Playboy

  He drapes his arms over my shoulder and presses his forehead to mine.

  “I’m sorry.” He looks sincere. “If I don’t play this out, I won’t have a seat at the final table.”

  I nod. “I know.” I sigh, disappointed as I drink in his gorgeous features and those hypnotizing Silver Eyes one last time.

  He’s drinking me in too. Intently. And when he speaks, his voice is deep and solid.

  “Wynn. The bet . . . there’s more to the story. You bring me luck, sure, but luck had nothing to do with why you ended up on my plane. I’m not playing games with you, Wynn. I wanted you. I still do.” He holds me by the waist against him, cupping my cheek. “I’ll be at your show, Red. I promise.”

  I catch my breath, absorbing what he has said. Does he mean . . . does he want to continue? Does he want me like I want him? “What if they move the qualifier again?” I whisper, dreading to hope.

  “They won’t move the qualifier again,” he assures.

  “And if they do?”

  “I’ll still be there.”

  I feel lightheaded and weak, giddy and revived. He’s staying in Vegas only to qualify and coming back . . . for me. And maybe it’s because he also feels . . . come on! Am I really considering . . . what? Playing happily-ever-after with Cullen?

  My heart hurts at the thought, and I hate that he’s making it hurt.

  I mean this guy, he kisses his friends.

  He is a friend.

  Or he was . . . At the moment, he feels like everything. In the space of a few days, he’s become everything.

  “Red . . .” he warns, smiling down at me.

  I exhale. “Good luck. Keep me posted. Okay?” I laugh, a little in encouragement, a little to cover the fact that I miss him already. Before I turn to leave, I whisper, “Cullen?”

  I want to tell him that I want him, want this. To tell him I want it beyond reason.

  But all my past heartbreaks, and a feeling of impending doom, weigh down on me. I hate that I can’t be sure if he’ll look at me like this if he knew everything about me. I try to shake it off, because I don’t want to leave on a bad note.

  I go up on tiptoes and drop a kiss on his lips. “Thank you for the most fabulous trip of my life. Go get it, champ.”

  Before my emotions get the best of me, and the knot in my chest expands to my throat and does shit to my eyes, I turn and walk away, feeling the unmistakable weight of Cullen’s gaze as he watches me leave.

  I don’t want to leave.

  I want him to stop me.

  I want him to come with me.

  But he doesn’t because he has another game to play. And I have my own job to do.

  But as Oliver drives me to the airport and the distance between us stretches, my smile begins to falter, and my chest begins to ache harder and harder, and my eyes don’t feel as dry as they should in the Las Vegas heat anymore.

  I can’t believe I was able to hold it together in front of him. Maybe I did learn quite a few things in Vegas, after all. I learned to bluff like a pro.

  * * *

  I feel off when I board his plane. All the excitement of Cullen’s lifestyle isn’t exciting without him.

  The week before I was flying out to Vegas with Cullen and wondering what it must be like to fly on this jet alone.

  Now. I. Know.

  And I wish I didn’t.

  More than anything, I wish the little boy and his mother hadn’t chosen our very last night together to bump into us. I wish I hadn’t seen Cullen’s face as he wished for things he didn’t have.

  There’s nothing I can do.

  I refuse to think about the family I can’t give Cullen. I think, instead, about the week we spent together. I slow it down. Play it in reverse. Shopping, strip poker, and romantic dinners. And how we partied all night, feasting on one another as if sex were our drug and the only fix we needed was another round of fucking.

  “Ah jeez,” I whisper, exhaling.

  If I keep reminiscing, I’ll never make it back to Chicago.

  But it’s lonely to be on a great big fancy plane, all alone and headed home. I replay the scene when I was leaving in that white dress he bought for me. The way he looked at me. He didn’t pull me back. And I couldn’t run back to him. The gallery will be a chaotic bubble of activity as we get ready for the upcoming show.

  I need to be in Chicago.

  Still, I feel like we should’ve said or done something more.

  Maybe.

  Then again, maybe not.

  It was a bet.

  I won. Maybe if I hadn’t, he’d have come back with me as I’d hoped to help with my exhibit. Instead he’s staying for qualifier, and I’m left with the best oral of my life and then some. And now it’s over . . .

  I knew it would have to end.

  Didn’t I?

  “Miss Watson, are you ready?” The pilot looks at me, and I nod quickly and inhale.

  “I can’t . . . breathe. Is there enough oxygen in here?” I wave at myself.

  Suddenly, I feel like I’m dying.

  “Yes, miss.” He smiles. “Everything is all right. Get ready for takeoff then.”

  I nod, but I still feel like I can’t fucking breathe.

  “Thanks,” I say, strapping on my seatbelt. Trying to look calm when I am anything but.

  He disappears into the cockpit.

  I exhale and shut my eyes, telling myself to settle down and leave everything in Vegas. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

  What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Whoever you do in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

  My Cullen.

  Ugh.

  We had a silly wager.

  That’s all it was.

  But I’m hooked on him, not because of what he is or how much he can spoil me.

  It’s because of who he is. Who I am when I’m with him. Who we are together.

  Are we together?

  An island unto ourselves.

  It was the first thing I thought of when I saw Callan and Livvy. And it was nice to think of us that way. It was nice to have ‘my person’ and ‘our island’ and everything that went along with that. As the orange-and-brown hues of the horizon fade with distance, I feel my chest grow heavier and heavier.

  The Nevada sand has now disappeared right along with Cullen.

  I don’t want it to be over. Maybe we’re taking a break, a little breather.

  Like Emmett and I used to take?

  I swipe at my cheeks. “Don’t be so theatrical, Wynn.”

  No. I shake my head.

  Cullen and I aren’t Emmett and me.

  We’re different.

  We’re better.

  I’ve never been better with anyone. I stare out at the white-blue clouds. I’m all by myself again. I can’t do anything more. I didn’t tell him how I felt because I was afraid. I still am.

  The odds were always stacked against us. We were the underdogs, the longshots, with odds at 35 to 1.

  I would’ve still ended up on this flight bound for Chicago, returning to the life I know.

  Is this why Malcolm and Rachel warned me? Is it why Callan had a ‘talk’ with Cullen?

  Is the gambler’s life a lonely road, an uncertain path into the luck-filled trenches of the next wager, the next game?

  If so, there’s no place for a significant other. Maybe there isn’t room for anyone. Is that the real reason why he doesn’t see his son?

  Cullen’s wrong. He’s wrong if he thinks there’s a difference between gamblers and poker players.

  The game always comes first.

  It will always come first.

  There’s a reason he’s single, and yet I want him more than I can stand. Passion isn’t our problem, though. Commitment is. And I don’t want to go back into this relationship place . . . it has never ended up being a happy place for me. And Cullen . . . I don’t think he’s ever been capable of going there at all.

  HEADS-UP

  Cullen

  My game is off. Wynn’
s gone and my luck went right out the door with her.

  I want to call her, hear her voice, tell her . . .

  Tell her what, man? Get it together.

  I peer at my cards again.

  “Humph. That’s a first.” James “The Original Shark” Johnson grins. “Playboy took a second look at his cards, guys. What’s that tell ya?”

  “Couldn’t say for sure,” Lucas Ingram says, swirling his glass and staring into his apple juice like it’s straight-up whiskey. He frowns. “Come to think of it, you never check twice. What’s up with that? You feeling okay?”

  I’ve known the Ingram brothers for over a decade. Isaac is a horse’s ass and Lucas never met a stranger.

  Normally, I’d be thrilled to find Isaac’s younger brother at my table. He’s readable and not that great at cards. He’s a ‘luck’ player and well, I don’t believe in pure luck. You need skills to keep winning.

  There’s an exception, of course, and I’m staring at him.

  When Lucas Ingram is on the other side of a deal, then everyone wants the same question answered—is he on or off?

  When he’s hot, the guys in player development stay away from him because he can break a casino in a matter of days, which is why big brother bankrolls him in the first place. It’s good for business.

  But when Lucas is off, man is he cold. And that’s when everybody wants a piece of him.

  Right now? I’m afraid he’s about to take a bite out of me.

  I look around to see if I can find Mike in the crowd, watching us, and when I come up empty, I find my answer.

  Lucas is definitely on the take.

  With my lucky charm somewhere between Las Vegas and Chicago, I can’t be sure of how this all will play out.

  Lucas travels with an annoying bunch of poker groupies. He uses them as a distraction. As soon as I spot a redhead in his bunch, I can’t help but think of my sweet Red. The woman who twiddled her hair. The woman who was my greatest distraction.

  God I miss her.

  Without Wynn here, I feel like a shell of a man, an ordinary player who isn’t even interested in playing. “Anyone seen Jack? Haven’t seen him around for a while.”

  So I start talking. Lucas can’t multi-task.

  “Cavanaugh? Nope. Heard he’s down big time,” James says, whistling low.

  I can’t help but think I’d be in the same circumstances if I hadn’t found my lucky charm. I wish Jack had a good woman in his life.

  From what I’ve heard, he doesn’t.

  “Cavanaugh will be up soon enough. That guy’s got more moves than a hooker,” another player says.

  Glancing up, I talk directly to Lucas now. “I heard you put together an underground team.”

  “Yep.” He folds and leans forward in a conspiratorial manner. “Card counters. Why? You lookin’ for a career change, Carmichael?”

  “Nope. But I heard you’re on a hot streak.” I’ve also got an inside line on his casino deliveries and rumor has it that Isaac sent his kid brother a care package before his lucky streak began again. “Maybe it’s time to come back to the dark side.”

  “Ah. I’m touched.” He places his hand over his heart. “Hear that, boys? Carmichael misses me.”

  Frank, a player with several titles under his belt, says, “Ask yourself why that is, kid.”

  “He likes my company,” Lucas says, always under the impression that everyone loves him. He turns to the girls. One or two blow him a kiss.

  He’s feeling the love.

  I smile at myself. So what, timing is lousy for me, terrific for him. It doesn’t matter much. Not today.

  “That flop looks made to order,” a tourist says, tossing in a few black chips in a lame effort to represent the straight flush.

  There’s an eight, nine, and ten of spades on the flop. I’ve got the nuts with the jack and queen of the same suit. Tourist just lost credibility.

  I think about Wynn, and maybe my luck won’t tank altogether.

  “So tell me about the girl,” Lucas says. “I hear you’ve spared no expense for her. Rumors around here say she may earn the title of Mrs. Any truth to it?”

  The two of hearts is on the turn.

  “Why? Are you taking notes?” I raise.

  “Not even.” Lucas rolls his eyes and folds. “So she’s from Chicago.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Is it serious?” he continues.

  I know why he’s asking.

  “Tell Isaac that Wynn’s having a show next Saturday.” I can’t help myself. I’m the devil he knows so I say, “Wynn and I hope to see him there.”

  It happens just like that and it’s that easy.

  I’m all-in, staking a claim and making it count.

  When I push away from the table and stare down at Fifth Street, it hits me. I’m laying everything on the line now and it’s not for a bet that left me well positioned. It’s for a beautiful woman who had me wrapped around her little finger long before first introductions.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I never should’ve let her leave Vegas without me.

  TELLS

  Wynn

  I feel better reaching Chicago.

  “Look at you!” Gina greets me as soon as I step off the plane.

  Rachel is there, too.

  My girls circle me and I almost cry. I’d forgotten how much I need my friends nearby, not because I look at them as a support system. It’s not that at all. I need them because life is sort of empty without them.

  “So tell us,” Rachel says, popping the trunk so the pilot can store my luggage. “How was Vegas?”

  “You’ve talked to Livvy?”

  “Of course she’s talked to Livvy,” Gina says. “I’ve talked to Livvy.”

  “She’s your sister-in-law,” I say. I turn and smile at the pilot. “Thank you for a lovely flight.”

  I start to tip him but Rachel shakes her head. Once he’s gone, she says, “Cullen’s already taken care of it. Saint would flip if I tipped his pilots. I’m sure Cullen is no different.”

  “Cullen?” I gasp. “How do you know about Cullen?”

  “That’s not the right question.” Rachel scowls, then looks at Gina. “Questions are overrated anyway. An apology is in order. Don’t you think? Wynn! You flew in on Cullen Carmichael’s Citation X!”

  “Oh absolutely,” Gina teases, lowering her voice. “Are you insane? You go to Vegas with Cullen Fucking Carmichael? What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Rachel sighs as if she detects the sorrow in my voice. “He’s the hot guy from the underground casino. Isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, that’s understandable,” Gina admits with a waggle of her brows.

  “Don’t tell Tahoe she said that,” Rachel says, starting the car as soon as we’re all buckled up and ready to go.

  “Oh, Tahoe knows he’s way hotter.” Her eyes flicker dreamily. “Trust me. He isn’t worried.”

  “Why would he be?” Rachel laughs. “I mean, do you guys ever get out of bed?”

  “Shh. This isn’t about my sex life.” She shoves her thumb past her shoulder, indicating me. “It’s all Wynn. And Cullen.”

  Hearing his name makes me long for my Silver Eyes. I debate if I should keep some of our more explicit moments to myself. It seems wrong to talk about them when there are so many unresolved feelings, emotions boiling right under the surface and threatening to make me implode.

  “So . . . tell us everything!” Gina turns sideways to look at me in the backseat.

  “He’s . . .” I sigh. “Perfect.”

  “Oh no,” Rachel groans. “Please tell us you didn’t go to Vegas to get over Emmett and came back in love!”

  Outside, the sky flickers with the occasional star and I feel nostalgic. I wonder what Cullen’s doing. Hoping he’ll win his poker game. So it will all be worth it.

  “Anyone in there?” Gina waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello??
??

  “I’m a mess.” I state the obvious.

  Rachel adjusts her mirror. “Wynn. Tell us you’re not totally in love.”

  My eyes feel suddenly stingy and I’m sure it’s some sort of allergy I picked up during the flight. I blink a little, and huff, and I’m almost ready to tell them everything, tell them how I had it all and threw it away because of my fears and Cullen not really being into this like I am but then my phone rings.

  “Hang on,” I say to the girls. “It’s probably Mom. I haven’t talked to her since I left for Vegas.”

  “Hello?”

  “Wynn?”

  My heart drops. “Emmett?”

  “Yeah, can you talk?”

  I blink and glance frantically around the car at my friends, holding my breath when Rachel pulls over. She parks the car and she and Gina turn around to read my face.

  “Actually, Emmett, I think we’ve both said what we needed to say,” I state, deliberately slowly, into the phone.

  And I do something I’ve never done in my life. I pull my cheek away and press the “end call” button.

  “That was Emmett?” Gina cries, clearly glad I hung up and equally shocked about it.

  I feel a strange twinge in my heart. Because it wasn’t the male voice I wanted to hear on the other end of the line.

  Ugh.

  I glance down at my phone as it buzzes.

  And it’s a text. From Emmett again.

  We need to talk.

  I reread the text, my stomach tied up in knots of anger. I mean, really? Does he have nerve or what?

  “What does he want?” the girls ask.

  I stretch out my phone and show them the text.

  “Wow, the nerve of him,” Gina says.

  My stomach hurts when I remember. “I’m physically repulsed by the idea of being romantically involved with him again.”

  “What’s done is done, what you grew from the experience is grown. What he showed is shown. It’s over. Don’t answer,” Rachel says.

  I pause. “Should I answer something short and nasty?” I consider it. I really do.

  “Why open a window for discussion? The end will be the same. You’re over him. He threw you away, and you’re finally back on your feet,” Gina says.