Page 62 of Wild Card
“For which part? Failing to mention that you more than just”—his free hand lifts, fingers curling in air quotes—“‘understand the concept’ of poker?”
My head joggles before I fix my gaze on him. “Okay, well, sure.”
He pushes to stand and begins taking slow, casual steps in my direction. “Or is it for making me—a forty-year-old man—sneak around in his own house?”
My lips purse. He’s really milking this. And his slow approach is doing nothing to calm my nerves. “That part takes two, ya know.”
All I get in return is a lifted brow as he rounds the island toward me. Okay, maybe I had been a little forward with the strip poker pressure, but he wasn’t exactly begging me to stop either.
“Mostly, I’m sorry for invading your privacy. That was entirely out of character and definitely morally questionable.”
He stops before me, props one side of that well-muscled ass I spent the night dreaming about against the counter’s edge, and takes another steaming sip of his coffee while nodding absently.
He’s too much.
I drop his gaze, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and leans in close, closing the distance between us and coming almost chest to chest. I swear I can feel him inhale as all the air around me is instantly pulled out of reach.
“The thing is, Gwen, next time you want to watch me, you should just ask.”
My brain function stutters as my eyes snap to his. “Pardon me?”
“You heard me.”
My heart thuds in my ears, pulse rushing heavily through my entire body as my brain wraps itself around what he just flat-out said to me.
“I…” My jaw opens and closes. He’s officially caught me off guard. I was expecting a scolding, not an invitation. A soft, warming sensation takes root in my chest. This teasing, it feels borderline familiar. It takes me back to a snowy night in a dark terminal. To a version of myself who wasn’t afraid to say what was on her mind.
It’s with that girl in mind that I respond. “I did hear you. And I heard you whisper my name when you came too. So maybe if you wanted me to watch, you should have told me.”
Bash swallows as his gaze heats. I can see he’s about to say something back, his body coils—like he’s on the prowl.
I find my shoulders tipping toward him in anticipation. My tongue darts out and a fluttery feeling bubbles up in my stomach. I’m hanging on to the moment with a sense of eagerness I’ve never felt before. Until the doorbell rings and the world around us comes crashing back into focus.
Both our heads whip toward the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Bash grumbles, sounding annoyed by the interruption.
He walks toward me, the smell of amber and cedar floating over his skin, and as he passes me, he squeezes my hip. Then his hand trails over my lower back. Fingertips skimming over the strip of bare skin between my baby tee and baggy jeans. Gooseflesh breaks out over my arms at the contact. And I watch him walk away, his round ass hugged by a pair of faded black Levi’s.
Looking like that should be illegalis all I can think. It makes me wonder if he really had been about to get up and put his money where his mouth is.
But when he opens that door, all my wishful thinking dies a fast, fiery death.
CHAPTER TWENTY
BASH
I swing the front door open, quelling my rising irritation over the fact that whoever is here is pulling me away from Gwen. They’re interrupting an important conversation, and I’m ready to tell them to fuck off.
But shock renders me silent when I come face-to-face with my son.
“Tripp,” I say blankly, taking in his casual attire of jeans, a plain gray hoodie, and a team cap.
He shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “Hey. Sorry to just drop in on you. I just… Well, my schedule opened up, and I know you had the surgery, so I figured I’d whip out here and check on you.”
I keep my face impassive, disguising my shock over his presence as I search for words that aren’tyour timing is shit.
“You know, like I said I would,” he adds for context.
