Page 58 of House Rules
Phoenix gives me a demure smile and passes the deck to Atticus. “My father might have been good for something, at least.”
“Noted,” Con says. He studies his hand, a line forming between his brows. I know what that line means—he doesn’t have shit. I study everyone, searching for their tells.
Storm is easy; he tends to run a hand through his mop of platinum hair when he has a good hand.He’s too still now, so he doesn’t have anything to speak of.
Atticus’ expression remains as neutral as ever, but when he slides his cards into a tidy stack in his hand, I know he has something decent.
Phoenix…I watch for several minutes as the play travels around the table. I have no idea what Phoenix has in her hand. The perfectly blank expression she wears is telling me nothing.
As I stare, she looks up at me and smiles.
“You boys bluff like tourists,” she says, tossing her bet in with one lazy flick.
Storm arches a brow. “Tourists, huh?”
“Yeah. All charm, no game.”
I laugh out loud. Damn. She’s good. And I know that it’s not just her body I want—it’s this. That sharp tongue. That wit. That spark.
Minutes later, Con goes out, followed by Storm. Atticus regards me and Phoenix blandly. “Call.”
Phoenix looks from me to him, then pushes a stack of chips to the center of the table. “Raise.”
“Mm.” I look down at my hand, even though I already have it memorized. A full house isn’t bad, but it’s not the best, either. Still…I push the requisite number of chips toward the pot. “Call.”
Atticus follows suit. “All right, show ’em.”
I lay down my full house, and Atticus tosses his cards down in disgust. “I had a straight.”
I look at Phoenix. “Your turn.”
With a trace of a smile curling her lips, she flattens her cards on the table. “Four kings.”
We all go quiet. Four kings. Not just a hand. A statement. A goddamn prophecy. She's not playing our game—she's rewriting it.
“Fuck.”
All I have left are my boat shoes. I take one off, tossing it over my shoulder. This isnotgoing the way I had hoped it would.
And yet…it’s a bit symbolic of our arrangement with Phoenix, when I think about it. A game, one where we anticipate having the upper hand. One where we’re certain we’ll bring her to her knees in no time.
That’s not what’s happening, though. I’m watching each of us fall a little harder each day that she’s with us, while she manages to somehow retain her dignity and grace and independence in spite of this fucked-up situation we’ve put her in.
It makes me think that maybe Phoenix Jones isn’t just a game. She’s theend game.
And if I’m not careful, I’ll lose. Not the game. Her. The way I always do when something starts to matter too much. That’s what scares me. Not the stakes. Not the others.
Just… her.
19
Phoenix
“I still thinkyou fucking cheated, Firebird,” Maverick growls as we walk into the penthouse.
“I didn’t cheat,” I say. “I’m just sober.”
Maverick slants a look at me, a little bleary-eyed, and then growls something unintelligible and waves me off.
