Page 75 of Bunker Down, Baby

Wade raises a brow, not objecting. Evan sighs like someone just asked him to babysit toddlers. Brock… well, Brock looks like he’s halfway between bolting and biting, but he doesn’t leave. That’s progress.

Dean’s already shirtless, because of course he is. Which means he’s starting the game at a strategic disadvantage, zero upper layers, cocky smirk, full menace. Which is also on-brand.

“I’d say this gives me an unfair edge,” Wade says mildly, tossing his flannel over the back of his chair. “But I don’t think any of you were planning to win anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” I whisper, absolutely not looking directly at the way his shirtless chest stretches like barn-raised pornography.

Evan deals without a word.

Dean winks at me across the table. “I’m playing to lose.”

I cross my legs slowly, smiling into my wine. “I know, baby.”

The first few hands are uneventful. Brock doesn’t fold once, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t fully know the rules. He’s just staring down his cards like they’ve insulted him personally and he’s planning revenge.

Dean loses a sock, then another. Wade keeps winning like he’s reading minds. Evan loses his belt and threatens the deck with violence.

Wade wins another round.

Dean whoops like it’s Mardi Gras. “Yes! Off with the shirt, sugar!”

“Are you cheering because I lost or because Wade won?” I ask, standing to pull my shirt over my head.

Dean fans himself. “Yes.”

Evan tosses his next hand in with a grimace. “Can we switch to blackjack? I like the odds better.”

“Nope,” Wade says cheerfully. “This is destiny.”

I’m sitting there in my favorite bra, black, lace, and very much intentional, and all of them are looking like I just walked in naked.

Except Brock. He’s doing that thing where he pretends not to look. But he is. Every time I shift, every time I move, his eyes flick like a sniper tracking a target he refuses to admit he wants.

He still hasn’t spoken. But he hasn’t left either.

Wade wins again.

“Oh my god,” Evan groans.

I unclip my bra with the slow flourish of a magician about to saw someone in half.

Dean clutches his heart.

Wade mutters something that sounds like “Lord, have mercy.”

Evan clears his throat and definitely shifts in his seat.

Brock doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink, either.

I lean forward on the table, resting my chin on my hand like this is all very innocent. “You still with us, Brock?”

His eyes lift slowly to mine. “Watching,” he says.

That’s it. Just one word. Low. Rough. But it hits me like a live wire.

Dean snickers. “He’s gonna snap one day, and it’s gonna be biblical.”

I smile, sweet and sharp. “Can’t wait.”

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