Page 214 of Sweet Temptation

“Nope,” Ronan said. “Veto.”

“And since when do you get a veto?” I demanded. “If we’re voting, let’s vote.”

Andre and I both shot a hand up in the air.

“Sorry, Ronan,” Andre said. He didn’t sound sorry.

Then he got up and went digging in the hall closet, presumably looking for poker stuff.

“Come on,” I taunted my date, “when was the last time you totally let loose, and played strip poker with a co-worker and one of your clients?”

“Uh, never.”

“See?” Andre said, heading into the kitchen. “Meant to be.”

“Deal ’em up!” I said cheerfully.

Ronan groaned.

Andre was sifting through a kitchen drawer. “Where’s your cards and stuff?”

I poured us all another shot.

“Slight problem…” Ronan said, as Andre’s search moved into the living room. We clinked and tossed back our shots.

“Found cards!” Andre’s head was now under the living room coffee table. He thrust a deck of playing cards victoriously in the air.

“… I don’t have poker chips,” Ronan informed us.

Now Andre groaned. “What dude doesn’t own poker chips?”

“One who doesn’t play poker?”

“We could play Blackball,” I suggested.

“What’s that?” Andre placed the deck of cards in front of me and sat down.

“I’ll teach you. I used to play it with my grandparents.” Though we’d never stripped while we did it… “I need paper and pens.”

Ronan sighed. “I’ll get them.” I shuffled the deck while he went looking.

“Do you know Whist?” I asked them, dealing out the cards.

“Sure,” Andre said.

“What’s Whist?” Ronan returned with a pad of note paper. And three sparkly pens that said Darla Draperton on the side in fancy lettering… with a tiny picture of a floating head; when I looked closely, it was a man in makeup and a big blonde wig.

“What the hell is this?” I said.

Andre craned his neck to see. “Ronan had a drag queen for a client,” he supplied.

I blinked at Ronan.

“She always gave me swag.” He shrugged. “She liked sparkly shit.”

“You know, you are a lot more interesting than I thought you’d be when we first met,” I told him. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, with that faint smile he’d had on his face ever since the third or so shot of tequila.

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