Page 7 of Poker
Addison chokes on her vodka soda from her position standing behind me. “Oh, no, we’re just friends.”
Mrs. Neero smiles, flashing her too-white store-bought teeth. “Wasn’t talking about you, honey.”
“Actually, I am smitten,” I say, earning curious looks from everyone. “Smitten with money, and since I don’t seem to be winning any, I’m out.” I rise from my chair. “Mistress Green, always a pleasure.”
I grip Addison’s arm and lead her toward the exit. She doesn’t say a word until we’re in the matte black Camaro.
“Um, what the fuck was that?” she demands as I fire up the engine.
“What?”
“What was that bitch seeing that I wasn’t?”
“What are you talking about?” I demand, harsher than I intend, as I peel out of the lot.
“Poker, no one could ever accuse you of being smitten.” Addison laughs, and it grates on my nerves. “And that bullshit about money? C’mon, what gives?”
What gives is I was caught staring at Mistress Green and imagining her legs wrapped around my hips with that damn dress wrapped around hers. What gives is I like the woman and torture myself by going to the poker games just to spend more time with her and make sure she’s okay. What gives is I’m… fucked.
None of those words come out of my mouth as I shrug. “Nothing gives, Addi. Just not a fan of the Neeros.”
“I call bullshit.”
“Call it whatever you want. I call it the fucking truth.”
CHAPTER4
MERI
Everything’s great.
The bar is packed,keeping me physically busy, but mentally, I’m somewhere else. This week’s poker game was a shitshow. Not only were there two no-shows, but the Neeros made Poker so uncomfortable that he left.
Unwanted and unwarranted jealousy spikes at the image of him walking out of the warehouse with Addison on his arm. There is less than nothing between them other than friendship. Does he love her? Absolutely. But not like that.
So why the fuck does the sight of them together make me feel like this?
“Do anything fun on your day off?” Lance, the other bartender, asks when there’s a brief lull.
“Yeah, if you consider sleep fun.”
His nostrils flare, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Lance has hinted several times at the fact that he wants in my bed—not to sleep, by the way—but I’m not interested. Not only is he not my type, but he’s a coworker.
I shudder at the thought.
“I wouldn’t have let you sleep,” he says, lowering his voice an octave.
Grabbing a rag from the sink, I wring it out and start wiping down the bar. “Was it busy last night?” I ask, changing the subject.
He chuckles. “One of these days, Meri, you’re go?—”
“Don’t, Lance,” I snap, throwing the rag at his chest. “Don’t do this.”
Lifting his hands, he backs away with a grin. “Understood.”
When he disappears into the kitchen, I heave a sigh. Why is it that men think they can say anything they want to a woman, come on to them regardless of the number of times they’ve been told no?
I bend to grab the rag that fell to the floor, and when I straighten, Poker is sitting at the bar with a large grin on his face.
