Page 56 of Wild Card
“I’ll sweep up the dirt.”
I peek at her with a wink. “I already did.” Then I scoop up his cards—a two of diamonds and a three of clubs.
“That’swhat you kept raising on?” I blurt, turning back toward the hallway with a look of genuine shock on my face. “That’s arguably the worst hand in poker!”
Clyde’s already rounded the corner into his room, but it doesn’t stop him from calling back, “You’re just lucky we weren’t playing strip poker!”
“You’re right. I’d rather not see you naked because that’s what you’d be raising with hands like this.”
“I’d like to see you do better! Now stop talking to me. I’m turning on my white noise machine so I don’t have to hear your stupid voice!”
“Oh my god,” Gwen whispers. “You two are ridiculous.”
I drop my head into my hand and smile down at the table. If I weren’t drunk, I’d be mortified.
“Why do you even bother getting into it with him like that?”
I snort a laugh and smile up at Gwen, swaying ever so slightly in my seat. “Honestly, it’s fun.”
At first, she looks stunned, and then a grin takes over her face. “You guys are like father and son bickering over the dumbest shit. You both take each other’s bait. Every. Single. Time.”
I shrug, another chuckle spilling from my loose lips as I check down the hallway, half expecting to see Clyde eavesdropping.
My eyes catch on the lavender as I turn back to Gwen. Pretty flowers and pretty Gwen. The color reminds me of her eyes.
“You like? I bought it for the house. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to break any rules by talking to you in order to double-check.”
I look up from the small purple flowers toward Gwen. “That’s not a rule.”
She pushes the pot closer, ignoring my response. “Rub the flowers between your fingers and then smell. Nothing better than fresh lavender. Especially when you’re hammered.”
I reach for a flower, running my fingers over it. “I’m not hammered.”
“Oh-kay,” she singsongs, like she doesn’t believe me.
When I wave my hand in front of my nose and inhale, my eyes fall shut. Itdoessmell good. Good enough that I confess, “I’m only regular drunk. Not hammered.”
“Drunk enough to play strip poker?” she asks, waggling her brows.
I laugh and cast her a faux glare. “Probably.”
She throws her head back and laughs, the sound rich and warm—one of the first things I noticed about her. My eyes soak in the elegant curve of her throat before she looks back at me and says, “Or go fish. Whatever floats your boat.”
My cheek twitches. “Do you know how to play poker? Or were you just humoring him?”
Gwen’s head tips to the side. “I understand the concept.”
It’s a bad idea. I know it is. Sitting here, after dark, across from her.Drunk.
But Rhys’s words are fresh in my mind. So I stay.
With a firm nod, I reach across the table and collect the cards to shuffle. “I’m not starting off with Clyde’s shitty hand. Fresh game.”
“Works for me,” she says matter-of-factly, as she reorganizes the chips.
Within minutes, we’re all set up again. Me at the head of the table and her slightly down one side at a right angle to me.
I take her in. Teeth pushed down onto her pillowy bottom lip as she gazes down at her two new cards. A loose, cropped sweatshirt draped off one shoulder. Tight fucking yoga pants that show off every goddamn curve. Fuzzy socks with little raccoon faces all over them.
