Chapter Eight #3
Finley promised to think about it, then returned his full attention to his hand.
Interest waned when the food ran out and the same two players battled for the win each time.
One by one, the guys shuffled out of the room in search of better entertainment or bed.
Ivan held out the longest, probably acting as chaperone, but even he waved them a goodnight and lumbered down the hall to his bedroom around midnight.
And they played on. The stack of chips between Kieran and Finley was even.
Neither of them seemed brave enough to risk going all in.
Was it because they preferred to play it safe or because their night would end if one of them won it all?
Tension built in the room with each hand.
Their fingers brushed when dealing cards, their feet bumped under the table, and they stared at one another when not studying their cards.
Finley had lost the glasses and hood halfway through the night because he couldn’t see worth a shit and Kieran amped up his body temperature, making his head itchy and sweaty.
Kieran chewed the corner of his mouth while looking at his hand.
Finley had thought it was a tell at first, but the assumption had cost him a ton of chips.
He focused on his hand and didn’t worry about anything else.
Neither had a pair of jacks to open the first round, a pair of queens to open the second, nor a pair of kings to open up the third deal.
The next hand required a pair of aces to open the betting, and Finley only had one—the ace of hearts.
He also had the ten and queen of hearts, which was a good start toward a royal flush, but it wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good if Kieran couldn’t open the bet.
He could technically open with a bluff, but it was pretty damn risky.
He looked up and found dark eyes locked on him.
Finley didn’t have a clue if he planned to open or not.
Saying nothing, Kieran scooted a tall stack of chips to the center of the table.
It was the boldest move he’d made all evening.
Maybe he was ready to call it a night. Finley could either place an equal bet or fold.
He looked at his cards again. The chances of landing a royal flush were slim, but he reminded himself they weren’t playing for real money.
Finley pushed the same size stack of chips to the center and followed it with another.
Kieran pursed his lips and studied his cards. Their eyes met again as Kieran matched his bet.
Finley picked up the deck of cards and said, “How many?” Kieran removed one card from his hand and slid it facedown across the table.
Finley swallowed hard, realizing his chances didn’t look good.
He dealt the card to Kieran before removing the two off-suit cards from his hand.
“The dealer takes two,” he announced. He snapped the top two cards off the pile in front of him and held his breath when he lifted the corners up for a peek.
Holy shit. He had the jack and king of hearts to make a royal flush.
It became nearly impossible for him to squelch his excitement.
He glanced up and caught Kieran watching him intently. The man didn’t reveal a single thought in his expression or body language. How was that possible? The longer they stared at each other, the harder it became for Finley to remain still and quiet.
“You look so damn smug right now, Eight Mile,” Kieran said. “I should fold.”
Finley placed his elbow on the table and leaned forward. “Why don’t you?”
Kieran pushed the rest of his chips into the center of the table, leaving Finley with only one choice. He added his remaining stash to the kitty and smiled at Kieran and said, “That’s that.”
“Or is it?” Kieran asked.
Finley cocked his head to the side. “Are you suggesting an additional bet?”
Kieran bit his bottom lip and nodded. Finley nearly broke out in a sweat, and his mind raced with the dirtiest wagers he could think of. Win or lose, he wanted to be on his knees for Kieran. “I’m game for anything.” He sounded breathy and bratty.
Kieran swallowed hard and shifted slightly in his chair. “Loser takes the winner’s kitchen duties for a week.” Finley huffed out a sigh of disappointment, earning a smirk. “Too risky?” Kieran asked.
“Too tame,” Finley countered. “But I’ll take it.”
Kieran kept his cool as he laid his cards down to reveal a full house.
“Not bad,” Finley said, then showed his royal flush.
Kieran’s lips parted in surprise. “I don’t believe it.”
“Doesn’t make it less real,” Finley said as he leaned forward and raked in his fake loot. “’Cause I’m damn good.”
“Yeah, you are.” Kieran’s voice was husky and raw, and Finley swore he heard that coyote howling again.
“Tuesday,” he whispered.
Kieran blinked. “Huh?”
“That’s my next day of kitchen duties.”
“Oh, yeah,” he replied, pushing back from the table. Finley stood up when Kieran did, though he didn’t know why, and when Kieran exited the dining room, Finley followed. Kieran turned and faced him at the front door. “I should stay and help you clean up.”
“No way,” Finley replied. He could see the protest forming on Kieran’s lips and needed to thwart him.
He suspected Kieran had made the offer because he was reluctant to part ways too.
Finley was teetering on the precipice like his stupid blue jockstrap on the mountain of laundry.
One false move and he and all his effort would topple onto the concrete. “That wasn’t part of the wager.”
They simultaneously reached for the door handle and their hands collided and lingered.
Finley snapped up his gaze to meet Kieran’s and saw the awareness flickering there too.
They both took a half step closer, and Finley felt Kieran’s body heat radiating off him.
The battle of needs and wants waged inside him until he couldn’t tell which category Kieran fell into.
Did he want to kiss him or did he need it?
Kieran took a deep breath, then stepped back and dropped his hand from on top of Finley’s.
“I had a great time, Eight Mile,” he whispered.
“I did too, Kier.”
“You’re as good as advertised,” Kieran replied with a teasing lift at the corner of his mouth.
“Not bad for my first time.”
Kieran narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking with me.”
Finley quirked a brow and released the wickedest smile in his arsenal as he opened the front door. “You’d know it if I were. Sleep well.”
Kieran’s nostrils flared with his sharp inhale. “Sleep well,” he replied hoarsely.
Finley stood in the open doorway and watched him walk across the porch. When he reached the top step, he said, “Would you like to go to the art festival with me next weekend?”
Kieran stiffened but didn’t turn around. Finley hadn’t planned to say it, but he couldn’t exactly take it back. He could clarify that he meant the trip as a friendly excursion only.
“Yes,” Kieran said, then continued down the steps. “Goodnight.”
“’Night.”
Finley shut the door and leaned against the cool wood.
What the hell just happened? And not just the parting bit.
He’d cleaned house at poker, gotten out of kitchen duties for the week, and made plans with Kieran the following weekend.
“What the hell just happened?” This time he voiced his thoughts out loud.
“Sounds to me like you ended your dry spell and have a date for next weekend,” Dylan replied.
Finley flinched and jerked his head toward the staircase where Dylan stood in a pair of boxers and a tank top.
“Not a date,” Finley told him.
Just two guys going to town to enjoy an art festival. Now he just needed to convince his heart.