Page 18 of Illicit Heir

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Sorry. Do I not look posh enough for technology either?"

I wince since my previous golfer's comment must have struck a nerve with him. Still, I'm not going to apologize. These men are strangers and in my pub. It's my duty to be skeptical and question them on who they are, especially when there's so much chaos in my family. So, I respond, "Can't say I'm an expert on techies. Not sure I've ever met one, but maybe a pair of sexy specs would be appropriate."

He chuckles. "Sexy specs?"

"Yea. Don't all tech nerds wear glasses?"

"Who said I'm a nerd?"

I shrug.

"But ya think glasses are sexy?"

"Depends on the pair and who's wearing them."

"Why are ya all talking about glasses when none of us wear them? Let's get on with it," Tynan blurts out.

"Agreed." Devin gives me another cocky look, then removes a wad of cash from his pocket. He sets it next to Tynan's. It's half the size, and I once again gape.

He demands, "Let's get on with this, lass. How do we play?"

Jessica interjects, which is good because my mind turns mushy again. She announces, "It's easy. The first to run out of cards wins. You can match numbers or suits. So, if ya get a six of spades, ya can put down a six or a spade. If ya don't have one, ya have to draw another card."

"It's like Uno?"

"Yea," I confirm.

He leans back in his chair, cracks his neck, then his knuckles, and rolls his shoulders. He commands, "Deal it up, lass."

Jesus, help me.

Why did that turn me on?

Focus!

I obey, then put the remaining cards on the table and flip the first one over, which is the queen of hearts. I state, "Ya can go first."

He purses his lips, shaking his head. "Nope. Lasses first."

"But I dealt."

"And I'm a gentleman." Mischief flies into his expression.

I tilt my head. "Sure, ya are."

"Well, it depends on the situation," he confesses and points to my hand. "You're up."

My butterflies reappear, and I refocus on my hand, adding a queen to the pile.

For several rounds, we put cards down until we each have three left.

Jessica states, "I don't think you shuffled very well."

I toss her some daggers with my glare. Her inability to keep her opinion to herself annoys me more than normal this evening.

"Crap," Devin mutters and picks up a card.

My adrenaline spikes. Then I assess my hand, and my gut drops. I double-check, but I don't have an eight or diamond. I groan and pick up a ten of clubs.

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