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My back stiffens, knowing just how dangerous this could be, and I snap my gaze toward Dalton. He knows better than to make this bet, and despite how desperately he wants to win, he wouldn’t dare push this.
Zade has other plans though.
He steps up to the edge of the court, that same lethal challenge in his stare. “You got yourself a bet,” he tells her, making my brow arch. “You win, and we’ll be in your debt, but you lose, and you’ll be in mine.”
She shakes her head. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“It’s my deal,” he says. “You want to play with fire, then you better be prepared to get burned.”
She swallows hard, and when she raises her chin, it’s fucking on.
Cross and I stand, moving onto the court.
Then we play.
Chapter 19
OAKLEY
Thatwasthelongestbasketball game I’ve ever witnessed, and I say witnessed because after the first eight minutes, I realized I hadn’t touched the ball once and sat out instead. Hell, I don’t even think they noticed. These assholes are competitive motherfuckers. At that point, I don’t think they even cared about the deal. They just wanted to win.
There’s no denying it though, Dalton Eros is a god on the court. He dominated, but when all rules were off the table and it was two against one, that cocky nature quickly faded. Now here I sit, happy as a fucking clam because as of ten minutes ago, these four assholes are now in my debt.
I sit across the court, leaning back on my hands with my ankles crossed out in front of me, the boys relaxing around me and soaking up the lunchtime sun. All except Zade, who’s pacing by the edge of the roof and roaring demands through his phone. “Is he always like this?” I ask as Dalton notices my stare.
“Some days more than not,” he admits. “He’s got a lot on his plate. Couldn’t be easy being in his position.”
“And what position is that?”
Dalton spreads his arms out wide, indicating the very roof we’re sitting on. “All of this. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Firefly. This hotel is his pride and joy, and achieving this standard of luxury and maintaining a five-star rating isn’t easy. He’s worked his ass off for this.”
God, I hate it when they say things that make me empathize with the devil.
I’m just about ready to admit that maybe Zade has at least one redeeming quality when a softdingsounds across the rooftop. My gaze snaps back to the elevator, finding one of the many hotel employees striding toward us, a serving platter in his hands.
He glances at Zade, who points toward me, and his employee immediately adjusts his direction. Standing up, I meet the guy and he offers me the platter. “Miss,” he says with a nod. “A house burger with fries, and a Diet Coke.”
Taking it from him, I offer a polite smile. “Thank you,” I say, astonished that Zade actually ordered it for me. But hey, what kind of asshole would he be if he didn’t give his prisoner enough energy to try to escape him? After all, isn’t that the fun of it?
I’m just about ready to set it down when the man fishes in his pocket and hands me two packets of charcoal sticks, exactly what I’d requested. I take them from him eagerly, recognizing the expensive brand across the packaging. A brand I’ve always had to skip out on. Motioning toward the platter, I give him a hopeful glance. “There doesn’t happen to be a sketch pad hidden in here?”
“A sketch pad?” he questions, looking back at me in a panic. “My apologies, Miss. I was not informed that you required a sketch pad. I’ll have someone go to pick one up. Is there any brand you prefer?”
“No, no,” I say, glancing across at Zade, who watches me with a stupid smirk across his stupid face. He must have purposefully not mentioned the sketch pad when he put in the call. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s fine, I’ll make do without it.”
“As you wish,” he says with a nod before Dalton whips out a fifty-dollar bill and hands it over. My eyes widen, watching the exchange, and a fierce longing rumbles through my chest. I’d kill to get tips like that on the regular. Perhaps I’m in the wrong field. I wonder if Zade would be so kind as to give me a job here. That way I could hit up all the rich pricks who come waltzing through the door. They couldn’t be any worse than the assholes who frequent the bar. The only difference is the rich pricks have cash to blow.
The hotel employee scurries away to get back to work, and I drop back down to the court before diving into my burger. Those eight minutes of running up and down the court really killed me. Perhaps a little exercise is in my future.
The burger looks delicious, and I bite into it before noticing that Zade’s stare is still firmly locked on me. “What’s his probl—” I cut myself off as it hits me.
Chili. There’s chili on this burger and a shit ton of it.
My mouth starts to burn and my eyes bug out of my head. “Holy fuck,” I pant, scrambling for my Diet Coke and drinking half the glass through the skinny straw, feeling my eyeballs start to sweat. “Who the fuck puts that much chili on a burger?”
“Oh?” Zade questions, pure satisfaction in his dark eyes. “My mistake.”
Rat bastard.
