Skyler
Kip Jackson is about as subtle as a fog horn in a museum.
I somehow managed to make it to the small poker tournament I originally had planned before Erin saddled me into the date auction.
The only problem is that Kip wiggled his way into my cab, too.
And now, on top of my plan of getting Clinton’s Little, Josh, to buy me tonight so that I wouldn’t be stuck playing Erin’s game anymore falling through, I’m also stuck with Kip distracting me from the bar while I’m trying to focus on winning the next hand.
He doesn’t fit in, not in this little shit hole bar.
It’s closed off to the public, only accessible with a secret password, and the clientele are far from anything remotely close to Kip.
Everything in here is dark — the lighting, the liquor, the tattoos on the guy sitting at the bar, eyeing me like a snake now that I’ve taken his money and booted him out of the tournament.
It’s okay that my bright pink dress stands out — hell, it even plays in my favor, since distracting the other players and playing up my naiveté is part of my poker game.
But Kip? He needs to blend in, to not cause a scene.
And he’s failing.
Not too long into the game, I beat out one of the toughest players at the table with a flush, one he thought was a bluff.
He, of course, threw a big fit about his loss, which I’m used to.
But Kip looked like he was about to jump out of his skin and across the bar to pummel the guy when it all went down.
I had to shoot lasers at him with my eyes to get him to sit back down.
Now, an hour later, and it’s down to just me and the guy I’ve been strategically flirting with all night — Luke. He’s dressed pretty fratty in his khaki shorts straight from The Gap and his bro tank, complete with dark Oakley sunglasses and a ball cap turned around backward on his fat head.
He’s had his eyes on me all night, and though I’ve been playing into his flirting banter, it’s pure strategy — he doesn’t have a shot in hell with me.
Still, I’m a little nervous now that I’ve just called his bet. He’s all in, which means if I win this hand, I win it all — one step closer to paying off my entry fee for the APC tournament. But if he wins, I’m down to just twelve-hundred dollars to try to battle back to the top with.
Luke’s been making comments about me being Barbie all night — which I can’t really blame him for, seeing as how I’m still sporting the bright pink dress the girls dressed me in for the auction.
Still, I can’t resist the urge to throw that shit back in his face when he lays his hand down, smug as hell.
He has a straight, and that’s all fine and dandy.
But I’ve got a four of a kind.
“Oh, Ken,” I tease. “Barbie never bluffs.”
Spreading the cards out on the table, I reveal my hand, and my opponent’s jaw drops as the tiny bar erupts in a mixture of laughter and applause.
I graciously accept the congratulations from those who offer, quickly swiping up the envelope with my cash in it as soon as the dealer places it in front of me.
I need to get out of here — need to get Kip out of here — and fast.
“That was a good game,” the dealer says as I stand and tuck the envelope of cash in my clutch. “You know, you look familiar. Do you play a lot around here?”
I quickly shake my head. “No, but I have a familiar face. A lot of people think they know me.”
I know he doesn’t believe me, but thankfully, he doesn’t push further. “I guess that’s it. Well, at any rate, good job tonight.”
I thank him, glancing at Kip briefly to let him know it’s time to go before I make my way toward the door.
My one, explicit rule for allowing him to come with me to the tournament was that he stay cool and pretend like he doesn’t know me.
If these guys found out it was me, Skyler Thorne, one of the hottest women in poker who came to clear out their pockets at a tiny little tournament, we’d have trouble.
Somehow, we’ve managed to skate by without anyone noticing, but I still won’t feel at ease until we’re back in a cab.
“Wait a second,” Luke says, blocking my exit as he grabs my arm. “You’re Skyler, aren’t you?”
Though my heart skips at his recognition, I rip my arm free, stepping around him with ease. “Nope, I’m Barbie, remember?”
Luke grabs my arm again, but before I can defend myself, Kip is sprinting across the room.
“Don’t touch her,” he growls out, and I internally groan.
Damn it, Kip.
While I want to admit that it’s a little hot how possessive his icy blue eyes are as he pins Luke with them, I’m more than a little aggravated. We need to get out of this bar without causing a scene, and this is not how we do it.
“Who the fuck are you?” Luke asks when Kip steps into his space.
“He’s leaving,” I say quickly. “We both are. Let’s go,” I say to Kip next, shoving him toward the door.
“Hey, I thought we were going out after this,” Luke says, his arm wrapping around my waist from behind. “You just hustled me, the least you can do is put out tonight.”
I narrow my eyes, ready to lay into him, but my blond-haired, blue-eyed bull dog attacks before I can.
Kip shoves Luke back, hard, sending him flying into the poker table. The chips scatter in his wake, a drink splashing over the side and onto the felt, and then all hell breaks loose.
“Take that shit outside!” the dealer yells.
“Yeah, let’s go, playboy.” Luke pushes himself off the table, launching at Kip, who rushes toward him, too.
I throw my hands out just in time to catch Kip’s advance, shoving him back toward the door as I grit through my teeth. “Go. Now.”
“I’m not going to let this asshole put his hands all over you.”
Swoon.
Ugh, stop it, Skyler.
I shove Kip harder, making him stumble back toward the door.
Once we’re safely outside, the little bit of weakness Kip gave me with his possessiveness morphs back into annoyed anger.
There’s a cab waiting, one Kip was instructed to call at the end of the tournament, and I climb inside it, immediately smacking his chest once the door is closed behind us.
“What the fuck, Kip?! You almost screwed everything up!”
“I wasn’t just going to stand there and watch that shit happen, Skyler!” he says, his breath hot on my skin.
Our bodies are too close, and I scoot away, putting distance between us in the backseat.
“I don’t care if you did take that douchebag’s money, he shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”
Do not swoon. Do not give in.
“I told you, I can handle myself,” I remind him, crossing my arms and looking out the window. I don’t know if I’m more frustrated at the fact that he almost blew the tournament for me, or at the fact that I still desperately want him, except now, I’m not allowed to have him.
Now, I have to play him like a game of poker — right into my Big’s hands.
“I don’t need you to save me, Kip,” I say quieter.
For a while, we sit in silence, and I try to let that truth sink in. Kip is not mine, he never will be mine. And now, I’m stuck in a game I never intended to play, with a heart who doesn’t even realize it’s in the game, too.
Great.
“Hey,” Kip says after a while, reaching over to place one hand on my thigh. Warmth spreads from that point of contact down to my toes, and I fight the urge to shiver. “Listen, I’m sorry.”
I smack his hand away. “Whatever.”
“Shit, Skyler,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m into you, okay?”
My heart squeezes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t sit back and let some Abercrombie model-wannabe molest you. Next time, I’ll back off. Just, come on, I don’t want to end the night like this. Come home with me.”
At that, my eyes widen.
“Are you serious?” I ask, finally facing him again.
“Not like that,” he clarifies quickly, his hands up like he comes in peace.
Yeah, right. That motherfucker came in like a hurricane.
“It’s almost four in the morning and I know you’ve got to be hungry. Let me make us breakfast.”
As if on cue, my stomach growls, reminding me that I didn’t even eat before the auction because my nerves were so shot.
Still, I haven’t had time to digest the night, to digest the fact that my big plan of having Josh win me in the auction backfired, and now Erin’s little game is in place — with me as the pawn.
I turn toward the window again, hoping he’ll just drop it, but Kip scoots closer to me, instead. He sets his chin on my shoulder, his big, puppy dog eyes begging me through the reflection in the glass.
“I make killer chocolate chip waffles.”
I try not to smile, but he’s just so damn adorable, it’s practically impossible.
“I’ll strip down to my boxers and wear an apron for you,” he adds, and I pinch my lips together, still trying to fight.
Kip leans in a little closer, his voice just a whisper in my ear with his next sentence.
“What if I told you I had bacon?”
I can’t help it — I laugh. Kip knows he’s won, but still, I shove him away, shaking my head. “You’re the biggest nerd, you know that?”
“I’ve been called worse. So,” he says, eyes hopeful. “Waffles and bacon? Please? I promise to keep my hands to myself and you can punch me if I start to annoy you.”
I sigh, debating my options. I really am hungry, and as much as I want time to figure out what the hell to do with my feelings toward Kip, I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t want to spend more time with him.
“Fine,” I concede. “But only because I love bacon.”