Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Randy’s wedged between us, grumbling over his cards, and I put on my most neutrally friendly face to look over him to meet Tad’s eyes as I answer his question.
“Occasionally,” I answer smoothly, glancing back at my cards like I’m easy peasy, cool and breezy, and haven’t spent the last week sneaking into his bed every night. “But this is certainly my first time playing where my Hold’em skills can affect children.”
He chuckles at that. “Small-town stakes are high.”
“Who taught you how to play poker, Breezy?” Bennett asks, one brow raised.
I don’t even hesitate. “Just some guy named Tom.”
Across the table, Tad coughs into his ice water to cover a laugh, and I have to look away before my face gives me away. To be honest, ever since Norah told me I had to come to this little charity event a week ago, Tad has been teaching me how to play Texas Hold’em.
Mind you, most of the time we’ve been naked and in his bed, but lessons were definitely being had.
“Tom?” Bennett repeats slowly, his tone suspiciously casual. “Would that be the same Tom I’ve heard you on the phone with at night?”
Uh-oh. Maybe I’ve gotten a little too comfortable with those secret code names I made us choose two weeks ago. I freeze for half a second before I jump into offensive mode. “You’re eavesdropping on my phone calls, Ben?”
“It’s kinda hard not to hear your calls when you’re cackling like a lunatic.” Bennett smirks. “And when were you going to tell me you’re seeing some dude named Tom?”
“I’m not seeing him,” I say quickly. “He’s just…uh, a business contact. Likes to call late because of the time difference.”
“The time difference?” Bennett echoes. “Where’s he based, Mars?”
“London,” I blurt. “He’s British.”
Josie laughs into her drink. “A British Tom. How fancy. Maybe he should teach me poker.”
“Slow your roll, woman,” Clay interjects, and Josie just sticks her tongue out at him. “Shall I remind you I’m a very jealous man when it comes to you?”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” Josie retorts. “You were the one who kept me married to you for five years against my will.”
Clay just smiles. “And I still don’t regret a single second of it.”
“Me either.” Josie leans over to press a playful kiss to his lips. “Macho man.”
Clay waggles his brows. “Oh, I’ll show you macho, baby.”
“Get a room!” Norah shouts, a giggle on her lips. “We’re trying to gamble for the kids here!”
Clay just chuckles and dives straight back into his dealer role.
The whole table breaks into easy laughter, chips clinking and cards shuffling again. It’s loud and warm and full of small-town energy, but under it, there’s something quieter. A pulse I can feel from two seats away, where Tad’s shoulder shakes with silent laughter.
The bastard is loving that Bennett’s overheard some of my phone calls with “Tom.”
I send him a discreet glare, but he just meets my gaze, a slow, infuriating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The smug bastard. I shake my head and smile despite myself.
To anyone else, Tad and I are just acquaintances. Just neighbors-of-neighbors, nodding and smiling politely, and occasionally teasing each other the way small-towners do.
But under the table, my phone buzzes against my thigh.
Tad: Honestly, Betsy, I would’ve thought a New Yorker would’ve been better at bluffing…
I school my face into neutrality, sliding two chips into the pot.
Me: Well, Tom, I think it’s safe to say you’re shit at teaching. Also, I just saw your ass fold pocket queens three hands ago.
Tad: Maybe I just wanted to keep my hands free so I can text you about how fucking delicious your ass looks in those jeans.
Tad: PS: I’ve been imagining your thighs wrapped around my face all night.
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I keep my gaze steady on the table.
Clay flips the river card and reveals a nine of hearts. The table hums with tension as it’s quite clear that anyone holding two hearts in their hands is probably going to win this one. Norah pushes a small stack forward, Josie raises, and Bennett sighs like the tortured artist he is.
Randy mulls over his decision, alternating between cursing under his breath and staring at Josie across the table like he can see into her skull. My hand is utter garbage, and I definitely should fold, but I wait on Randy to decide his move.
Tad: If I were you, I’d cut my losses. You and I both know your hand is shit.
My head snaps up, but his face is unreadable. How the hell?
Me: And how would you know that?
Tad: Because you’ve got “bad hand” written all over that pretty face.
The urge to kick him under the table nearly wins, but once Randy folds on a curse, I follow his lead and fold my cards too, flashing a discreet scowl toward Tad.