Page 59 of Gamble
Meena’s expression grew more serious. “Reagan, you’re glowing right now just talking about him. I haven’t seen you this excited about a man since… well, ever. So here’s what we’re going to do.”
She stood up and walked to Reagan’s closet, rifling through the hangers until she found what she was looking for—a pair of strappy black heels that would add just enough height to make Reagan’s legs look endless.
“You’re going to wear these shoes with that gorgeous dress, and you’re going to do that thing with your hair where you curl it just enough to make it look effortlessly perfect, and you’re going to go on this date with confidence. Because you, Reagan Murphy, are a catch. And I’m thrilled because it sounds like this Elijah guy is smart enough to see that.”
Reagan slipped on the heels, feeling more confident as she gained two inches of height. “What if he’s just being nice? What if Vegas was just a vacation fling for him?”
“Then you’ll find out tonight, and you’ll deal with it like the strong, independent woman you are,” Meena said. “But Reagan? I don’t think that’s what this is. Men don’t send flowers and text every day for vacation flings. They do that when they’re falling.”
The word hung in the air between them, loaded with possibility and promise. Falling. Was that what this was? This constant flutter in her stomach when her phone buzzed withhis messages, this way her heart raced when she thought about seeing him again?
“What if I’m falling too fast?” Reagan whispered.
Meena’s expression softened. “Then you’re falling, and you have to trust Elijah to catch you. And that’s scary as hell, but it’s also wonderful. Just… be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“I will be,” Reagan promised, though she wasn’t sure what being careful would look like with Elijah Keaton.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and both women looked at it like it might explode.
“Is that him?” Meena asked.
Reagan picked up the phone, her heart skipping when she saw Elijah’s name on the screen.
Looking forward to tonight. I’ll be there at seven. - E
Simple, direct, and somehow incredibly sexy. Just like the man himself.
She typed back:Me too. See you soon.
“Okay,” Meena said, clapping her hands together. “Hair, makeup, and then you’re ready to see what happens next in this little romance novel you’re living.”
As Reagan settled at her vanity to put the finishing touches on her makeup, she caught sight of the white roses in their vase on her dresser. Twenty-four perfect blooms that smelled like hope and possibility.
Maybe Meena was right. Maybe this was what falling felt like.
And maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ELIJAH
Elijah slipped his phone back into his pocket with a grin that felt foreign on his face. When was the last time the prospect of a simple dinner date had made him feel like a teenager sneaking out past curfew? Never, if he was being honest with himself.
Looking forward to tonight. ~E
Such simple words, but they barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling. He’d been looking forward to tonight since the moment he’d driven away from Reagan’s apartment building five days ago.
The brick ranch house in West Hollywood felt different today, charged with possibility. He’d bought the place fifteen years ago when real estate prices were still somewhat reasonable, back when he could afford a modest home in a decent neighborhood on a stuntman’s salary. It wasn’t fancy—three bedrooms, two baths, and about eighteen hundred square feet of lived-in comfort—but it was his. And more importantly, it had the kind of backyard that had sold him on the property: a covered patio with an outdoor kitchen perfect for grilling, mature orange trees that provided privacy and shade, and a hottub that had saved his aching body more nights than he could count.
Tonight, he hoped that the hot tub might serve a very different purpose for his body.
Elijah walked through the house with fresh eyes, seeing it as Reagan might when he brought her back here after dinner.
The living room was comfortable but masculine—leather furniture, a large flat-screen TV, bookshelves filled with everything from technical manuals and mysteries to the most popular romance novels he’d started reading to better understand what women wanted from relationships.
Because the kitchen was small but functional, he’d already stocked the refrigerator with champagne and fresh strawberries.
The master bedroom... well, that was where things got complicated. His king-size bed was just a bed, nothing kinky about it. But the locked door to what had once been the third bedroom—that was an entirely different story. His personal playroom, equipped with restraints, impact toys, and furniture designed for activities Reagan did not know he enjoyed.
