34. 34
It’s late when we get back to the loft. But Delaney isn’t tired… and since there are no other rooms up here, I’m apparently not tired either.
“We could play poker,” she says, kneeling on my bed, her hair in that big bun on top of her head. Her pajama shorts hit her mid-thigh, and I’m doing my best to be a gentleman. While I’m not looking for a relationship, I’m also not blind.
“Sure. Okay.” I pull a pack of playing cards from my top dresser drawer.
“Cards in the sock drawer. I like your style, Bailey.”
“It’s the only place for them, Jones.” I toss her the deck and tug off my T-shirt, ready to put on one that doesn’t smell like the bar and grill we spent three hours in. I slip the clean shirt over my head in time to see Delaney watching me. She’s staring.
I tug my shirt down—I’m not used to an audience. I probably should have changed in the bathroom.
“Miles Bailey, you’ve got hidden abs?”
I scoff. “I don’t exactly hide them. I just don’t walk around shirtless all day.”
“Hm.” The right edge of her mouth curls upward. “Too bad.”
My cheeks warm with a blush, one that only Delaney can produce. I’m not normally a blushing school kid—unless I’m near my wife, that is.
“Okay,” she says, sliding the cards from their case and shuffling. “Texas Hold‘em or Five-card draw?”
I sit on the bed across from her. “Texas Hold‘em.”
“What are you betting?” She shuffles and deals, her eyes drawing up to mine with the question.
“Ah—” I shake my head. “I don’t own any chips.”
“We don’t need chips. My dad taught me to play, and I lost my favorite guitar pick to him. You can bet anything. But be wise.” She lifts one brow. “You do have to bet.”
My brows furrow a little. “What are you betting?”
“I’ve got twenty-two dollars in cash and a package of gummy bears.”
“You mean you aren’t betting that?” I point to the rainbow charm around her neck.
“This? No way! This necklace is my lucky charm, Miles Bailey. It doesn’t leave my neck.”
I laugh, happy that I can rile her up every now and then. “Wait a second—the package of gummy bears I bought you earlier today? You’re betting that?”
“Only one gummy at a time.” She lifts one shoulder. “They’re mine.”
I grab Alice’s bag of MMs and open them up. I pay my ante and she offers hers, starting with dollar bills rather than gummy bears.
I peek down at my two of diamonds and six of clubs. “Your dad really took your guitar pick?”
“Oh yeah. Robert Jones does not mess around when it comes to cards. It doesn’t matter if you’re an eight-year-old girl.”
She ups the bet and I toss in three more MMs.
“When did you first start playing?”
“The guitar or poker?” She grins.
“Guitar,” I say, though I’m sure she knew what I meant. I’m learning that my wife likes to tease.
“Dad won my first guitar at one of his gambling nights. Mom was so mad.” My eyes go wide. “In fact, I’m not sure I would have picked the thing up except that it really ticked her off.” She breathes out a small laugh. “What was the big deal? It was a guitar. I couldn’t figure out why she cared so much. So, I watched YouTube and started playing. I quickly fell in love—I no longer needed the motivation of annoying my mother. I moved on to the bass a couple years later. I fell in love with Bill Lee.”
“Who?”
“He’s a bass player. Danny Thompson made me love folk, though.” She stares off, one card in her hand, ready to flip. A small, pleasant sigh escapes her with the memory before she throws down the next card—queen of hearts. “Danny plays bass too.”
“So, you’ve always liked folk?”
“Always,” she says. She lays out another card—jack of hearts. “When did you start painting?”
“I’ll raise by two,” I say, tossing in my MMs, bluffing all the way. “I don’t remember not painting. Mom said I used to paint with my baby food as a toddler in my high chair.”
She smiles, her full lips parting so sweetly. Lips that are easy to recall the sensation of. “I believe that,” she says.
We play and talk until midnight, until my king-size bag of candy is empty and Delaney has eaten half her package of gummy bears.
She’s won it all. I am candy-less. I have to go to bed before I end up gambling away something I’ll regret.