Page 142 of Roulette Rodeo
"Everyone is redeemable," she says finally. "But what if he doesn't think he was truly the problem in comparison to Rafe?"
The insight is startling in its accuracy.
"You're right," I admit. "That's exactly the issue. Luca doesn't think he did anything wrong. In his mind, he was trying to save Sophia, and Rafe was the villain."
She shrugs, a gesture that makes her shift in my lap in ways that are becoming increasingly distracting.
"I've seen a lot of men come and go at the Crimson Roulette. Men who, at first glance, you know their intentions. Then there are others who you know are hiding many secrets." She pauses, choosing her words. "My intuition isn't necessarily wrong—or at least I've never found out I was wrong—but my intuition tells me Luca isn't someone who's going to change unless he sees the need to for his own benefit."
"Because when you have the pretty privilege and money to get everything you want and more," I continue her thought, "why would you alter anything?"
"Exactly." She smiles, pleased that I understand.
"I like having discussions like this," I tell her, meaning it. "Deep-rooted ones. The others aren't as talkative, per se, but I like to analyze and explore ideas."
"Maybe it's why you enjoy medicine?" she suggests. "Because there's always a layer to explore and discover that can change someone's trajectory in life."
The observation is so perceptive it makes me stare at her in wonder. This woman who never got to finish high school understands me better after a few days than people I've known for years.
"I wish I could have gone to school and learned," she says wistfully, looking down at the phone in her hands.
"You can," I say immediately. "In the future, once you know what you want to study. Online courses, community college, even a university if you want."
Her head snaps up.
"Really?"
"With us, you're free to learn and excel. Whatever you want to pursue, we'll support it."
The smile that spreads across her face is radiant.
"Does that mean you'll help me learn how to use the phone?"
"Anything you want. You can ask any of us for help."
She shifts again, turning more fully to face me, and her expression shifts to something shyer but determined.
"Can I ask you something else?"
"Anything."
"Is it okay if I can kiss you?"
The question is so earnest, so careful, that I can't help but chuckle.
"Red," I murmur, already leaning in, "you don't need to ask me to do anything. I'm totally at your disposal."
Her eyes seem to light up, as if having my permission remind her that this isn’t some gimmick but that we’re actually in a relationship.
That she’s mine just like I’m hers.
Our lips meet in a kiss that's slow and tender, nothing like the heated passion she probably shared with Shiloh but perfect in its own way. She tastes like pumpkin spice and sweet, her lips soft against mine. I enjoy how it doesn’t feel rushed or pressured in the slightest. Like we’re going at our own rhythm, our lips doing the talking in a language our bodies hum and thrive on.
But right now, the only thing that matters is the way Red’s lips tug at mine, tentative at first, then bolder and more certain. I can practically feel her working out the mechanics of affection in real time, putting together the pieces of trust she’s never been allowed to build before. Every motion is careful, deliberate, like she’s studying for a test with no wrong answers.
There’s something deeply comforting about the way she kisses me—nothing forced or frenzied, no calculated seduction, just the slow, magnetic drift of two people genuinely discovering each other. It’s easy, this rhythm we make together, a gentle cadence that builds and recedes like the breath of the world outside.
I never realized how much I’d missed this kind of softness, the quiet give of another person’s lips, the subtle exhale when you both know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
