Chapter 23 Violet
VIOLET
The first round, I fold immediately when Liam raises the bet by two pretzels. "Too scary."
I arrange my cards face-down with exaggerated care, letting my fingers linger on the edges.
The cardstock is smooth and cool, still holding a faint smell of ink and paper.
Truth? I could've taken that pot blindfolded.
Dad taught me poker on rainy Sundays while Mom was at church, the two of us huddled around the kitchen table with a bag of M&Ms for chips.
But where's the fun in ending the game early?
Garrick's brow furrows across from me. His aroma shifts immediately, warm bread edged with burnt sugar. Sharp. Frustrated. The change is subtle but unmistakable, filling the small room with the smell of a baker who's just watched his soufflé fall.
I bite my lip to hide my smile, looking down at the polished wood like I'm embarrassed by my cowardice.
Xaden only tilts his head to my right, watching me with those dark, assessing eyes. His pine-and-rain fragrance stays cool, controlled. Like he's studying me as much as my strategy, cataloging every micro-expression. The weight of his attention makes my skin prickle with awareness.
Liam chuckles from across the felt, the sound warm and indulgent. His cedar and vanilla notes curl across the space between us, mixing with the lingering smell of coffee and chocolate from the bakery proper. "Don't worry, gorgeous. You'll get the hang of it."
It takes effort not to lean into those notes. Not to close my eyes and just breathe him in like oxygen.
The space heater in the corner hums steadily, pumping out warmth that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. Outside, wind howls against the windows, rattling the old frames. Snow pelts the glass in rhythmic gusts that sound like thrown handfuls of sand.
By the second round, Garrick leans forward to explain the hierarchy.
His elbows rest on worn wood, bringing him closer, and I can feel the warmth radiating off his body.
His tone is steady but tight, like he's trying not to lose patience with the helpless omega who can't tell a flush from a straight.
"So a full house beats a flush," he says, using those flour-dusted knuckles to gesture. White powder still clings to his skin even though we've been at this for over an hour, caught in every crease. "And a straight flush beats everything except a royal."
I pretend to hang on every word, wide-eyed and sweet, though I've known this since I was twelve. "What about four of a kind? Where does that go?"
"Between a full house and a straight flush." He demonstrates with the deck, laying them out in order. His fingers are long and capable, moving with the same precision he uses when shaping dough. "See?"
"Oh!" I lean forward like I'm fascinated, which has the added benefit of giving him a better view down my sweater. "That makes so much more sense now."
His gaze drops. Just for a second. Just long enough for desire to flare in those brown depths before he drags his attention back to the demonstration with visible effort. The corner of his mouth twitches like he doesn't quite buy my act, but he keeps talking anyway.
I imagine those capable fingers kneading dough. Strong. Patient. Thorough. The same way they'd gripped my hips this morning, digging in possessively while his mouth had done wicked things to my neck.
The room suddenly feels hotter despite the draft whistling through the window frame.
Xaden's watching me again. I can feel his stare like a physical caress, tracking the flush creeping up my throat. When I glance at him, he's got that knowing look, the one that says he sees right through my innocent act.
His palm finds my thigh under the felt. The contact is casual, proprietary, his skin warm through my jeans. He doesn't move it, doesn't stroke or squeeze. Just leaves it there like a brand, a reminder that he knows exactly what game I'm playing.
My breath catches audibly.
"You okay?" Liam asks, dealing the next round. His amber gaze is sharp, curious. "You look flushed."
"Just the heater." I fan myself with my new cards, very aware of Xaden's grip still resting on my leg. "It's really going."
"I can turn it down," Garrick offers, half-rising from his seat.
"No!" The word comes out too fast, too desperate. All three of them pause, looking at me with varying degrees of amusement. "I mean, it's fine. Perfect. I like being comfortable."
Xaden's thumb strokes once across my thigh. Deliberate. Claiming. The caress sends electricity straight to my core.
I clear my throat and focus on my cards with renewed determination. "So what are we betting this time?"
By the third round, I'm starting to relax into the deception. Liam wins with three of a kind, crowing about his victory while raking in his pile of pretzels like they're gold coins. The movement makes his sweater stretch across his shoulders, pulling the fabric taut over the muscles of his back.
I take a slow sip of wine, letting the fruity sweetness coat my tongue. The alcohol is starting to warm my blood, making everything feel softer around the edges. More dangerous.
"Your turn to deal, Violet," Garrick says, sliding the deck across polished wood.
I stand to reach for them, which brings me close enough to lean over his shoulder. Close enough that my breasts brush against him, soft and deliberate. Close enough to smell the soap he uses, clean and masculine under his natural aroma of bread and caramelized sweetness.
"Oops." I straighten slowly, cards in grasp. "Sorry. Didn't mean to crowd you."
His jaw clenches. "You're fine."
But his fragrance spikes, sugar burning hotter, and I know he's anything but fine.
I shuffle the deck, letting cardstock whisper and snap between my fingers. The sound is rhythmic, soothing, and I make sure to put on a show of it. My movements are practiced, executing a perfect bridge that makes them cascade in a waterfall.
All three of them go still.
"Where'd you learn to shuffle like that?" Xaden's tone is casual, but there's an edge underneath.
"YouTube?" I offer innocently, dealing out cards with quick efficiency. "Watched a video once."
"Right." But he's smiling now, that dangerous expression that says he's onto me. His grip slides higher on my thigh, fingers tracing patterns that make it hard to concentrate. "YouTube."
Liam leans back in his seat, studying me with new appreciation. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
"I try." I finish dealing and reclaim my chair, very aware of how Xaden's palm has to leave my leg in the process. The loss of contact makes me want to whine. "Makes life more interesting."
The next round, Garrick "accidentally" drops a card. It flutters to the floor near my feet, and he pushes back from the felt to retrieve it. But instead of just grabbing the card, his fingers wrap around my ankle. Strong. Possessive. His thumb strokes the delicate bone there.
"Got it," he says, voice rough. But he doesn't let go immediately. His grip lingers, claiming, before he finally releases me and sits back up.
My pulse hammers in my throat.
"You're going to have to try harder than that," I manage, arranging my cards with fingers that aren't quite steady.
"Than what?" He's all innocence now, but his gaze is pure sin.
"To distract me."
“Why would I do that?” But his aroma says otherwise, all burnt sugar and smoldering desire. The smell of an alpha contemplating doing very distracting things.
I fold another winning combination, watching as Liam takes the pot with a pair of kings. "Guess I'm just not lucky tonight."
"Luck has nothing to do with poker," Xaden says, leaning close enough that his breath stirs the hair near my ear. "It's all about reading your opponents. Knowing when they're bluffing." His lips brush my earlobe, barely there. "When they're pretending to be something they're not."
Goosebumps race down my arms. “I’m not good at that.”
"No?" His mouth curves against my skin. "Then why do I think you could clean us all out if you wanted to?"
"Maybe you're paranoid."
“Yeah, right!” He pulls back, and the loss of warmth makes me want to chase him. "Or maybe you're hustling us."
Liam laughs, the sound rich and inviting. "Now that would be entertaining. The innocent omega taking us all for a ride."
"I'm not that innocent," I point out, taking another sip of Merlot. The glass is nearly empty, and Garrick reaches for the bottle to refill it without being asked. His knuckles brush mine as he pours, the contact sending sparks up my arm.
"We're aware," he says dryly. "Trust me, we're very aware."
"Deal the next round before I change my mind about staying."
"You're not going anywhere." Liam's tone carries that alpha command that makes my omega instincts flutter. He catches my reaction immediately, nostrils flaring as my fragrance sweetens in response. "Not in this storm."
As if to punctuate his words, wind slams against the building hard enough to make the windows rattle in their frames. Snow swirls past the glass in thick white sheets, completely obscuring the street beyond.
"Guess I'm trapped then." I arrange my new cards, pleased to see a straight forming. "However will I pass the time?"
"I have a few ideas," Garrick mutters, low enough that I almost miss it.
"Care to share with the class?" I bat my eyelashes at him.
"Not appropriate for mixed company."
"We're all adults here." I play a card, watching his reaction. "And I've already seen what you keep hidden under that grumpy exterior."
Liam chokes on his beer. "Christ, Violet."
"What? It's true." I'm enjoying this now, the way all three of them are shifting in their seats like they can't get comfortable. Like they're all thinking about this morning, and yesterday, and every other time we've tangled together. "You're all terrible at hiding what you want."
"And what do we want?" Xaden's question is a challenge.
"Me." I meet his stare boldly. "All three of you want me. The question is whether you're brave enough to do something about it during a snowstorm when we're all trapped together."
The air in the small room goes electric. Charged. Dangerous.
Garrick sets down his cards slowly. "You're playing with fire."
"Maybe I like getting burned." I stand, stretching deliberately so my sweater rides up to reveal a strip of stomach. All three pairs of eyes track the movement. "Now are we playing poker or are we going to sit here pretending we're not all thinking about the same thing?"
"What thing would that be?" Liam's grin is wicked.
"Use your imagination." I walk around the felt, trailing my fingers along the back of each chair as I pass. Garrick. Xaden. Liam. Each touch deliberate, claiming. "I'm sure between the three of you, you can figure it out."
When I reach Garrick's chair, I stop. Lean down so my mouth is next to his ear. "By the way, I've been able to beat all of you since the first round. Dad taught me when I was twelve."
His whole body goes rigid. "What?"
"You heard me." I straighten, moving back to my seat with a satisfied smile. "I've been hustling you this whole time. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
The table erupts. Not in anger, but in surprised laughter that fills the cozy room with warmth. These alphas who've been circling me for weeks are looking at me like I just became even more fascinating. Like they can't wait to see what I'll do next.
"Let's play again." Garrick straightens, rolling his shoulders back. The movement pulls his flannel tight across his chest, revealing the muscles underneath. "But this time? No more going easy on you."
"Please." I gather the cards, shuffling with practiced ease. "I was never the one who needed gentleness."
Xaden's laugh is low and approving. "Damn, woman. You're something else."
"I know." I deal out the next round, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "Now let's see if you boys can actually keep up."
The game is on. But we all know poker stopped being the point a long time ago.