Page 58 of Where I Should’ve Been

One might’ve thought a bake sale would be more appropriate, but the people in this small town apparently prefer gambling to cupcakes.

My table is a mix of family and familiar faces. My brother Bennett sits to my left, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Norah leans comfortably against him, playing with her chips like she’s been doing this her whole life. Josie Harris is across from me, bright-eyed and competitive, and her husband Clay is dealing. Sheriff Peeler, Betty Bagley, Eileen Martin, and a few other townsfolk are at the next table over, already bickering about rules, and Marty Higgins is behind the bar, his wife Sheila perched on a stool beside him.

“Breezy, you play a lot of Texas Hold’em in New York?” Tad asks as he folds his hand to Clay. He’s two seats down from me, and his broad shoulders are framed in flannel, while his forearms showcase strength from beneath rolled-up sleeves. His favorite faded ball cap is turned backward—which, damn, I’m starting to understand the appeal. Basically, he looks like sin in denim, and it’s no wonder half the women in this small town want a piece.

Randy’s wedged between us, grumbling over his cards, and I put on my most neutrally friendly face to look over him to meet Tad’s eyes as I answer his question.

“Occasionally,” I answer smoothly, glancing back at my cards like I’m easy peasy, cool and breezy, and haven’t spent the last week sneaking into his bed every night. “But this is certainly my first time playing where my Hold’em skills can affect children.”

He chuckles at that. “Small-town stakes are high.”

“Who taught you how to play poker, Breezy?” Bennett asks, one brow raised.

I don’t even hesitate. “Just some guy named Tom.”

Across the table, Tad coughs into his ice water to cover a laugh, and I have to look away before my face gives me away. To be honest, ever since Norah told me I had to come to this little charity event a week ago, Tad has been teaching me how to play Texas Hold’em.

Mind you, most of the time we’ve been naked and in his bed, but lessons were definitely being had.

“Tom?” Bennett repeats slowly, his tone suspiciously casual. “Would that be the same Tom I’ve heard you on the phone with at night?”

Uh-oh. Maybe I’ve gotten a little too comfortable with those secret code names I made us choose two weeks ago. I freeze for half a second before I jump into offensive mode. “You’re eavesdropping on my phone calls, Ben?”

“It’s kinda hard not to hear your calls when you’re cackling like a lunatic.” Bennett smirks. “And when were you going to tell me you’re seeing some dude named Tom?”

“I’m not seeing him,” I say quickly. “He’s just…uh, a business contact. Likes to call late because of the time difference.”

“The time difference?” Bennett echoes. “Where’s he based, Mars?”

“London,” I blurt. “He’s British.”

Josie laughs into her drink. “A British Tom. How fancy. Maybe he should teach me poker.”

“Slow your roll, woman,” Clay interjects, and Josie just sticks her tongue out at him. “Shall I remind you I’m a very jealous man when it comes to you?”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Josie retorts. “You were the one who kept me married to you for five years against my will.”

Clay just smiles. “And I still don’t regret a single second of it.”

“Me either.” Josie leans over to press a playful kiss to his lips. “Macho man.”

Clay waggles his brows. “Oh, I’ll show you macho, baby.”

“Get a room!” Norah shouts, a giggle on her lips. “We’re trying to gamble for the kids here!”

Clay just chuckles and dives straight back into his dealer role.

The whole table breaks into easy laughter, chips clinking and cards shuffling again. It’s loud and warm and full of small-town energy, but under it, there’s something quieter. A pulse I can feel from two seats away, where Tad’s shoulder shakes with silent laughter.

The bastard is loving that Bennett’s overheard some of my phone calls with “Tom.”

I send him a discreet glare, but he just meets my gaze, a slow, infuriating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The smug bastard. I shake my head and smile despite myself.

To anyone else, Tad and I are just acquaintances. Just neighbors-of-neighbors, nodding and smiling politely, and occasionally teasing each other the way small-towners do.

But under the table, my phone buzzes against my thigh.