Page 25 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

“How did you get in?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he responds, “The fire escape.”

“But I locked my window?” It’s voiced as a question more than a statement. Maybe I’m going crazy?

“Yeah, you did. ‘Night, sweetheart.” He slides open the window and steps into the darkness, disappearing from my sight in the blink of an eye.

“Goodnight.”

Chapter Fourteen

Ace

I feel like my legs are seconds away from giving out as I step into the lobby of Sin. Chewing my lower lip, I scan the surrounding area for Burlone or either of his men before heading to the bar.

As I make eye contact with the bartender, I yell, “Vodka tonic, please,” in order to be heard over the noise from the slot machines. With a lift of his chin, he gets to work, and seconds later, my drink is placed on the counter, accompanied by a friendly wink before he whisks away to help another customer.

Grabbing the fresh drink, I bring the straw to my lips and take a generous sip in hopes of numbing my anxiety. I need to find the date of the tournament. As soon as I find it, I’m out of here. Where would I find the date?

With a wandering gaze, I tap my finger against the icy glass.

“Looking for something?” a voice asks to my right. Swiveling in my chair, my gaze narrows.

“Are you following me, Jack?”

He raises his arms into the air defensively. “What? Of course not!”

“You sure about that?” I push. Raising my brows and pursing my lips, I wait for his response.

On a sigh, he admits, “Alright. I haven’t been following you, but you freaked me out the other day, so I have been keeping an eye out for you. Is that fair?”

Watching him closely, I look for any minor facial twitches or avoidance of eye contact but come up empty. “Truth,” I mumble to myself, lifting my glass and taking another sip.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Your face is looking better,” a sympathetic Jack offers.

I snort, nearly spilling my drink. “Are you insinuating my face has looked worse?”

Balking, he defends himself. “Not what I meant, Ace, and you know it. For real, though, your bruise is almost gone. I’m happy you healed so quickly. Has the doorknob,”—he rolls his eyes—“been giving you any more problems?”

Just ten grand in my pocket, I note to myself with a smile.

“I take it that’s a no with the sly little grin you’re sporting.” He lifts his hand and brushes it against my lower lip, mirroring my expression with a smile of his own. The unexpected touch shocks me, reminding me of when I was little and stuck my finger in an outlet. Not exactly what I’d call pleasant. Shifting back in my chair, I pull away from his touch and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as an uncomfortable silence envelops our little section of the bar.

“Sorry,” Jack apologizes.

“It’s okay. So…” I let the word drag out, attempting to find a solid subject change to save us from the awkwardness.

“So…,” Jack mimics. “Do you play anything else? Or are you a blackjack girl through and through?”

Rule #6 and Rule #8 whisper in the back of my conscience before I decide his question is relatively harmless and give him an answer. “I play a bit of poker too. How about you?”

“Naw, blackjack for me. Poker brings in too many variables. But did you see the tournament they just started advertising? A shit ton of big players are flying in from all around the states to get a piece of the action.”

No freaking way.

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