Page 19 of Caesar DeLuca
I clear my throat and take a step deeper into the room.
Her eyebrows jump. “You’re up?—”
“After sleeping another day away, I figured I should be.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to be doing. You were stabbed.”
“I’ve been through worse. I’m going to put Carisi and that piece of shit traitor, Rocky, through worse.”
She shifts uncomfortably. “If you’re hungry, I still have some of the soup I made you.”
“This what you do with your evenings?” I ask, ignoring her comment. I gesture to the playing cards with one hand and pocket the other in my sweatpants. “You don’t get tired of playing alone?”
“Never.”
“Except when your man comes through.”
Her eyes narrow in a glare. “We’ve been over this. There is no man.”
“You sure have a lot of men’s clothes for there not to be.”
“Why does it matter to you?” she snaps. “Why do you care if there is or isn’t a man in my life?”
“I told you. At your age, you should be marri?—”
“Let’s not start this again. I was enjoying my evening in peace until you came down.”
I fall silent, studying her. Her expression’s tensed up, her brows pinched. It annoys her when I dig around in her personal life, especially inquiring about the men’s clothes. For once, instead of forcing an issue, I explore alternatives.
“You play rummy?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your cards. How about you give solitaire a break? Play me in rummy.”
“Uh…” she trails off, biting on her bottom lip. “Okay… I guess we can…”
“We might as well,” I say. “We’re snowed in. There’s a whole fucking blizzard outside. What else is there to do?”
I know what I’d do with my woman. We’d be upstairs, locked in the bedroom, enjoying ourselves…
Ari may or may not have the same dirty thoughts. There’s no way to be sure, but what I do notice is that she suddenly seems flustered when she looks up at my question and meets my gaze. She quickly drops her attention back to the playing cards in her hand and mumbles for me to sit down.
I do as she suggests, taking the cushion farthest from hers. The one in between us serves as our makeshift playing table.
“You dealing, or am I?”
“I’ll deal,” she says, shuffling the cards like a pro. She deals like one too.
I just might ask her if she’s interested in working the tables at the Crown.
The first game starts up with us locked in concentration. A competitive edge develops.
But while she’s focused on winning the game, I become more focused on her. I’m still curious about my hostess that’s nursed me back to health.
“What’s Ari short for?”
“You don’t need to know that. Ari is what I go by.”
