Page 9 of Queen Of WildCards

"Lookscan be deceiving, you know,"Ieased, hoping he'd catch his own shifts from the hypothetical and either get more comfortable or switch back without incident.

"Looksare allI'vegot, precious.Therest of me ain't so pretty underneath."

Hiswords were laced with self-hatred and a sort of resignationIdidn't like to hear in anyone.Ittold me wherever this man had been in his life, he'd never been adequately validated or loved.

Isank back into the familiar role of therapist, glad to have some sense of normalcy and control in this conversation. "Whatmakes you think that?"

Hewaved a hand in the air beside his head, andInoticed another man over his shoulder, gaining on him fast, with a scowl drawing all his features down like he'd swallowed a sour-ass lemon whole.Ashe stayed a few steps ahead of his pursuer, the drunken man continued on, not a care in the world. "WheredoIstart?"

"Wheredo youwantto start?"

"Howmuch time do you have?" he quipped, flipping his hair out of his face.

"Howmuch money do you have?"Iretorted, pleased to see a small smile spread across his lips.

"Ah, sweet cheeks,I'vegot money aplenty, but not enough to fix the fuck upIam now."

Ieyed my apartment in mock outrage. "Youknow,Ihavebeen meaning to move to a more upscale locale, splurge on a bigger space for myself and my two cats."

Hisbreathing had started to even out, and it looked like he'd regained some of the color hidden beneath the pallor of intoxication from the beginning of our call.It'strue, what they say about a good puke after too much drinking—better out than in.

"So," he began slowly, his eyes steadily on the road ahead, "I'vebeen a criminal for a long fucking time.Areal piece of work.ButItry not to steal from the little guys, ya know?"Hesighed dramatically. "Idon't figure youdoknow.Butto sum it up,Ithought myself a right littleRobinHood, until—"Heglanced around, andIcould see the guy from earlier still following him, though further back. "Seriously,Spade, the fuck is wrong with you?Ican walk just fine, asshole.Gocramp someone else's style."

Icould vaguely hear the other man off in the distance angrily grumbling something to the man on the screen, butIcouldn't see him anymore, andIwasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.TheblondeAdonisturned back to me, all smiles again, thoughIknew them to be fake this time.

Someonewho wears a mask on a daily basis gets pretty good at spotting them on others.

"So, you see, there was this job," he drawled on, staring pointedly into the camera now, "andIfucked it up.Igot greedy.Wantedsomeone to give 'oleCassa pat on the back, a good ole'look how useful you are'and yada yada.ButImade mistakes.Gotcaught.Andnow they all fucking hate me."

Iwatched as this drunken, beautiful man broke down in front of me, a complete stranger, andIremembered whyIdid this job.

Ineeded to help people before they got so desperate to make it all go away that they tried to end it.Ineeded to save as many people like me asIcould.

Itwas the only wayIcould atone for the karmic balance of the world, by giving back whenI'dbeen given the gift of a second chance at life.

Callit superstitious, but it felt right.Andthis man here reminded me of whyIdid this, whyItook the last-minute calls on late, lonely nights.

"Whohates you,Cass?"Iassumed the name he'd used earlier was his, and his eyes blew wide whenIsaid it, like he wasn't used to hearing it out loud.

Whatkind of a life is that?

"Sayit again, sugar," he groaned, his eyelids dropping to half-mast. "Saymy name again."

Therequest almost felt dirty, but the way he looked at me likeIwas the only good thing in his life right now,Icouldn't have denied him a fucking thing.

"Cass,"Inearly whispered, and my cheeks colored whenIheard the next moan.

"Oh, man,Ihaven't heard my name on a woman's lips in so long, it almost feels surreal."Heslowed his pace, andIwatched the phone shift as he swapped hands and leaned against a wall.Hisback flattened against that grungy brick, the dim fluorescent streetlights above him bathing him in an unhealthy orange glow.Butwhen he tilted his face up to the light, he practically sparkled, andIsucked in a breath, my thighs clenching almost painfully.

"Why. . . why is that?"Ibreathed, nearly forgetting the fucking question becauseIwas so turned on by this man's breathy moans and smooth voice.Geta grip, you idiot; this is work!Mybrain screamed logic at me, but the wires had been disconnected, andIfound myself gripping the sides of my chair in an effort to redirect my thoughts.

Cassgrunted in the back of his throat, and the phone began to shake slightly. "Whywhat?Youasking about my sex life, doc?"

Nowit was my turn to let out a breathless moan at the idea of this man fuckingat all.Icould practically picture it, thoughIknewIshouldn't.Hewas built for the big screen, all angles and jawline, and just enough sass to make you melt.Hecould have been a model, or a porn star, with looks like those.

Instead, he was a self-proclaimed criminal.

Lustingafter criminals now.Guessit's true what they say—girls end up with men who remind them of their fathers.

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