Page 72 of IOU

“What’s with all this sea lion stuff anyway?” I point with my carrot to the stuffed sea lion that now basically lives on my couch.

“What’s with all the poker stuff?” She points with the slice of pizza in her hand mockingly.

“It’s a business,” I respond. “I make a living off playing the game.”

She swallows a huge bite. “Liar. You make a living out of doing all the IRA-y type stuff for your grandfather.”

“Pops,” I correct her. “I call him Pops.”

She smiles, and I shove a stalk of broccoli down my throat to shut myself up.

“Did your pops raise you?”

She already knows my mother died.

“Yes, you could say that.”

“What about your dad? Is he still alive?”

I snatch the remote and turn the volume up on the TV. I don’t want to share pasts with her right now. I’ve already shared too much as it stands.

“I’ve never met my father,” she volunteers. “My mom raised me all by herself.” Her gaze is fixed on the television. “My grandma helped out a lot too. So I never had a traditional upbringing either.”

Don’t answer.“Does anyone?” Sebastian is the only one out of my friends who was raised with a mother and father. Rowan and I had pieced-together families.

She snorts. “Probably not.”

“Is that why you play Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Because of your grandma?”

I catch her grin. “Yep. What about you? Does the poker stuff come from your pops?”

I snort. “No, the making money part does, though.”

He really is going to kick my ass when he learns what I’ve been doing to his company.

A sea lion barks on the screen, and I watch as Ainsley completely forgets about me, her face lighting up with something like pure happiness.

“You never answered my question,” I probe.

“Shh! Hush for just a minute.”

Just a minute turned out to be until the sea lion went off, and a commercial came on.

“Now, what were you saying?” she asks me, totally serious.

She really just shushed me so she could finish watching her precious sea lions do nothing but bark and flop around on a fake rock.

“I was asking, again, what’s with you and these sea lions?” I point to the stuffed one she now has clutched in her lap.

“I like them,” she answers vaguely.

I cock a brow. “More like you’re obsessed with them.”

“I like them a lot, okay?”

Not okay. She is not going to weasel personal information out of me and think she can get away unscathed.

“Why do you like this aquarium show so much?” I try again. “It’s rather boring.”

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