Page 30 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

The signature click of her heels against the hardwood announces her arrival.

About fucking time.

Swiveling toward the familiar sound, I gulp.

Bianca looks like she stepped off the runway in her tight, low-cut red dress that shows off her curves and mile-long legs. She looks… like a bad idea, but I can’t help it as I drink her in like a fine wine. Every fold of fabric. Every sway of her hips. Every inch of smooth, olive skin. How the hell has she not already been claimed?

When my gaze reaches hers, she smirks and tucks some expertly curled hair behind her ear. Her freshly manicured nails match the dress and her lipstick perfectly, but she doesn’t say anything. She just lets me continue my perusal like she’s the Mona Lisa.

And while she looks like a wet dream, her air of confidence feels…forced somehow.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her as I push myself up from the couch and close the rest of the distance between us.

“Of course, I look beautiful.” She rolls her eyes and keeps her nose pointed toward the ceiling while seeming like she’s completely dismissed my compliment. But there’s a redness in her cheeks that hints at a vulnerability she’s terrified to show me. Or anyone else, for that matter.

When I stay silent, she licks her lips and adds, “But thank you for noticing.” Her tone is softer. It’s more genuine than the first statement. Like if I hadn’t noticed, it would’ve broken her somehow, though she’d never admit it out loud. Like two different pieces of her are fighting for dominance: a faux confidence that screams bitch, and a heavy suitcase of insecurities that every woman seems to carry without any idea of how to make it lighter and easier to manage.

I shrug it off and focus on the latter of the two before offering my arm to her. “You’re welcome. Shall we?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums with her attention glued to my offered arm. After a second of hesitation, she takes it, and we walk down to the car.

The drive to the restaurant is nearly silent other than the occasional comment about the weather, the music playing through the shitty stereo system, and other small talk bullshit that makes me want to turn the car around and call it a night.

But my only goal for today is to make amends, and anytime we bring up something real or personal, it turns into a fight. Which means fake-ass bullshit will be the only topics discussed tonight.

And so far, it’s worked. We’ve been amicable, and I’m not about to push my luck.

As we enter the restaurant, Bianca assesses the place with scrutiny while I head to the pockmarked host. “Hey. We have a reservation under Connelly.”

The kid, who can’t be older than seventeen, is completely oblivious that I’ve said anything. He’s too busy staring at something behind me. I turn around to see what he’s looking at and want to laugh when I figure it out. His eyes are glued to Bianca’s chest. My gaze heats as I take in the view for a few seconds before realizing it.

I clear my throat, turn to the host, and try again. “Hey. We have a reservation.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

My nostrils flare. “Connelly. Party of two. We have a reservation.”

“Oh. Of course.” He scrolls through his iPad on the small podium he’s standing behind then nods. “Yes. Right here. Follow me, please.”

There’s a table tucked in the back corner, and he leads us to it before pulling out Bianca’s chair with flourish. “M-my lady.”

She grins but doesn’t bother to thank him for his efforts as she sits down in the dimly lit restaurant. I take the chair opposite her, then dismiss the host with a wave of my hand. “That’ll be all. Thanks.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Your waitress will be right with you.”

Then he disappears only to be replaced by a redhead in her early twenties. “Hi. I’m Jen, and I’ll be your waitress this evening. Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

I quirk my brow at Bianca as she picks up the menu and scans it quickly before deciding. “I’ll have vodka on the rocks. Thank you.”

“Let’s do a porter for me, please. And thank you,” I add as I hand the waitress our drink menus.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

She disappears into the sea of tables surrounding us before I turn back to my fiancée. “Vodka, huh?”

“You’re surprised?”

“I dunno. I kinda figured you were a red wine kind of woman.”

---