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“Never,” he replied. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
I laughed and leaned back on my hands. “And exactly what reputation is that?”
Gabe shrugged and finished off his hot cocoa. I followed suit, getting a big mouthful of rum at the bottom. I shuddered and made a face at him to indicate that the alcohol had gathered there. Gabe chuckled to himself, setting up another hand.
“This game is gonna last a long time if you only ever take off tiny pieces of jewelry.”
“Like you said,” I replied, checking for my watch. “I’m almost out. You’re really eager to see what’s underneath here. Aren't you?”
Gabe didn’t reply but instead focused on another fancy shuffle. I took that as a yes and suddenly I felt like there was no boundary I wasn’t willing to cross. Gabe was hot, and I was tipsy. Plus, it had been a while since I’d had a really good lay, and Gabe looked like he knew how to give a really good lay.
Dean be fucked. I was gonna make this a strip poker for the ages.
Chapter Twelve
Gabe
She’sDean’ssister.
I thought the words as a reminder to the logical, thinking side of my brain. The part of me that was in control. Clearly the less intellectual, emotional, need-driven Gabe, was distinctly ignored.
A small pile of Jenna’s jewelry sat between us as she took her turn shuffling and dealing the cards.
A pair of twos, the jack of spades, the nine of spades, and the seven of diamonds. Not exactly a winning hand, and she was right. I really did want to see that lacy bra again—and hopefully anything that might match it.
And even more than that, I wanted to see what was under them.
Jenna looked at her hand, and I saw the hint of a smile flicker across her face. Damn it. She was terrible at holding a poker face. I wondered briefly if it was on purpose, given how I would expect a trauma nurse to be able to handle herself around people who were going to die. Either way, my hand was looking pretty shitty, and I knew I couldn’t let myself lose that easily.
Not yet, anyway.
“I’m going to take two…” Jenna said, laying down the cards she wanted to trade. “And what about for mister big winner over there?”
I chuckled, trying to decide whether to take the three I really should have, or to bluff to try to make her think my hand was better than it was. Ultimately, I hate to report, pride won out over intellect, and I said, “Two as well.”
She raised an eyebrow as though challenging me. “Two it is.” She pulled two cards for each of us off the top of the deck and looked at hers. Her eyes lit up for the briefest split second, and, when I looked at my own cards, I knew I was fucked.
My hand now consisted of two twos, the six of diamonds, the jack of spades, and the queen of hearts.
“Alright,” she said with a cheeky grin. “What do you have?”
I smiled as bravely as I could, knowing there was a good chance she had a better hand than me, and laid down my cards.
“Pair of twos, queen high,” I said, leaning back with my hands behind my head like I’d just won a huge jackpot. Either I was right and she was finally going to have to remove an article of clothing, or I was wrong, in which case I was about to give her a big thrill.
I knew before she even opened her mouth what the answer was, and I allowed myself to look as disappointed as I wanted to at having lost the hand.
“Three of a kind, fives,” she said. “Wow, mister big shot winner. Guess it’s time for you to start taking things off. You gonna start big with that sweater, or…?”
“Oh, I’ll start big, all right,” I said with a sly smile. I reached for the buckle of my belt, slowly pulling the leather strap until it was almost free. Her eyes went wide as she watched me prepare to remove it, but, at the last second, I moved my hand to my wrist where my Rolex sat. I undid the clasp, pulled it off, and dropped it on top of her pile of jewelry.
“Clever,” she said with a giggle, though I could hear the hint of a growl behind the words as she realized I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
We played through another two hands, with her losing one and me losing the other, when we came across a disagreement as to the rules as written versus the rules as interpreted.
I pulled off one of my socks, then sat back down to deal a hand, when Jenna held out her hands in protest, scoffing, and said, “Hey, hey, hey! Whoa! What the hell is this?”
“What the hell is what?”
