Page 47 of Take Me, Sir

Kyndall

Breakfast with Deanhad been pleasant, almost too much so, and by the time I carried the dishes to the dishwasher, I'd started to get nervous. Fortunately, before I had to worry about how to handle things, Dean was ready to leave. I didn't know if it was because he'd felt my anxiety or because he had his own, and there could've been a third option as well. That it'd simply been a good time to go because we weren't at a place where we spent most of our free time together.

That hadn't stopped me from thinking about him as I worked on finding out where high stakes games were this weekend. Most people assumed that players found games through some sort of underground secret code spread by word of mouth. That might've been the case with a lot of them, but as technology had advanced, so had the way people communicated.

It wasn't like I could go online and do a search for secret poker games in LA, but there were certain things a person could look for...if they knew how. And I did. Old-fashioned games were enough of a boys club that I could use that to my advantage, but the newer ones were easier for a woman to get into.

Besides, young or old, most men were the same, especially when it came to a pretty, new face.

It was late afternoon by the time I found what I was looking for, but based on the buy-in, it was definitely going to be worth my while. So I dressed and headed out, trying not to think about what Dalton or Dean would say if they knew where I was going. Juliette would probably understand, but I wouldn't want to put her in that position.

Which meant I still didn't have anyone to talk to if I wanted some help in figuring out what to do about my current 'occupation.' Not that I'd really expected anything different. I needed to figure things out, but I was going to do it the way I'd always done things.

On my own.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I had a game to play.

There were two men at the door of the club when I arrived, but only one of them stared at me as I walked toward them. The other one seemed more interested in glowering menacingly at a pair of obnoxious frat-boy types who were coming up behind me, but that was okay. I only needed to give the password to one of them.

“ID.”

I gave him a polite smile. “I'm here for the game.”

He didn't even try to hide his surprise. “Password?”

“Magenta.”

“All right.” He stepped away from the door, leaving the other guy to check IDs. “Follow me.”

We walked around the side of the building and down the narrow alley. There was another door there, tucked into the shadows, and he stopped next to it, punching a code into a hidden keypad. A moment later, a light blinked green, and he opened the door for me.

“First door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

The hallway was surprisingly well-lit, so I was able to find the door easy enough. I knocked, went through, and saw a familiar face watching as security did a quick check.

Stanley Maverick.

Wonderful.

I forced a smile and met his cold gaze. I might've been scared if I'd ever allowed myself to stop and think about our previous confrontation, but right now, looking at him, all I could think was that I was going to kick his ass again. And I was going to enjoy it.

I let my hips roll as I walked over to the table, let all of the men take their time leering at me. The more time they spent imagining me naked and in bed, the less attention they'd pay to their game. Some people might've thought it was a bit of an unethical distraction, but I believed in working with what I'd been given, and in this instance, it wasn't just my brain I was working.

“You're back,” Stanley said as I took the empty seat across from him.

I half-shrugged as I surveyed the room. The only exit was behind me, but I'd done a little research about the club and knew that it was considered high class. Which meant if something went south, it'd probably happen outside the club rather than here tonight. Not exactly a comforting thought, but it was always good to know where the danger was.

Other than Stanley, I didn't recognize anyone else at the table, but no one offered any names. That was good. It meant these guys were here to really gamble, not to play at being gangsters.

I handed over my buy-in and accepted my chips, waiting for the usual thrill to set in. There was nothing though. No excitement for the game. No eager anticipation. Just the same sort of resignation that I'd always associated with getting ready for a real job.

A card dropped in front of me, and I mentally cursed myself for losing track of things. I focused on the cards as they came now, rearranging them automatically as I started cataloging the others' mannerisms. I couldn't count if I didn't pay attention, and while I was a decent player that way, I wasn't playing for fun.

I lost the first two hands, but by the time the third came around, I'd caught up where the cards were and was able to start playing a little more safely. Still, I was missing the hyper awareness that had always come with the cold, and I found myself distracted in a way I'd never been.

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