Chapter 3 #3
“Come on, Olive. Let’s fix each other’s problems. Let’s get married.
We’d only need to stay married long enough for you to make partner and for me to get custody.
” I cannot fucking believe the words that just left my mouth.
“We wouldn’t even have to live together.
It would just have to look good on paper. ”
“That wouldn’t work.” She sits back on her chair and studies me. “We’d have to live together. The court and the partners would have to believe we’re actually married. No one could know it wasn’t real or I could lose my license.”
“You’re considering it?” Serena hiccups. If she were my sister, I’d probably try to cut her off now. Not that Waverly would listen. She’d probably chug the whole bottle just to spit me. “Olivia, your parents will kill you. Especially after Lindy and Easton—”
“We are not Lindy and Easton. They’d been in love half their lives. I can’t even stand this asshole.”
“Who are Lindy and Easton?” Rafe asks.
“Technically, our aunt and cousin,” Serena answers, and my brain hurts, trying to figure that one out.
“Huh?”
“Lindy is technically our aunt, and Easton Hayes—”
“Fuck, right. I’ve heard about this,” I stop her. “He’s the senator uncle’s son who was the goalie for the Revolution.”
“He wasn’t actually his son. They didn’t even meet until they were teenagers.
There’s no actual blood relation. But they eloped in Vegas, and the family had a shit fit, especially my mom.
” She runs her fingers through her hair as her eyes close, and I swear she mutters, “I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about doing this.
” But it’s so soft, I can’t be sure. “I couldn’t tell them. Shit.”
“You scared of Mommy and Daddy?” What can I say? I’m a dick.
“Bite me, Adler.”
“Tempting, St. James.” So fiery. Time to try another tactic. “Fine. Let’s make a bet.”
“I said bite me not bet me, Logan. How many pucks have you taken to the head?”
Not enough to think this is a good idea, but that doesn’t matter right now. I can’t lose custody of Maggie. I won’t. And if this fucking prissy little brat can help me, I’ll suck it up for however long I have to, to make that happen.
I push my stack of chips forward. “I know what you said, Olive. I just thought we could sweeten the pot.”
“I don’t need your money, hot shot.” No, she certainly doesn’t.
“Of course not. But you could use a push, and I’m betting you hate to lose almost as much as you hate to walk away.
” I’m betting on myself, in reality, but that’s another thing Olivia doesn’t understand.
When I was retraining my brain to learn to read a different way, I had to work on numbers too.
Numbers were easier than letters. At least for me.
And I’d bet my last dime I’m about to win this hand.
And win the girl. Pain in the fucking ass she is.
“Fine. What are the stakes if I agree?”
Got her.
“If I win, we walk downstairs and find ourselves one of those all-night chapels.” Pops is going to kill me, and Jasper is going to shit. Oh well.
One beat passes, then another as Olivia works over my words. She’s got to see this can work. It was her idea, for fuck’s sake. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.”
“It was your idea,” I push, and she glares.
“It really wasn’t.” She drums long nails on the felt table, allowing a slight edge of nerves to creep in. “And what do I get if I win?”
“What do you want, Olive?” And why am I pushing?
She thinks about it for a minute, then tips her lips into a dangerous smile. “I want you to owe me a favor to be cashed in later . . . whenever I want.” She straightens her shoulders, challenging me.
“Game on, ice queen.”
“Checks play,” the dealer calls out, and the pit boss nods.
Guess my bet is a high one.
“Last call,” he warns, and I grin.
“Come on, Olive. Are you in or are you out?” I hate how much her answer affects my life.
Olivia drags her teeth over her plump lip and shoves her chips forward.
“I’m in.”
Holy. Shit.
“All bets down.” The dealer waves his hand over the table, and I swear the feisty woman next to me growls.
Rafe and Serena haven’t opted in this hand, instead watching as Olivia and I are dealt our cards.
Olivia has a six and a jack.
Sixteen. Not good when the dealer has a ten upcard, and we don’t know what his other card is yet.
I’ve got two eights.
Fuck . . . Time to make a decision.
Slowly, I slide an identical pile of chips next to the ones I’ve already placed and hold my fingers up in a V.
Olivia sucks in a breath as the dealer splits my eights. She leans over, and her breath dances along my ear. “I only bet on your original cards, Adler.”
“The right pile is the OG bet, St. James.”
Our dealer flips his other card—three.
He deals Olive her next card—ten. She’s out.
Guess I won’t owe her a favor.
My bet on the left gets a six.
A two is added on the right.
The dealer flips himself another two.
He’s got fifteen.
I look at Olivia as my next card hits the pile on the left—six.
I’m at twenty. Fuck.
The next card falls.
Holy shit.
It’s an ace.
Twenty-One.
Rafe and Serena freak the fuck out. I don’t even know how much money I just won.
Ignoring the dealer as he pays me out, I turn to Olivia.
“Blackjack, baby.”