Chapter 13
MAX
It was Friday.
Poker night.
I tapped my index fingers against the worn green felt, feeling it catch slightly on the calluses I’d built up over the months. Four men sat across from me. Most were Liam’s men I knew by face, not by name. They sat hunched over the table, with eyes darting from their cards to each other.
Then the door creaked open, letting a sliver of light in.
“Hi,” came a soft voice.
I froze. I knew that voice all too well. It was the one I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I tried.
All eyes turned to the door except mine. I didn’t need to look to know Rosalie was standing there. But that didn’t stop me from doing so anyway.
“Is everything all right?” Liam asked.
She lifted her hand absently, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. I caught sight of her nails. They were painted a shade darker than last time, now a deep burgundy. I liked them.
“Yeah. Daisy needed Sean’s help with a bunny in the yard.”
“A bunny?”
Rosalie shrugged. “Something about its leg,” she explained, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. “Anyway, Daisy got Sean involved, and he asked me to sub for him.”
Liam’s scowl deepened. He sighed. “Of course, of course. Take a seat next to Max. We were just about to start.”
There was a lump in my throat. These tests . . . I was doomed to fail.
Much to my dismay, Rosalie strode up behind me, pulling out the chair directly beside mine. Liam started to ramble on and on about things that no longer mattered to me now his daughter was here.
“Hi, Max,” she whispered as she sat down in the chair. I could hardly hear her over the men surrounding us. They were loud. It must be an Irish thing.
I took in a deep breath. I let it out. “Hi . . . Rosalie,” I murmured.
Her cheeks went pink.
Cute.
I could smell her perfume—the one that smelled like cherries. It drove me crazy.
Her slim fingers rested on the arm of the chair. Her rings were gold, a few with red gems. Her attention drifted from my eyes, then to the cigarette placed between my fingers. Her eyes rolled. Of course.
Then she did something that shocked me. She moved her arm on top of mine, which was on my chair, and took the cigarette between her fingers.
Rosalie hated smoking. I’d heard her rant about it more than once.
Yet here she was, taking a drag from my cigarette with her full, perfectly lined red lips wrapped around the bud like she didn’t give a damn.
She blew the smoke in my face.
I swallowed, the taste of smoke on my lips. The corners of my mouth tugged upward. She was pushing my buttons, and damn, was she good at it.
“What are you doing?” I wondered.
She smirked. “I’m here to play a game of poker. Are you any good?”
“Are you?” I asked, taking the cigarette back between my fingers.
She nodded. Her chest rose. The Chanel pendant on her necklace swayed gently, catching the dim light.
“What about a little side bet, just between you and me?” she asked. The challenge in her voice had me curious.
“And what are you betting?”
She leaned in slightly, afraid of being overheard. “Fifty bucks says you’ve been thinking about kissing me all week,” she countered, her voice barely a breath against my ear.
My eyes shot up. I wasn’t expecting that. Not from her, not here, not now.
The truth was, I had been thinking about kissing her all week, maybe even longer. I couldn’t get it off my mind, actually. She was going to get me killed.
Finally, Liam and the others gathered around the table. “All right, let’s get started,” he said, laying down the rules.
I flicked the ash off into a tray, putting the cigarette out right after.
Rosalie’s eyes darted to her cards for a brief moment, then back up to her father’s with a challenge.
The burn card—a discarded Queen of Spades—rested on the table.
Liam hunched over his cards, and the four other men sitting beside him did the same with theirs. And Rosalie. Her cards lay fanned out carelessly, in clear view of my gaze. Was she na?ve enough to think I wouldn’t peek? Or perhaps it didn’t matter. Maybe she knew I’d let her win regardless.
The game continued. That Queen of Spades, discarded earlier, was a wild card, capable of turning into any suit or rank. A gamble, sure, but in the right hands, it could be a game-changer.
Rosalie tossed a seemingly unnecessary high card—a seven—into the discard pile. It threw a few of the men off.
Liam played cautiously. He exchanged two cards, his eyebrows knitted in concentration as he weighed up his options. The other men followed his lead.
It was my turn. I discarded a perfectly good Queen.
Her smile was slow but deliberate.
With a sharp intake, she revealed her hand. All Queens. Including the discarded Queen of Spades as her wild card. A winning set.
The room erupted into surprised cheers and groans. Rosalie scooped the pit with a large grin. Liam cracked a small smile at her. I was sure he’d wanted her to win too.
Soon enough, Sean walked in, stepping directly behind Rosalie. Her father caught him up, and he laughed along with her, grabbing onto her shoulders. I didn’t like that.
“I’m sure Sean will be putting this money to good use,” Rosalie started, heading toward the door. “Like on a new pair of Valentinos he’s been eyeing for weeks . . .” Her voice wandered with her, and I damned the part of me that wanted to follow after her.
“Ay, would you get outta here?” he said, his accent slipping through.
I wanted to roll my eyes.
And I did. When I opened them, Rosalie was gone.