Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Sometime later. How long?
Long enough for our girl to get bored
all over again.
I tapped the back of my nail against the table— it was a sign of annoyance . And not a tell. I didn’t have any tells. What I did have was another winning hand.
I didn’t have to see the other side of their cards to know tonight’s crowd was choking on more than the tobacco that darkened their lungs. I loved poker, but I hated the stench of cigar smoke that came with it. Almost like these assholes didn’t know how to play the game without a cancer stick shoved between their lips. Or maybe it had more to do with an oral fixation.
In that case, I’d give them something to suck on.
I flicked my eyes up at the man sitting across from me, over the yellowing of his teeth and the crumbs that had made a nest in his beard.
Or maybe not.
The image of letting that mouth anywhere near my lady parts had my pussy clamping shut and closing up shop. Not that she had any customers currently trying to knock the door down.
I slammed my strawberry daiquiri onto the table at the thought. And immediately regretted it. It wasn’t the bartender’s fault I was wound so tight. It was mine. Sorta.
I guess you could say I was having a bit of a dry spell, and it had nothing to do with how much cash I was raking in every night and everything to do with the fact I hadn’t been properly fucked since the last time I wore this green dress. I didn’t wear the same thing twice, and not because I was wasteful. It was just smarter to change things up. Eye color, hair color, sometimes height— finally found a good use for those god-awful six-inch heels, even if I risked an ankle with each step I took in them.
Today, I’d broken that rule. Call me superstitious, but I thought this dress might bring me a little luck. Instead, all I was getting was a headache and a pair of singed eyebrows.
I didn’t look up when a figure darkened the seat next to mine. I didn’t need to. The men here were all the same. Old, married, creepy. With the kind of bloodshot eyes that leered much longer than was polite whenever I leaned over the table to toss in another chip. Couldn’t fault them though. I had nice… assets . The sort that kept the male gaze from focusing too hard on my sleight of hand.
I didn’t cheat to win. I didn’t have to. I just let the game play out a little longer when the pot was too small, the table too empty—or let’s be honest, when I was just plain bored and wanted to fuck with someone. Kind of like right now.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you… Rosalind,” a deep, baritone voice whispered next to my ear the moment my fingertips danced over the card I planned to tuck into my sleeve.
I’d never been caught before, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about what I would do if I ever found myself in this predicament. Besides, I enjoyed improvising. There was a certain thrill that came with it.
Which was why I still didn’t bother looking up as those same fingertips dropped from the card in my sleeve and trailed up the stranger’s thigh. He knew my name. Which I admit was a little unnerving. Then again, a quick glance at the ID I had to use to sign in could have told him that.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” I asked as my gaze danced over the custom stitching of his suit, the gold buttons of his jacket, and the crisp seams of his dress shirt before landing on a jaw that was so sharp and tense it could cut a girl’s pussy in two.
“Do you know me?” he hissed. “I would like to think so… Perhaps the wallet you stole would help jar that shit memory of yours?”
“Oh, yeah, I remember you now.” I grinned, grabbing onto the guy’s jacket and smoothing out the slight wrinkle in his lapel.
His arm snapped out before his palm quickly closed around my wrist. Keeping me just out of reach and halting my movements. He didn’t trust me. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t trust me either. Especially right now.
“But the way I see it… I didn’t steal shit, Mr. Bettencourt. I simply took what was owed to me after I sold ya my V-card. Would you like to buy it again?”