Page 37 of Spades

From the moment she walked into my shop yesterday—God, was that only yesterday?—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. It’s like I’m obsessed.

Only a few women unleash the side of me I call Mad Maddox.

The first woman… I don’t think about her anymore. She broke my heart when I was at my lowest point.

And the second… Fuck.

But I won’t go back to Alissa’s. It’s our first date. I don’t want her to think that I’m only after her pussy.

I mean… Iamafter her for her pussy. What man wouldn’t be? She’s fucking gorgeous. But I’m also afterher. I want to get to know her better.

I could even…

God, could I love her?

How fucked up is that? Why am I even thinking it when I just fucking met her?

Could she love me?

Because she has to love all of me. Not just the well-dressed haberdashery owner, but also Mad Maddox. The guy who would have fucked her into oblivion in her apartment hallway right then and there if the neighbor hadn’t interrupted. And the guy who turned away his family’s millions in favor of a fucking clothes store.

The neighbor almost recognized me. She’s middle-aged. She would have been a young adult when my dad first got elected to office. And I almost let it slip on the car ride home that I have connections to the Chicago political scene.

I’ll tell Alissa. I will. All in good time. I want to make sure that she likes me forme,not for who my family is…or was.

I get into my car—I’m still fucking hard, damn it—and make the short drive back to my apartment over the haberdashery. I park in my spot behind the old building and walk up the flight of stairs to my place.

How long is a guy supposed to wait before he asks for a second date?

I think the rule is three days. Don’t want to appear desperate. Chicks smell that shit a mile away and then run for the hills.

It’s Friday. Three days would be Saturday, Sunday, Monday.

The club’s only open on weekends. Friday through Sunday. I’d end up waiting a whole-ass week before I could take her there again.

And I really want to take her there a second time. The first time a person goes to Aces, all they can focus on is their surroundings. Newbie eyes. People are so enamored with what they’re seeing that they can’t actually enjoy themselves, allow themselves to fall into the allure of Aces Underground.

We didn’t even leave the Spades section. We could have danced in the Hearts section, played a game in the Diamonds section. I doubt Alissa smokes, so the Clubs section wouldn’t have a lot for her to do, but you don’t have to smoke to enjoy the soft leather chairs there, take in the stale, oddly comforting smell of lingering tobacco.

Alissa had a lot to drink, too. I’ve seen that happen before, too. First-timers need a little something to get them to let go, not be too weirded out by the surroundings. Especially the card waiters with their shoulder tattoos and their vows of silence.

It almost has a cult vibe, now that I think of it.

But it’s just a club.

A club I want to take Alissa back to.

So fuck the three-days rule.

I grab my phone. Write out a quick text.

Thanks again for a great time tonight. Loved getting to know you. I realize it’s soon, but is there any chance you’d like to go back to Aces tomorrow?

I send the text and then watch to see if she’s typing.

No little three-dot bubble. But it’s late. She’s probably getting ready for bed. Maybe she’s the kind of girl who keeps her phone in another room when she’s asleep. It wouldn’t surprise me. She still keeps a physical calendar instead of relying on her phone.

I strip off my suit and dress shirt, hang them up in my walk-in closet. I place the bowler hat I wore tonight on a rack I built myself that hangs off my closet door.

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