Page 12 of Betting Blind
Her crystalline eyes shine with an emotion I refuse to read into. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you out there when you’re ready.” And with that, I disappear, leaving her alone to change.
* * *
Passing by the kitchen, I turn to follow the sound of laughter and male voices talking excitedly. When I enter the kitchen, white-hot anger breaks out underneath my skin when I catch sight of two cooks smiling and slapping Ben’s back. The rage continues to burn as I cross the room, seemingly unnoticed by any of them.
When Ben’s gaze falls to mine, I see no remorse in his deep blue eyes—eyes that are similar, but not exactly like mine. He has the balls to turn an easy smile in my direction. “Hey, little brother.”
Ben has my dark, almost black, hair, but he keeps his beard trimmed a bit tighter than mine. We are almost identical, aside from him being about two inches taller and lacking the ink that covers almost my entire body. He’s also two years older than me and a total flake.
“Don’t do that,” I grit through my teeth, and the crowd around us takes the hint, scurrying off to do a whole lot of who-fucking-cares. It’s family therapy time.
He blows a breath of air between his lips, turning away without a response. I shove his shoulder hard, allowing the disappointment that’s fueling my anger to propel me forward. He halts, slowly turning his big body in my direction. His shoulders roll back like he’s preparing for a fight and I flinch, all too familiar with the two of us brawling it out.
Ben’s the cool guy. He’s the guy everyone loves and wants to be around, and he’ll never say no to a good time—which is usually what ends up getting him into trouble, resulting in his little brother having to come save his ass.
The fists I have formed at my sides open and close slightly as an eerie chill settles over the room. Right now, the fun-loving Ben is gone. Guess I must have pissed him off, the poor baby.
“What’s your problem, Jackson?” His blue eyes are several shades darker than mine, but they match my anger identically.
“Where have you been?” I say, cutting straight to the point.
He makes another exasperated noise but doesn’t do well to hide the wound my accusing tone causes. “What’s it to you?”
“What’s it to me? Ben, you haven’t shown up for a single shift this week.” I drop my voice. “Did you forget that we run this shit together, or are you too busy getting drunk and gambling away our hard-earned money?”
He narrows his eyes at me, apparently not appreciating me outing his bad habits. “I haven’t been drinking.”
“Just gambling, then?”
“What I do outside of here is none of your fucking business.”
“It becomes my business when you don’t do your part.” I point a finger at his chest. “I’ve been running this place on my own while you’re running around doing whatever it is you do, making me look like the bad guy.”
“Whatever,” he grunts, swatting my hand away like a child.
My neck burns with fury, which quickly gives way to hopelessness, and my throat tightens painfully as he turns to leave. “I’m not always going to be here to save your ass!” I shout at his back.
He pauses for half of a second before exiting through the back door.
Familiar emotions stir to life in the pit of my gut. I’m angry with him for neglecting our business, but underneath the anger is a whole lot of worry. I don’t even know who he is anymore. Just the other night, I had a customer say they sawmeon the outside border of town at Royals Inn. Only it wasn’t me, and I know this because Ben and I are too well acquainted with the underground casino—though I left that part of my life behind years ago.
Whatever. Ben’s a grown man who can figure his own shit out. I’m tired of playing rescuer. Without a second glance, I head back out to the main floor to tackle my newest challenge—Cassidy.
* * *
As promised, Cassidy’s assets are on full display. It’s hard to tear my gaze away as she ties a short black apron around the front of her body before neatly slipping a notepad and pen into the pocket. Several guys openly gawk from the table beside her, which does little to help my shitty mood. They take the hint from my threatening glare, quickly busying themselves by drinking their beers.
You’re the one dressing her that way, genius.
I step behind the bar and grab one of my old jackets before crossing over to where she’s waiting. She tips her pretty face up to meet mine, and I swallow hard past the lump forming in my throat. “I see the tank fits.” My voice is embarrassingly tight.
She takes the jacket, eyeing me suspiciously. “Yeah, barely.” Her chest jiggles as she adjusts it, and I turn my eyes toward the ceiling and count backward from ten.
Not hot, not hot, not hot.
Flattening her palms over the curve of her waist, she says, “I hope it’s okay that I took this. I’m a pen and paper kind of gal.” Her voice is gentle, making me feel like a real dick for the way I’ve been treating her. I cross my arms, defending myself against her once more. Or maybe I’m defending her from me.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Our new hire, Micah, is standing behind the bar with Derrick, who’s teaching him the trade of bartending. D’s managing tonight, so I can help Cassidy get a little more comfortable before I cut her loose on her own. All my guys are more than capable of training her, but I want her trainedmyway—the right way.
