Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Oh, we’re aware,” Crossland said with a chuckle. “That’s why it’s going to be so much fun to see how this goes down.”
“Fold.” Gareth pushed his cards to the center.
“Really?” Crossland glanced from the board to his own cards.
“I always know when to get out.” Gareth sat back in his chair with his beer. Knowing when to get out was one of the reasons he rarely lost.
After I’d called his bet, Weston burned another card from the top of the deck and flipped one to the board. Queen of diamonds.
Shit just got interesting. Now I had two pair.
Cross checked, which let him hang for this round to see where the cards would lead.
“Bet,” I said.
In our game, the third round of bets always started with cash. It was easy and cheaper as a base bet. Besides, the more personal bets were just that…personal. We weren’t here to force people into giving shit up that they loved for the blind. Stuff you loved was only bet when you knew you could get it back.
I threw in my cash, then drummed my fingers on the table while I considered exactly what to sweeten my cash bet with.
“Oh, this has to be good,” Weston said, smiling as he watched me. “You’re contemplating what to bet, which tells me you have a hand, but how good of a hand, I wonder?”
“You know you’d be a way better poker player if you shut the fuck up and kept your secrets to yourself, right?” Gareth asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“What fun would that possibly be?” Weston retorted with a shit-eating grin.
Fuck it. Nothing ventured and all. I wrote Paris flat on a chip and tossed it in.
“Damn!” Weston’s grin grew impossibly big. “My man came to play! Raise.” He wrote London townhouse on the next chip and tossed it in, then grabbed another chip and started to scribble. Naming Rights Raleigh one year.
Ethan’s brows went up. “You just threw in the naming rights for your arena?”
“Yep.” Weston stared straight at me. “Guess I came to play, too.”
“You do realize that we could name it Erectile Dysfunction Arena or Incontinence Stadium, right?” Cross asked as the blonde moved her mouth to his neck.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s counting on it,” Brynn muttered, flipping the page of her e-book. “By the way, you should really let her shadow you. This book is scrumptious.”
We all turned to face the strawberry blonde on the couch.
“You’re reading one of her books?” I asked, my palms going sweaty.
“Daisy Lewis, right?” She leveled her green eyes on me.
“Yes.” Fiona had sent me her details right after I’d agreed.
“Well, I’m just saying that she’ll definitely put the research to good use. This book is about professional hockey and she’s pretty much nailed it.” A sly smile quirked her lips. “And nailed a lot of other good stuff, too. Not that she’d use you for any of that research. Seems like she’s got it handled, because this is hot.” She fanned herself with her hand.
Weston narrowed his eyes at her.
“Oh, you definitely need a little of whatever that is—” Crossland gestured at Brynn, “—going on in your life, Ash. Call that woman.”
Brynn hiked her eyebrow at Crossland.
He swallowed. “For purely literary purposes, of course. I highly doubt Ash has trouble getting a date. Sheesh, what do you think Brynn? We use women as commodities or playthings?”
The blonde in his lap giggled and sent her hand beneath the table.
“Why ever would I think that?” Brynn muttered, rolling her eyes. “If your sister ever knew—”
Crossland’s gaze snapped back to hers. “Leave Bristol out of it. This is Vegas and you know it, Brynn. What happens in this room stays in this room.”
Considering that his little sister was married to one of my players, Cormac Briggs, I was all about leaving her out of it. The less drama in my rink, the better.
“Right. Back to targeting Ash, then,” Ethan muttered. “Also, I’m folding. No one is touching my field’s naming rights.” He pushed his cards in.
“What, not willing to risk Asshole Park? Or No Sense of Humor Field?” Weston smirked.
“I think those firmly belong to Gareth,” Ethan countered, but the man was fully aware of his reputation as an ass on the playground.
Gareth ignored him, scrolling through his phone. That guy didn’t even bother to share the playground.
I called Weston’s raise with a personal favor chip, and we put in the next bet, back to cash.
Weston burned the top card and threw the next out. Ten of Spades.
Well, fuck me.
Crossland folded, leaving just Weston and me. “I feel like we need to demand photographic evidence that Ash here is following through on the dare with Ms. Lewis.”
“There’s no way I’m getting out of this, am I?” I was going to have to let a novelist follow me around, interrupt my schedule, and pry into my life for the sake of entertainment. I always kept my word, but just...damn. What a fucking inconvenience.