Page 43 of Tequila & Lace
“Do you know how to play?” Derrick asked as we got closer. His hand was in mine, but it felt weird. It wasn’t Paul’s and I missed him. I missed his smell, his touch, his laugh, his voice, and it hadn’t even been two hours. It was probably because I was out with another man. Yeah, this whole dating other people thing sucked, but I had no leads on the sex trafficking situation and I had to keep going until I did.
I shook my head. “I’m more of a blackjack girl.”
“Let’s try craps and see what happens. I want to see your mouth blow something.”
My gaze darted to his. “I’m good at that.” I really wasn’t. I’d never given a blowjob a day in my life. We could thank the curse for that.
He groaned as we stepped up to the table. “I bet you are, baby girl. Damn… I bet you are.”
I smiled up at him and waited for him to place his bet, but he didn’t. “Why aren’t you placing a bet?” I whispered.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him. “I’m waiting to become the shooter.” He kissed the top of my head. I nodded as if I knew what that meant—I had no idea.
The cocktail waitress came over and we both ordered drinks. Finally, Derrick placed a bet on the pass line. I couldn’t tell how much, but the table had a minimum of twenty dollars per bet. He was passed the dice and then he reached out for me to blow on them. I leaned forward and blew.
When I looked up, all eyes were on me and I smiled, wondering if they thought I was his girlfriend or his mistress—I guess I kinda was both. When I continued to scan the table, my gaze fell on familiar brown ones. I tilted my head in question and she waved.
“What are you doing here?” I mouthed. She didn’t say anything as she started to walk toward me.
Derrick turned to me and said, “Our number is eight.”
“What does that mean?”
“We rolled an eight. We can’t roll an eight or our turn is over.”
“How do we win money?”
He was already reaching to place chips down on the ten. “We have to roll a ten now, Andi with an I.” He held up his hand with the dice and I blew. He rolled a three.
I frowned. “Aw, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not an eight.” He laughed.
“We keep going?”
He nodded and placed more chips on the two on the green felt table and I looked over at the girl from the strip club that told me about Mr. Martinez. She was standing next to me, waiting for me to acknowledge her, but Derrick was in the middle of betting. He reached out again with the dice for me to blow on and I did. He tossed them on the table.
“Yes!” I cheered as I counted the two die; he’d rolled snake eyes. He hugged me then grabbed his winnings and the dice. “More?” I asked.
“We go until we roll an eight.” He chuckled.
“Oh,” I stammered and turned quickly to the chick next to me. “What are you doing here?” I whispered again.
“I saw you over here and wanted to come say hi.”
“I’m working.”
“I know.”
Derrick turned to me and I smiled up and him and blew. I wasn’t sure which number he placed a bet on; I just hoped he won.
“Let’s talk after your date is over,” she continued.
I wanted to tell her to fuck off because I wanted to go straight home to Paul, but I was here to do a job both for S&R and the FBI. I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll meet you at the valet at midnight.”
Cheers erupted around the table. Derrick turned and we hugged. He must have won. When he turned to grab the dice, the girl was gone.
“Pick a number, baby girl,” Derrick offered, holding chips out to place a bet.
