Page 58 of Gamble
“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect. Classy but sexy, sophisticated but not trying too hard.” Meena flopped down on Reagan’s bed, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Speaking of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, the flowers he sent yesterday are still making the entire apartment smell like a garden center.”
Reagan felt her cheeks warm at the mention of the flowers. Two dozen white roses with a simple card that read: Looking forward to Friday. - E. The gesture had been so unexpected, romantic, that she’d teared up when the delivery man handed them to her.
“They’re beautiful,” she said, trying for casual and failing.
“Beautiful is an understatement. They’re the kind of flowers a man sends when he’s serious about a woman.” Meena’s expression grew more thoughtful. “You know, I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“Like what?”
“Happy. Genuinely, radiantly happy. Not that fake smile you used to put on when Tristan would cancel plans or show up late. This feels different.”
Reagan sank onto the bed next to her best friend, needing to voice the fears that had been churning in her stomach all week.
“It feels different to me too, but what if Vegas was just… an anomaly? What if we have nothing in common in real life? What if he realizes I’m not as interesting as he thought I was when we were caught up in all that desert magic?”
Meena gave her the look—the one that said she was about to dispense some tough love whether or not Reagan wanted it.
“First, you’ve been texting every day since he dropped you at home, right? And didn’t you tell me you two stayed up until like three in the morning talking on Wednesday night?”
Reagan nodded, remembering that conversation with a warmth that spread through her chest. They’d started texting around nine, just checking in about how their days had gone, and somehow ended up having a three-hour phone conversation that had ranged from childhood memories to travel dreams to favorite books. She’d fallen asleep with her phone still pressed to her ear, the sound of his low laughter the last thing she remembered.
“And second,” Meena continued, “have you looked in a mirror? You’re gorgeous, smart, funny, and you have a career you’re passionate about. Any man would be lucky to have you, including some sexy older guy who clearly already knows a good thing when he sees it.”
“He’s not that much older,” Reagan protested.
“You realize you sent me a picture of his driver’s license, right? I can do the math,” Meena’s eyebrows rose as she teased her roommate.
“Twenty years isn’t that bad, right?” Reagan mumbled, trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince her good friend.
“I admit, I wish it wasn’t such a big age gap, but…” Meena’s eyes got serious with worry for her friend. “Reagan, please tell me he doesn’t already have kids your age or worse—a wife.”
“He doesn’t have any kids,” Reagan answered before adding, “And he was married once, but that was twenty years ago, and they divorced after just a few years together.”
“Okay, that’s good, I guess. Still…” Meena studied her friend’s face. “Are you sure you’re ready for whatevercomplications might come with dating someone that much older? I mean, what do your parents think about this?”
A tinge of guilt invaded her excitement. “My parents don’t know about him yet,” Reagan admitted, quickly adding, “It was hard enough I had to tell them about yet another breakup. I didn’t want to then have to then admit I met someone else the same day I broke up with Tristan. Yes, I know there might be challenges. But Meena…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “I’ve never felt the way I feel when I’m with Elijah. He makes me feel… seen. Important. Like I matter.”
“Of course you matter!” her friend agreed before asking, “Tristan never made you feel that way?”
Reagan shook her head. “With Tristan, I always felt like I was trying to fit into his life, molding myself into what he wanted me to be. With Elijah, I feel like he sees who I really am and likes me exactly as I am.”
“Well, he likes you well enough to send flowers and call you every day,” Meena pointed out with a grin.
“We don’t call every day,” Reagan corrected. “We text every day. The phone call was just Wednesday night.”
“Uh-huh. And what did you two talk about for three hours that was so fascinating?”
Reagan felt her cheeks heating again as she remembered. “Everything. His childhood in Texas, my college years, places we want to travel, books we love. He’s even read some of the same romance novels I have, can you believe that?”
“Wait, what?” Meena’s eyebrows shot up. “Your mysterious older man reads romance novels?”
“Some of them. He said he started reading them to better understand what women want from relationships.” Reagan’s voice went soft. “He’s… different, Meena. Thoughtful in ways I didn’t expect.”
“Different how?”
Reagan struggled to find the words that would adequately describe Elijah Keaton. She was attracted to so much more than his handsome face and sexy body. How could she explain the way he took charge of situations with effortless confidence? How could she describe the dark edge she’d glimpsed in Vegas without sounding like she’d lost her mind?
“He’s just… more,” she finally said. “More confident, more experienced, more intense. When he looks at me, I feel like he’s seeing parts of me I didn’t even know existed.”
