CHAPTER 5
QUINCY
It’s not easy keeping my composure while sitting next to the hulking man in leather. His shoulders are large and broad, and the way the leather cut he’s wearing molds around his chest is delicious. And distracting.
His black hair is slicked back from his face where he’s pulled it back into a braid while the sides of his head are shaved closer to his scalp. I can’t even think about how the shirt he’s wearing stretches across his chest.
I’m sure his arms would feel solid around me. If only he didn’t scream bad boy playboy at the top of his damn lungs without even trying.
I don’t need that kind of complication in my life.
He would make a nice distraction.
While that may be true, distractions don’t last. That’s kind of the point. My problems would still be there when I come up for air.
But he was also adorable when he said I was prettier in person than in my movies. There was something vulnerable about his words, a blurted secret he had no intention of sharing but couldn’t hold in. I’m not sure how to take the way my heart flutters as I sit next to him.
Buying-in goes quickly and gives me something to focus on other than the man next to me. Ace.
I’ve watched the shows. I’ve read the books—because there isn’t always a lot to do on set—and I know that’s not his name. But it does make me curious.
I can’t say I’ve ever spent time with a biker. There’s something about him, layers I can sense but can’t see. Something tells me he’s used to being what people expect because it’s easier.
Or maybe I’m just projecting.
I glance at the cards that have landed in front of me and focus on them, not reaching for the drink Donald delivered before slinking away. I’ll probably end up folding but can use the hand to get a read on the people I’m playing with.
Especially Ace. The way he’s almost curled his body around mine, even with some distance between us, feels protective in a way I’m not ready to examine.
One thing I know for sure is that he’s younger than me. Enough to make me wonder just how old he is. It’s hard not to eye him while trying not to make it obvious.
He chuckles and I wonder if he can read my mind. It’s hard to focus on the action at the table, but I force myself to get through the first hand, folding before the river is dealt.
“I have to say,” Ace’s voice easily carries to me, “even though I’m sitting next to you at a poker table, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a player.”
One side of my mouth curls up and our gazes clash. “It’s one of the things my dad taught me. He loves any card game,” I share easily.
My lips press together as I try to hide my surprise that I shared so much with him in only two sentences. What the hell is going on?
“I learned out of necessity. Sometimes you have to place a bet to get what you need,” there’s something dark in his voice, but his words are also laced with pain.
His blue eyes darken the longer we look at each other. The dealer clearing their throat is the only thing that breaks the spell between us. Fucking hell.
This guy is potent. There’s something about him, a depth under what he allows everyone to see.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry even though I don’t reach for the drink Donald delivered. Still.
And I won’t. Because I don’t trust him.
Once we both look at our hands and place our bets, I can’t help but look at Ace out of the corner of my eye. He’s close, but I wish he was closer. It’s not a feeling I’m used to when around men.
I usually prefer they keep their distance.
But right now, I’m craving the heat I know would be coming off his body.
When I push after the flop, the man on the other side of Ace folds. Another two at the table, who both seem more interested in the women at the bar than their cards, follow. I bet and Ace raises without batting an eye.
There’s no way I’m letting this hand go and I’m more than willing to match him. It feels like a challenge which isn’t just about the table we’re sitting at. It’s something else.
I’m confident this hand is mine at the turn and I bet accordingly. Ace doesn’t miss the chance to see how this ends, calling without hesitation.
When I look at him, he’s looking at me already. His blue eyes are intense. It’s a challenge not to smile.
I have zero shame when I can finally claim the pot as my own, showing my two pair without gloating about it. Ace smirks like he knew what was in my hand right along with me and just wanted to see if I’d ride it out or collapse.
“Nice hand, Hollywood,” Ace murmurs.
His words wrap around me, and I feel one side of my mouth twitch. “Hollywood?” I can’t help but ask.
“Seems fitting,” he tells me with a shrug. His eyes cut to the side and his voice deepens slightly, “How about we get you a new drink at the bar.”
It doesn’t sound like an offer, not really. It sounds like a demand which he’s not quite willing to dress up that way. Or maybe he’s hoping he doesn’t have to.
“Sure,” I agree and slide my hand into his when he offers it.
The same feeling rolls through my body that it did the first time. It’s a heat that scorches me from the inside out. I want more of the feeling; I want it to consume me.
Once I’m standing, he releases my hand and there’s a split second when I feel profoundly bereft to point it leaves me unsteady, but then his large hand finds my lower back. His touch is steady and warm. It makes me feel invincible and fragile at the same time. How is that even possible?
“What brings you to Vegas, Quincy Wells?” His deep voice wraps around me, urging me to answer with all the honesty I can usually keep wrapped up tight in the smallest parts of me. “LA traffic getting to you?”
I huff out a chuckle under my breath and eye the man next to me as we sidle up to the bar. He orders two club sodas and watches every move the bartender makes. It’s intense. And far too hot for my own good.
“If you want to boil it all down to the traffic, be my guest,” my voice is on the edge of being performative.
His blue eyes, icy in some ways while still managing to sparkle with mirth, find mine. He doesn’t call me on it, even though he knows. Some of the tightness in my chest eases; a sensation I’ve been chasing for far too long while finding no relief.
He leans closer, his voice rumbling out of his chest, “How about you tell me the real reason.”
“I just needed a change,” I admit, my words quiet but hold a sincerity I can’t seem to hold back when it comes to this man.
“I think what you really you need is an adventure.” My eyes dart down and take in the way his lips curl up into a grin which doesn’t give too much away. His blue eyes trip over my body, pure temptation in an intense gaze. “I’d be happy to give you all the excitement you could ever want.”
I almost want to laugh at his offer, but there’s something else in the way he’s looking at me. Something raw and unfiltered, something real. It makes me want to find out what it all means and who this man really is.
I don’t think for a second that the only interesting thing about him is the cut he’s wearing. A lot of women might think it’s true, but it means they didn’t bother looking any closer. Which is a shame.
Or maybe not, considering I’m the one inhaling the subtly spicy scent of his cologne.
“An adventure?” I challenge him, one eyebrow arching and asking so much more than my single question ever could.
The sly smile and the way he cuts his eyes to the side to sweep over the room, like he’s protecting me and watching my back, has me curious about what it would be like to truly trust Ace. Would he let me down?
Like so many others have.
Would he break my heart? The bad boy thing he has going on, complete with a motorcycle which roars just as much as it purrs, makes it feel like a real possibility.
I can feel eyes on me, but that’s nothing new. People always want to look. They think paying for a ticket to see one of my movies means they have access, that they’ve paid for the privilege of looking at me all the time.
“Yeah, Hollywood,” he slides his arm around my waist, his body pressing against mine. His mouth lowers toward my ear and his breaths fan across my skin.
He’s solid. Strong. Sure.
“Donald has been bragging about getting you here tonight,” his lips barely move, his voice low enough so no one else can hear him. And I hang on every word. “He was talking about wanting you at his game once it was announced you’d be at the tournament.”
He pulls back just enough to search my eyes. I have no idea what he’s looking for. I’m not sure I want him to find it either.
“I overheard him at one of the poker rooms at Elysium.” My eyebrows furrow together slightly, my confusion overriding everything else.
What does that have to do with me? “My club owns Elysium and I’ve been known to oversee the private rooms. They’re exclusive and Donald loves to impress his friends.
” He pauses as if weighing his next words.
“Donald wants to get you into his bed. I’m glad you didn’t touch the drink he brought to you. ”
My blood runs cold and I want to jerk away from Ace, to put some distance between me and his words even though it won’t change the truth in them.
“I was never going to drink it. I don’t trust him,” I murmur, my words too damn soft for the setting we’re in. Yet, I feel just as breakable as they sound.
“You have good instincts. You should trust them.” His head tilts to one side. “What do your instincts tell you about me?”
When I don’t answer right away, mostly because saying the words out loud are ridiculous, a slow smile grows on his face. The way his blue eyes sparkle tells me he knows exactly what my gut is telling me about him. And he likes it.
“It’s your eyes that give you away, Hollywood,” his voice feels like a caress.
“Most people probably don’t pay attention because it doesn’t serve them.
” He pauses like he’s not sure if he should say his next words out loud, but I’m desperate for them.
Finally, he murmurs, “I’ll always pay attention. ”
The way I know his promise means something makes my breath hitch. I blink a few times as I look at the man in front of me.
He’s too young for me.
He’s too rough for me.
He’s too much trouble for me.
I left LA looking for some sort of escape. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, considering I was thinking more about stability than the feeling of being pulled down by quicksand. It’s unnerving.
I’ve never felt more alive.
The air between us crackles with something that grows and looms larger with every breath we take. I can’t seem to look away from his eyes, even though I want to.
“Always?” I sass him, needing my attitude to be a shield against him. “That’s big talk for a biker I met at an underground poker game.”
“If that’s the version of the story you want to go with, that’s fine with me,” he tells me, his eyes darkening while something shifts behind them. Something I don’t think I can examine right now.
“It’s the version I know,” I shoot back.
He makes a humming sound before his lips brush the shell of my ear. His words are a plea I’m not prepared for, “Let me take you out of here? Let me show you how I find freedom.”
How does he know what I’m searching for? What my soul yearns for?
I swallow hard, the tips of his fingers dig into my flesh, reminding me of the way he’s holding me. As if I could ever forget.
He surrounds me completely. It’s comforting. It’s maddening.
I can’t remember the last time I allowed someone to be this close to me when there wasn’t some sort of scene involved and cameras rolling. It’s different.
Ace didn’t ask permission to touch me. He didn’t think twice before pulling me close. I should be running from him.
But I like the way he touches me. Struggling and stepping away never crossed my mind; the thought of it is abhorrent. The last thing I want to do is run.
Which means there’s only one thing to do. And it aligns perfectly with my whole vibe for my time here.
“Yes.”
The word lands between us and Ace’s body tenses. His eyes find mine and bore into me.
“Show me how you find freedom, Ace,” my voice is soft, coaxing in a way I don’t normally allow.
“Hawkins,” he whispers. “The only name you’ll ever call me again is Hawkins, Quincy.”
I nod slowly, a lump forming in my throat which I can’t explain. I consider, as he leads us out of the room, a huff coming from behind us that I’m sure belongs to Donald, maybe I don’t need to explain it. Maybe I can just feel and see what happens.
Maybe something in my life doesn’t have to be about my entire existence being about my brand and my career. I’m not even sure I want it anymore.
I think I would rather just be free.