now he was scowling. She was pretty sure making her date scowl at the door was not the way to add the spice she was looking for.
“Listen, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said, but neither his tense shoulders nor his telling glance at his watch had her convinced.
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry. Why don’t you come in?” She opened the door but was too embarrassed to take her eyes off the floor.
Chaz cleared his throat. “Um, Riley?”
“What?” She followed his gaze to the couch . . . where her new leather bustier was nicely displayed. “Oh, my God!” Her hand flew to her mouth. She had totally forgotten she’d left it there! What would Chaz think?
Behind her, he made an umphing sound she wasn’t sure was good or bad. “Is that your roommate’s?” he asked. “Of course it is. You wouldn’t waste money on something so frivolous.”
“Um.” She spun around to face him. She had to think fast—but he was looking at his watch.
He smiled but it was forced. “Listen, I should go. I have an early meeting tomorrow. I’ll send you a text though, okay?”
It was Riley’s turn to force a smile. “Right. Okay, that’d be nice.”
Chaz pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
And as she walked him out, she couldn’t help but think I bet Charlie Singleton didn’t end a date with his girlfriend with a kiss against her cheek.
Chapter Three
Charlie studied the faces of the players around him. These were amateurs, cocky sons a’ bitches who thought they could plop down at a Vegas poker table and take home a load of crisp new bills. Charlie wasn’t interested in their money and carefully planned his strategy so he would win some, lose some, and walk away even-steven. He just needed some time with the game to stay loose for the tournament.
Located in a VIP private box, their game overlooked the stage where the illustrious Black Diamond dancers performed. The guy across from him signaled for another beer, and Charlie rolled his eyes. Too much alcohol could destroy the game of even the most experienced player, and yet when guys like this one wanted to “act like a pro,” they drank too much and generally loosed up on all their good sense. Then again, people didn’t come to the Black Diamond to practice self-restraint.
Charlie was lucky. Since he was fifteen, he’d had a talent for the game matched only by his passion for it. His and Lacey’s dad had never been around, but a neighbor in the subsidized housing where he grew up had taught Charlie everything he knew about the game. He’d taught him how to deal. How to bluff. How to use deductive thinking to get a pretty good guess at what the other players were holding. But most importantly, Walter had taught him how to have fun without losing everything.
Charlie could still remember when Walter had first brought him into the casinos. Charlie had been fifteen—too young to cross the red ropes, but old enough to understand what Walter had been talking about when he spotted the hungry greed in people’s eyes. The message had gone through loud and clear, and Charlie had never gambled a penny he wouldn’t be happy to lose.
Did Angela’s son—the paperwork named him Tony—have a Walter in his life? Someone to teach him right from wrong? A man who taught him what it meant to be a man? Charlie hoped so, but if Angela was looking to him for that, she was setting herself up for disappointment.
A high school dropout and a man the media made out to be a womanizer, Charlie would be a pathetic excuse for a role model. Hell, he’d managed to make a nice career for himself through the less-than-respectable path of professional poker, but even that was fading.
Charlie turned at a tap on his shoulder. A svelte blonde smiled down at him. “This seat taken?”
“Not that I know of.”
She sat and scooted her chair toward Charlie so the outside of their legs touched. “You don’t mind me taking your money, do
“Listen, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said, but neither his tense shoulders nor his telling glance at his watch had her convinced.
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry. Why don’t you come in?” She opened the door but was too embarrassed to take her eyes off the floor.
Chaz cleared his throat. “Um, Riley?”
“What?” She followed his gaze to the couch . . . where her new leather bustier was nicely displayed. “Oh, my God!” Her hand flew to her mouth. She had totally forgotten she’d left it there! What would Chaz think?
Behind her, he made an umphing sound she wasn’t sure was good or bad. “Is that your roommate’s?” he asked. “Of course it is. You wouldn’t waste money on something so frivolous.”
“Um.” She spun around to face him. She had to think fast—but he was looking at his watch.
He smiled but it was forced. “Listen, I should go. I have an early meeting tomorrow. I’ll send you a text though, okay?”
It was Riley’s turn to force a smile. “Right. Okay, that’d be nice.”
Chaz pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
And as she walked him out, she couldn’t help but think I bet Charlie Singleton didn’t end a date with his girlfriend with a kiss against her cheek.
Chapter Three
Charlie studied the faces of the players around him. These were amateurs, cocky sons a’ bitches who thought they could plop down at a Vegas poker table and take home a load of crisp new bills. Charlie wasn’t interested in their money and carefully planned his strategy so he would win some, lose some, and walk away even-steven. He just needed some time with the game to stay loose for the tournament.
Located in a VIP private box, their game overlooked the stage where the illustrious Black Diamond dancers performed. The guy across from him signaled for another beer, and Charlie rolled his eyes. Too much alcohol could destroy the game of even the most experienced player, and yet when guys like this one wanted to “act like a pro,” they drank too much and generally loosed up on all their good sense. Then again, people didn’t come to the Black Diamond to practice self-restraint.
Charlie was lucky. Since he was fifteen, he’d had a talent for the game matched only by his passion for it. His and Lacey’s dad had never been around, but a neighbor in the subsidized housing where he grew up had taught Charlie everything he knew about the game. He’d taught him how to deal. How to bluff. How to use deductive thinking to get a pretty good guess at what the other players were holding. But most importantly, Walter had taught him how to have fun without losing everything.
Charlie could still remember when Walter had first brought him into the casinos. Charlie had been fifteen—too young to cross the red ropes, but old enough to understand what Walter had been talking about when he spotted the hungry greed in people’s eyes. The message had gone through loud and clear, and Charlie had never gambled a penny he wouldn’t be happy to lose.
Did Angela’s son—the paperwork named him Tony—have a Walter in his life? Someone to teach him right from wrong? A man who taught him what it meant to be a man? Charlie hoped so, but if Angela was looking to him for that, she was setting herself up for disappointment.
A high school dropout and a man the media made out to be a womanizer, Charlie would be a pathetic excuse for a role model. Hell, he’d managed to make a nice career for himself through the less-than-respectable path of professional poker, but even that was fading.
Charlie turned at a tap on his shoulder. A svelte blonde smiled down at him. “This seat taken?”
“Not that I know of.”
She sat and scooted her chair toward Charlie so the outside of their legs touched. “You don’t mind me taking your money, do