Page 28 of Spades

“You really don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Maddox.”

He shakes his head. “Nonsense. Seems very romantic. A date to see a symphony by your favorite composer. I like to listen to music someone else likes. No better way to get to know a person.”

I almost spit out my sip of gin and tonic. I was thinking the exact same thing just a few minutes ago.

This man is inside my mind.

And I kind of like it.

“That’s very sweet of you, Maddox.” I give his hand another gentle squeeze. “Obviously I don’t play as much anymore, but I still enjoy listening to classical music. I hope we’re still seeing each other by the time the concert rolls around.”

He smiles at me, his eyes narrowed. “Alissa, I think that is very much in the cards.”

I go to take another sip of my gin and tonic, and I realize that I’ve finished it. My second drink, already. And Maddox has barely finished his first.

“Another drink?” Maddox asks.

I purse my lips. “I really shouldn’t. Have to get home tonight.”

“I’m happy to give you a lift home,” he says. “In fact, even if you didn’t have a drop of liquor tonight, I’d insist on it. I won’t have a woman taking the train home this late at night. Not when my car is parked in a garage just a block away.”

I eye my empty glass. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

He chuckles. “Alissa, you live five minutes away from me. It’s not any trouble at all.”

I bite my lip, but my gut is telling me that it’s okay. I nod to Maddox, smiling. “All right. One more drink. But that’s it.”

He raises his hand to flag down a waitress.

Immediately a young woman comes to us carrying a serving tray. She’s beautiful, with long black hair and warm olive skin. She’s wearing the same uniform as the rest of the female waitstaff, a lacey black bikini with white polka dots, which upon closer examination are actually small spade symbols. She has a tattoo on either shoulder—another spade on her left, and the number seven on her right.

She doesn’t speak, of course, merely bowing her head toward Maddox.

He gestures to her. “When they bow their head, it means they’re asking what we would like. They’re not allowed to speak, as I told you.” He turns to the young girl. “Thank you, Seven. I’ll have another gin and tonic, and my lady friend here will have…” He turns to me, his gaze questioning.

I swallow. “I’ll have a dirty vodka martini, please.”

The waitress nods and her eyes meet mine for a moment.

They’re a beautiful deep brown. But there’s a trace of something in them, something that makes me shift in my seat.

But before I can get a good look, Seven—I guess that’s what she’s called here—whisks away to the bar.

“She’ll be back soon,” Maddox says. “They’re very quick here.”

“She didn’t write our order down,” I reply.

“They don’t do that here. They memorize the orders and take them straight to the bar, where they write them down for DeeDee and Dudley to fill.” He looks at my empty glass, still on the table. “But they normally bus our dirty glasses. She must have forgotten it this time. Maybe she’s new. Sorry about that.”

I blink. “It’s no trouble. I’m sure she’ll grab it when she brings the drinks.”

I hold up my gin and tonic, studying the glass. The same four playing-card symbols as the club doors, laser-engraved with intricate precision. A faint reflection stares back at me, blurred and distorted. I check my makeup, an old habit.

Then I’m in my mother’s kitchen. A broken shard in my hand. Dishes shattered across the tile, jagged edges catching the light. My reflection stares up at me from the wreckage, eyes wide, unblinking.

I saw it again. In Seven’s eyes.

Recognition slams into me. That look. The same one I had as I peered into the broken glass on my mother’s kitchen floor.

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