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Ezra, on the other hand, plays every Saturday night with a few of the townspeople. He can bluff his way into a win with his eyes closed. I’m thrown when he grunts at the two king suites he is handed. I thought they were good.
I count the money at the center of the table. There is a year’s wages up for grabs. With that kind of money, Ezra could finish his cottage or pay a dowry and marry his sister off so she wouldn’t have to work as a maid for the rest of her life. He could even take the coin, travel to more fruitful governance, and have a real shot at life again. I try to hide my excitement. Ezra is a hard worker and a good person, despite the character he’s playing tonight. He deserves this fortune.
But he pushes his cards to the center of the table, facedown, and says, “I fold this round.”
I could scream.
The third and final player at the table, a balding man with a missing tooth, calls Ezra a pussy through a chuckle. The game plays out, and a pair of threes and a couple of twos win the money.
Ezra doesn’t seem to care that the table laughs at his expense. He sits silently, his fingers skimming the hem of my corset, waiting for the next hand to be dealt. When it is, he gets an ace and a king. I know the cards are good this time, but he folds once again.
Frustrated with tonight’s tactic, I lean in and whisper, “What are you doing?”
Ezra stares at me, trying to decide his next move. There’s a storm in his eyes, and I can tell he’s torn between the pseudo-personality he has created and the man I know him to be. My friend would never fold a pocket ace. He’d play the hand and bluff his way to a win. He wouldn’t throw away a week’s worth of hard earnings either.
“I thought you said she’d be red?” the dealer grumbles, his voice laden with irritation. “She doesn’t look red to me.”
Ezra blinks and morphs into someone I’ve never met before. I don’t know if he’s channeling his inner demons or taking cues from his sister’s ex-boyfriend, but he shoves me off his lap. His hand is brutal. It pushes me not just off of him but onto the floor.
I look up at my friend and wonder if I truly know him. Is it possible this demon was hiding beneath the surface of his calm demeanor? Or is this what his tipping point looks like? Drunk and bitter?
I feel bad, worried I’ve broken the kindest man I know, until he says, “Spread your legs, girl, and show ‘em you’re worth the money.”
“Ezra. What the hell?” I swear this man has the balls of a bull, and I'm going to castrate him.
I push the gossamer of my skirt down to cover my exposed legs, unable to wrap my mind around the person my best friend is pretending to be. There has to be a reason he’s being so crude. Something he’s discovered I’ve yet to pick up on. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
The card dealer chuckles, and his lips lift into a hungry grin. “She’s mouthy, like them Cerise are. Maybe she is red, after all.”
I glance at the people around us. The other men at the table are watching, waiting for my reaction, devouring my every move like I'm a prized steak placed in front of them.
It takes all my self-control not to wipe those hungry looks off their faces, but I have to remember the part I signed up to play. I'm a working girl. I'm here to earn an honest wage by being attractive and, most importantly, agreeable.
“Something that will cost you handsomely to find out,” I manage to say flirtatiously, even though I want to die on the inside. “After this one has finished with histurn.”
I hike up my skirt high, muttering a string of curses in my head, and straddle my friend again. I hope Ezra can feel the fury boiling off of me. When this is all said and done, payback is going to be a bitch.
Ezra swallows thickly as I settle onto his lap. Without warning, a haze I can't explain comes over me. It feels like I'm drunk even though it’s been over an hour since I’ve touched a drop of alcohol.
I run my hands down Ezra’s chest, and my mind strays to corners I’ve chosen to ignore. His muscles are lean but strong. Hard yet soft.
My skin hums everywhere our bodies touch, and the sensation is intoxicating. My thoughts tumble deeper down the rabbit hole, wondering what it would feel like if there weren’t clothes between us and what his lips might taste like. Would they have hints of the barley beer he’s sipped on or remnants of the woman he bedded earlier this evening?
I dip my head, unable to resist the urge to press my lips to his neck. "What are you doing to me?"
My whispers wrap around us like a snake.
The words dangerous, yet beautiful.
Ezra chuckles, and the sound vibrates deep in his chest. He threads his fingers through my hair and wraps the long, dust-coated locks in his fist. My roots sting against the tension as he pulls my head to the side, but the pain is surprisingly enjoyable.
He leans closer and brushes his lips against my ear as he says, “Your sergeant is at our table. He deals the cards tonight."
I try to turn and look at the dealer, but Ezra holds my hair to keep me still. He sucks the lobe of my ear between his lips, and I forget my purpose for being in this damned bar. His mouth is heaven and hell all at once. I can't decide if I want him to stop or to feel what else he can do to me.
I expected the memory of what Graves did to me to ruin this moment, but there is no comparison between the past and now. Graves was all edges and sharp corners whereas Ezra's mouth is warm nights by the fire and cozy blankets.
"That little sound you made was perfect," Ezra whispers.
