Page 20 of Ly to Me
“Oh, what a kind man you are. That would be wonderful!”
“Hayes, deal.” Carver tapped his fingers on the table and spread his legs wide, bumping into one of mine. Heat bloomed immediately at the contact, and I smoothed my hands down my front, ending with a flick to Carver’s knee.
He didn’t budge.
“We’re playin’ Texas hold ’em. This first round will be to show you”—Grant waved his hand, signaling for Hayes to skip me—“how to play.” Grant leaned in closer to whisper in my ear, and Carver’s leg pressed harder against mine. “Keep an eye on my cards and learn how the big boys do it.”
“Don’t act like you don’t lose every time.” Carver pulled the remnants of a blunt from behind his ear, then lit it before picking up his two cards.
“Most of poker is bluffing, or acting like your cards ain’t shit when they really are, or the other way ’round. Carver here is good at it.”
My brows shot up. “You mean he’s a good liar?” I feigned surprise, and Carver pulled his leg away, but kept hisI-don’t-give-a-fuckposture as he took a hit.
Smoke plumed around me as he exhaled. “When he’s not growing or screwing, I’m pretty sure he’s working on his game,” Hayes answered with a deep voice that matched his broad appearance—broad shoulders, chest, and biceps stretching a fitted T, and if I looked beneath the table, I’d wager his thighs were thick enough to bust a watermelon. The man was terrifyingly big, but in a way that looked like most of his muscle had been formed from hard labor or some kind of demanding sport, yet didn’t refuse a meal if offered.
“Who says I can’t do it all at the same time?” Carver moved the blunt from one hand to the other, and right before he slid that hand into his lap, I caught sight of a red line matching the one on my knee.
If that had been from the glass I left him to clean up, then I was fucked.
“Ante up, fuckers,” Grant said, angling his cards just enough for me to see them—a seven of clubs and a two of hearts. Nothing spectacular off the bat. Still, he threw in a few chips, clattering like my plans crashing around me.
Everyone around the table tossed their chips in, all except for Jamie’s new…whatever she was, who folded. “My money’s on you, big guy,” she purred, wrapping her arms around Jamie’s neck. She was attractive, blonde flowing loose curls with short-shorts that showed off her toned legs and a blouse that woman from the store in town would lose her mind over in a bad way.
He certainly had a type.
“Your hair is gorgeous,” I admitted, twirling mine between my fingers as the guys all threw in more chips. “Where do you get it done?”
She blinked at me like I’d grown two heads. Either she had no clue I was here because of the two-faced guy she was on the lap of, or she knew and was pissed off about it. It was hard to tell with her facial features being naturally pinched.
When her smile shifted, I knew she had no clue who I was. Really, only Carver did. “There’s a woman in town who has been doin’ it for years, ain’t that right, babe?”
He nodded, though I doubted he knew what she’d said, his focus more on the cards than us.
“Can I get her number? The dye she used on you looks fabulous.”
Her face dropped, like it was some secret her hair had been dyed that shade of blonde like mine was. “I—”
Chips clattered, cutting off what’s-her-face as the last round of bets went through. Grant tossed his cards in the center. “I fold, assholes.”
Jamie rubbed the side of his nose, Hayes shuffled in his seat, and Carver remained perfectly still, reminding me of the way he looked when he shoved his fingers in my mouth. My guess? Carver had a winning hand.
Hayes turned the cards over in the center, and Jamie went right back to rubbing his nose. Interesting. Hayes tossed in a few more chips, checking his cards and the ones on the table. Jamie glanced at Carver before tossing a few more chips in as well, then Carver followed.
No more than a minute later, another card was turned, no bets placed, then the final card. All showed their hands, the only one of value being Carver’s. The blunt’s cherry burned close to his lips as he leaned forward and dragged the chips to his side.
Grant chuckled. “See? What’d I tell you? He always wins.”
“Not true!” the other woman shrieked. “Jamie here beat my daddy in a game, and no one beats him.”
“Alright, sugar. No need to get all defensive for me.”
Carver took one last drag of his blunt, then put it out on his thumb without flinching. “Let’s see who’s the best, then.”
I followed Carver’s glare—right at Jamie. The table fell silent for a few beats before Grant chuckled. “Hayes and I are out, aren’t we?”
Carver jerked his chin toward his roommate. “What do you say, Jamie? High stakes?”
Jamie’s brow cocked, his arm wrapping around the blonde’s waist almost protectively. “How high?”
