Shit. I comb a hand through my hair and stifle a groan. I just want to disappear into the bedroom and either take care of this burning sensation myself. Or disappear entirely. That could always work. I blindly try to grab my bra and shirt from the floor, trying to save the last shred of dignity that I have.
He swallows thickly and answers the call. "Hello, Gary."
Not just shit. But fuck, fuck, fuck!
Cal puts a finger to his lips, warning me to stay hushed. Oh, believe me, I'll be quiet. I don't even dare to breathe as he speaks to the man who blew up my car.
I sit on the sofa, red-faced and terrified. I quickly put my clothes back on as they speak. Had something happened? Why is Gary calling Callum?
"No, I haven't seen her," Cal says.
I'm a little impressed by how steady his voice is. If I didn't know better, I’d say he sounds like he's bored or watching TV. Not that he was just making out with the woman that Gary has been searching for.
"I've been busy," he continues matter-of-factly. "That's why you haven't been seeing me at the casino for a week. First got a cold and now I'm resting up."
There's a pause as our eyes meet. "And that's about it," he finishes mildly.
Damn, he's a great liar.
He listens for a long moment to whatever that asshole is telling him. I want to reach through the phone and scream at Gary and say to him that I won't do anything or cause him to go to jail. I just want to live my life in peace.
"That's earlier than we had agreed," Callum says, breaking into my thoughts. "My next payment isn't due until the twenty-first. Like it always is." And now he sounds a little stressed as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, no, I've got it. I just—" Gary cuts him off, and Cal stops. All I hear are garbled words, but they make Callum look like he swallowed a frog. "Right. Well, I can be there on Wednesday." He closes his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. "You want it tonight." He throws his hands up. "Fine. I'll see you there."
He hangs up the phone and tosses it away like he can't stand to look at it. "Fuck," he mutters, rubbing his hands all over his face.
"What?" I ask, too afraid to guess.
Cal groans. "Gary wants me to make a payment to him."
I stare at him. "You can't do that, Cal. It's too dangerous."
"No." He shakes his head. "Gary doesn't know that you're with me. That we're hiding out here together. And to maintain that facade, I have to keep up appearances." He musses his hair. The same hair that I ran my own hands through moments before. "If I
don't go, that will signal something to him."
"But what if he knows?" I ask, terrified. "What if he knows everything?"
Cal holds my hands to call me down. "He doesn't, Ashleigh."
"But what if he does?" I nearly shriek the words out, and I see the conflicting emotions warring on his face.
He puts his hands on my shoulders, squaring himself to meet me in the eyes. "Trust me," he says, "he doesn't know. And he wants to meet at Windy Wood. Nothing will happen to me there."
Windy Wood was where I saw that guy get murdered. Being in a public place doesn't mean that he'll be safe. I start shaking my head, trying to come up with a reason, any reason to convince him to stay. But there's nothing that I can say that will change things.
To look like everything is normal, Cal needs to be going to the casino and acting like he usually does. There should be nothing scary about that. Because the second that he doesn't, Gary is going to suspect that something is wrong. But if Gary knows, Cal is walking into the viper's nest.
"Hey," Cal whispers. "It will be all right. I promise."
He cups my cheeks now and wipes at a tear with his thumb. "We'll be all right, Ashleigh."
I doubt it. So damn much.
Because, to use Callum's terms, I don't want to make that gamble. Not when it’s his life on the line.
Callum
I get out of the Jeep, and a shiver runs down my spine. It's fall outside, and while the days are still warm in central Texas, the nights can be downright freezing. Especially when you're out in a parking lot, exposed to the wind. I wanted to be closer to the front entrance of the casino, but it's apparently a much busier night than usual. When I get up to the casino, I see why.
There's some sort of big poker tournament that will be here two Saturdays from now and leading up to it is an event where someone wins a car every night. Oh, to have the money that a casino does. I'd probably be out of my troubles with that and maybe living out a happily ever after with Ashleigh.