Double Blind

by Heidi Cullinan

  Ethan slid on behind him, grinning. “Hello, hot shot.” He kissed the side of Randy’s helmet before reaching behind him for the spare.

  “You’re a bit overdressed for a motorcycle.” Jesus fuck, but Slick did look good in a suit.

  Ethan settled in, pushing forward as much as possible so their bodies pressed together. Resting his hands on Randy’s thighs, he splayed his long fingers. “Want me to get undressed?”

  Randy’s body responded in a low-level hum. Fuck yes, get undressed. “You want to skip Bellagio and go home?” Then he remembered Sam and Mitch would be there, fucking but with a pile of angst. “Shit, we can’t. Never mind. Let’s go play poker.”

  “Whatever you want, Ace.” Ethan squeezed Randy’s thigh.

  Randy shut his eyes for a moment, enjoying it, then wrenched his focus back and took them off toward Las Vegas Boulevard.

  There was no disputing the poker rooms at Bellagio were the best in Vegas. Crabtree hated them for it, because he said back in the day there was nothing finer than Herod’s. Randy loved Bellagio. He loved the Nugget for friendliness and ambience and because of Mandy, but Bellagio had the best, toughest games. Their rake was the best deal going too.

  Of course, you could die trying to get a drink in the place.

  This was about Slick right now, not drinks, about putting Ethan up against some of the best players in the world. It would also be about losing a lot of money, which meant Randy also needed to play, to get some back.

  Or so he thought.

  When Randy tried to hand him cash, Ethan reached into his jacket and withdrew five Benjamins of his own. Then he took out another five.

  Then another.

  “Holy shit. You rob a bank?”

  “Sarah gave it to me in an envelope today. Though it’s not half as interesting as this.” He pulled out a balance sheet from a bank account, which Randy scanned, then read again more slowly. Ethan helped him to a nearby stool, which was good because his knees had stopped working.

  Ethan had an account in his name with ten million dollars.

  “So,” Randy said, when his voice would work. “You aren’t just playing at gangster now.”

  Ethan remained oddly calm. “Do you know Sarah Reynolds?”

  “Shit, yeah, I know Sarah. She runs the place when Crabtree isn’t there. Why?”

  “She called me the casino manager. Except Billy still thinks some other guy is. Which is understandable, since I’m a casino manager on the seventh floor in a non-air-conditioned office.”

  Randy wanted to protest that Ethan was fucking with forces he didn’t even begin to understand, but he couldn’t, because he could see Ethan was enjoying himself. He had a light about him that grew brighter with every step he took further into this shitstorm.

  “Oh, and did I mention I’m supposed to make the casino profitable by the middle of November?”

  “You didn’t, no.” Randy watched Ethan’s face carefully. “That’s going to be a bit of a trick, is it?”

  “Just a bit.” His eyes were practically dancing.

  Randy gave Ethan’s leg a friendly slap. “You and your wad of hundreds are going to cop a squat at the big-boy table. Time to play with the high rollers, Slick.”

  Ethan balked. “Randy, I can’t possibly be ready for that.”

  “Oh, fuck no. They’re going to wipe the floor with you. This isn’t going to be about winning. It’s about learning. Your pot today is knowledge.”

  Ethan didn’t seem happy, but he made no further protest as Randy led him across the floor to the poker room.

  The Bellagio poker room was not hidden away in some remote part of the hotel—it was proudly displayed up front. The tables were too close together, though. So Randy did his instruction on the way across the main floor, after they’d hit the cashier but before they went into the room.

  “The best poker players come here daily for tournaments, but we’re not getting into them now. This is the big league. They will beat you most of the time. Play tight. Do not become their fish. Play your blinds and use most of the hands as opportunities to study. We’ll play for an hour, and then we’ll meet up at Snacks and debrief.”

  “Snacks?”

  Randy pointed to the small restaurant just off the poker room. “There. The name of the café is Snacks. Direct and to the point. Which reminds me, get a drink now. It will likely be the only one you see.”

  Randy got a Pepsi, and Ethan got mineral water. He was girding himself, Randy could tell, which was cute, but the sharks would be able to tell.

  Randy rubbed Ethan’s neck. “Be cool, Slick.”

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Then you’d better dump all the money back at Crabtree and Billy and borrow what you’re missing from me. Buck up, baby. You can do this. Stop making it so hard. It’s just poker. Same as ever. Just for more money and worse odds. Come on.” He patted Ethan on the back. “Time for school.”

  Randy approved of the seat Ethan chose, though it had to have been accidental. He was between Vic Tabor, one of the worst sharks in Vegas, and a cunning woman named Cate whom Randy didn’t know well except she was vegan and from Canada. She played straight and fair—but to win.

  He predicted Cate was going to make a lot of money off Ethan in the next sixty minutes. He was right.

  “The woman beside me keeps winning,” Ethan complained as he sat down across from Randy at Snacks. “I’m down to three hundred dollars because of her.”

  “You’re down to three hundred because you’re not paying attention to her. You’re her fish, Slick, because you’re too focused on Vic.”

  “That’s because Vic is an animal.”

  “Vic plays loose and wild. You’ll notice he hasn’t won many pots, and that’s because Cate is at his table, feeding off you. Vic bluffs like crazy. But he knows how to play. He’s probably relieved you left because now he can focus on Cate again. Though he won’t get far.”

  Ethan swore and reached for his G&T.

  Randy smiled behind his hand. “What did you learn, Slick?”

  Ethan considered. “I learned it makes me nervous to play with so much money.”

  “Yes. But the game is still the same. You get that, right?”

  “It’s hard to implement the knowledge.”

  “Which is why you need to keep practicing. Because you’ve got bigger games coming, Secret Casino Manager.”

  Ethan stirred his drink. “I’m not really a gangster, Randy.” He looked up. “Am I?”

  Randy thought about lying then decided it wasn’t going to help anything. “Gangsters aren’t like you see in the movies. Most of the mob is accountants.”

  Ethan held Randy’s gaze. “Who is Crabtree? I can’t find anything on him. Nothing at all.”

  Randy sobered, not bothering to hide his panic. “Don’t look. Don’t try to find out who he is, Ethan. I’m not shitting you. Don’t.”

  “But how can I—?”

  Randy held up a hand. “There are games you see through to the end without really knowing what the other guy has. This is one of those. If Crabtree wants to let you know who he is, he’ll tell you. If he doesn’t, don’t go looking.”

  Ethan pursed his lips. “You know.”

  “No, I don’t. Swear to God, Slick. I have no fucking clue. You’ve been Googling, I can see. Let me give you a little more education. The best mobsters are not the Al Capones. The best ones never get named.”

  “You’re saying Crabtree is one of those?”

  “Ethan Ellison, you are further into the nest than I have ever been. You can believe it or deny it, but you know more about Crabtree than I do. Unless you want to know what he likes in bed.” Ethan glared, and Randy raised his eyebrows. “That bothering you, Slick?”

  “I don’t care for being reminded you’ve fucked him.”

  Fucking hell, but Slick was hot when he was possessive. “I can’t change the fact that I have.”

  “Well, you’re done, so stop talking about it.”


  Oh, just a little more. “Who are you to say I’m done with it?”

  Ethan came around to Randy’s side of the table slowly. Randy held still, waiting. Come on, baby. Give it to me. Right here in fucking Bellagio.

  When Ethan’s hand came down on his shoulder, Randy jumped. Ethan bent down and spoke directly into his ear, and Randy shut his eyes, waiting for whatever masterful naughtiness Slick dished up.

  “I adopted another cat.”

  Randy opened his eyes, blinking. “What the hell? Oh, come on. You were supposed to say something sexy, Slick, not make some stupid joke.” Then he got a good look at Ethan’s face, and his eyes went wide. “Fucking hell, you did not.”

  “I fucking did.” Ethan pulled out Randy’s cell phone and glanced at the time. “In fact, I need to go and get them soon. Crystal said she was off at five, and I wanted to ask her a few more questions.” He waved the phone at Randy. “I really need to get my own phone, but I think we’ve run out of time to shop. Sam texted you while I was playing—Mitch is making dinner, and he’d like us home by six.”

  “You adopted another cat.” Randy was still processing. “What the fuck, Slick?”

  Ethan’s hand moved from Randy’s shoulder to his chin. He held Randy’s face loosely, but his thumbnail dug in enough to get Randy’s attention. Randy stilled, enjoying a delicious rush of heat and the do-not-fuck-with-me look in Ethan’s eyes.

  “You’re done with Crabtree because I don’t fucking want you to have anything else to do with him. Not in bed. Have I made myself clear, or do you need additional persuasion?”

  Oh, fuck yes. Randy did his best to play it cool. “I might.”

  Ethan’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened. It was fucking glorious.

  “We need to get going so I can pick up Salomé and Daisy.” His thumb brushed Randy’s lips, but it wasn’t exactly a caress. “We’ll deal with your persuasion once we’re at home.”

  It was a cool play. It didn’t matter that Randy could see it, that he knew Ethan had deliberately wrapped the bombshell of the kittens up in the game. It was a good move. “Well played, baby.”

  Ethan bent and kissed Randy’s lips. “I’m serious. We need to get going.”

  They cashed in, Ethan leading, looking like he belonged. Because he did. The man had fucking come home.

  “Were you like this before?” With Nick?

  “No, I wasn’t.” Turning to Randy, he smiled wickedly. “This is all because of you, Ace.”

  It wasn’t, Randy knew. This was Slick, coming into his own. But he didn’t tell him, just squeezed his ass and led him to the bike.

  RANDY HAD TO admit Daisy was seriously cute. So was watching Slick with Crystal the cat-training lady. Randy held the kitten while Ethan nodded at her, absorbing everything she said. They kept doing something with this annoying clicking piece of plastic, a pink stick, a bag of treats, and Daisy. For some reason if the cat touched the stick with her nose, they gave her a click and a treat, regarding the act as her personal triumph. When Randy left Ethan and his new family at the Mazda, in fact, Ethan looked very much the king of his realm.

  Of course, when they got to the house, he was glad they had the cats. They sure as fuck needed a distraction.

  The whole place smelled of good Mexican food, real Mexican, because Mitch did the cooking. Tamales, Sam’s favorite, which Mitch made most often when he wanted to show his partner how much he loved him. When Randy got a good look at husband and husband, he knew the big love gesture was certainly called for. Sam was a wreck, and so was Mitch.

  Randy launched into high court jester mode. He made loud noises about how good the food smelled, and so many rude comments about Sam’s body and what he wanted to do with it that Ethan started to look at him askance. He was saved from having to explain that one by Sam finally noticing the second cat, and then Randy made snark about cat litter and scratches, and when Ethan explained the clicker to Sam, Randy zeroed in on Mitch, poking until Mitch snapped at him. Randy teased back, anything he could think of to dispel all the damn spiky energy.

  Of course, Slick was starting to get a little too smart for his own good, because he cottoned on.

  “I didn’t realize I should have stopped by the hardware store. Or do you have a trowel in the garage? Because if you’re going to lay it on this thick, Ace, you might want to smooth it out.”

  “They’re about to turn into the movie Beaches over there, and I’ve had enough therapy for one day, thank you.” When Ethan gave him a confused look, Randy pursed his lips. “Sam roped me into going to his therapist with him. I didn’t like it.”

  Ethan kissed his forehead. “Poor baby.”

  Randy grunted. “So are you going to help me or what?”

  “I don’t think pissing them off constantly is helping much.”

  It wasn’t, but Randy didn’t know what else to do. “Nobody can give them what they need. Mitch can’t get a guarantee Sam will be okay while he’s gone, and Sam can’t know nothing will happen to Mitch. You got any ideas on how to make them forget about that?”

  Ethan tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Give me a few minutes. In the meantime, dial it down to medium-high.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Slick gave him another kiss, this time on his lips with a tiny bite at the end. Mmm-hmm.

  Randy returned to the kitchen, where Mitch threatened him with a spatula. Holding up his hands in mock surrender, he bent, offering him his ass, which Mitch swatted several times while Randy made high-pitched squeals of mock protest until Sam laughed. Then Mitch swatted him hard enough to hurt, and Randy yelped for real, and everyone laughed. He set the table, keeping one eye on Ethan, who was seated there, Salomé in his lap and Daisy settled at his feet as he studied them all.

  Dinner was good, and so was dessert—sopaipillas with real whipped cream. Randy kept up his chatter, not even sure what he was talking about anymore, just waiting to see what Slick was up to.

  Once all the dishes were cleared, Ethan rose. He walked around the table to where Sam sat, stood behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Everyone watched, surprised, confused, and then simply interested as Ethan kept his hand there, massaging slowly.

  “So.” Ethan glanced at Mitch. “When are you leaving tomorrow?”

  Ethan might as well have turned the air temperature down five degrees. “Ten.”

  Randy glared at Ethan, but Ethan ignored him and kept talking to Mitch. “You’ll be back when?”

  “Two weeks, give or take. Depends how things go.”

  Ethan massaged Sam’s shoulder a little more. “When do you start work at the hospital?”

  Sam kept his eyes on the table. “I’m not due to start until the first of November, but they’d probably let me start early.”

  “Do you want to start early?”

  Sam shrugged and didn’t answer.

  Ethan resumed his massaging. Randy wondered what the fuck he was doing, but didn’t say anything, just waited.

  When he finally spoke, Randy about fell over.

  “The other night, in the limo—” Ethan looked at Mitch. “I take it everyone enjoyed themselves?”

  Mitch, who had been stiff and unhappy, was a camera lens coming into focus. “Can’t say I saw anything to complain about.”

  “What about you, Sam?” Ethan’s fingers slid farther down, dipping inside the neckline of Sam’s T-shirt. “Did you enjoy the limo? I was thinking in particular of when you and Randy were dancing out the moonroof. You seemed to enjoy that part.”

  Sam’s sorrow bled away into submission. His voice, soft and quiet, went straight to Randy’s dick. “I liked it a lot.”

  “Hmm.” Ethan kneaded, keeping his eyes on the top of Sam’s head. He was beautifully disinterested and alert at the same time. Randy felt unfocused and yet fantastically engaged. Fucking hell, Randy was already halfway under Ethan without being touched.

  Ethan spoke again. “It seems to me there’s a lot of emotion built
up over this parting. Which is understandable. But I’m thinking it might be a little too much. More, say, than two people could handle alone.”

  Ho, shit, Randy thought, his heart pounding. Dick too.

  Ethan looked at Mitch, who Randy thought was probably in much the same condition as himself, only in a Mitch way. He didn’t know, because he couldn’t turn away from Ethan to check. He could clearly see Sam was putty from the way he slouched into Ethan’s massage.

  “I thought, though, perhaps four could deal with it. What do you think, Mitch? Have I read this situation right?”

  Now Randy had to look at Mitch too, and he was glad he did, because the lust there told him everything he needed to know. What it told him was they were all getting laid. Together.

  So Slick’s idea is to distract them with an orgy. Good idea, Slick.

  Ethan bent to kiss the side of Sam’s head. “Sam, sweetheart? Take off your shirt.”

  And away we go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  RANDY HADN’T KNOWN quite what to think when Ethan directed Sam’s blow job in the limo, writing it off as something Ethan was trying out. Randy had the feeling if he hadn’t been overwhelmed they’d have done more that night. He admitted he’d put on the brakes, that it was he who hadn’t been ready for a foursome with Ethan in it.

  Even though Randy hadn’t admitted it, Ethan had probably figured it out and was watching him closely now to make sure Randy wanted this.

  He did. Randy wasn’t sure exactly why the other night had been too much and now it was cool, but that’s the way it went down. This was for Sam and Mitch. And hell, for him. Watching Ethan peel Sam’s T-shirt off his body, watching Sam go from the edge of despair to quiet and submissive and ready to be fucked was hot. This was what he loved most about Sam, how he managed to be so sweet and innocent and absolutely depraved all at once. Not just in sex, but in life. He hated that Sam was so upset. And yes, he would keep going to therapy with him, goddamn it.

  But right now…well, this was Randy’s kind of therapy.

  Except having Slick a part of it changed things, and not just because they were four instead of three. As Ethan drew Sam’s hands up and looped them around the back of Ethan’s head, making Sam gasp and moan, Randy realized all the other times it had been Randy the outsider coming into Sam and Mitch’s relationship. It was a role he excelled at, and he liked it fine. Now—well, now he didn’t know what this was. He and Slick coming in, but as what? Another couple?