It was swift and painless, seeing as I had no idea what I was doing, and slow to react when the dealer explained my next moves to me. But Cruz had a remarkable poker face and seemed casually amused, as opposed to murderous and upset.
“Wanna try again?”
He leaned way too close to me for me not to take advantage and sniff into his chest. His neck smelled amazing. I was momentarily blind with rage when I thought of how Gabriella must’ve enjoyed all this male goodness in bed for months and months.
“Are you crazy?” I hiccupped. “I’m a national disaster.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. State hazard, maybe. And you’re still learning.”
“At your expense.”
“As I said, that’s my problem, not yours.”
“And what a beautiful problem to have on your hands, eh, Dr. Costello?” A man’s voice drifted from behind my shoulder.
I swiveled around to face a hunky man, muscular as Robocop, with trimmed graying hair, and a button-up shirt that threatened to burst. He reeked of enough cologne to drown a beaver, and next to him was a woman with bleached-blonde hair and a red dress that highlighted all of her enhanced assets.
Her nipples were so prominent through her clothes, I wondered if it was a fashion statement of some kind. I mean, the place was air-conditioned, but it wasn’t that cold.
Suddenly, I saw myself in that woman. The skimpy clothes. The in-your-face sexuality. It was all a front and made me feel uncomfortable.
“Dr. Wootton. It’s been a while.”
The two men shook hands. You could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife.
Two things I knew for sure—Dr. Wootton was the colleague Mrs. Warren had referred to, the person who’d recognized Cruz, and that these two men were not on good terms.
“This is my wife Jocelyn.”
“My pleasure.” Jocelyn extended her hand to Cruz for him to kiss.
He obediently did so, the obnoxious gentleman that he was.
“Honey, this is Dr. Costello, the guy I told you about yesterday after Ramona told us about the…incident.”
Here we go.
“This is Dalton,” Cruz ignored Dr. Wootton’s lukewarm introduction, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We went to med school together. Dalton, Jocelyn, this is my lovely date for the evening Tennessee.”
“Ah, date. Is that what you kids call it these days?” Dr. Wootton guffawed.
“What else would you call having a drink with a friend from town?” Cruz asked nonchalantly.
“Ramona says—”
“Ramona’s looking for a headline,” Cruz said. “Really, Dalton. I thought gossip was beneath you. We’re not in kindergarten anymore.”
Jocelyn suggested we grab a drink together, and both men were too polite to point out it was a terrible idea, so here we were, sipping drinks.
There were no empty seats at the bar, so we opted for a round table with four stools by the roulette tables. Personally, I thought Jocelyn’s nipples deserved a stool of their own. Were they enhanced, too?
I sat opposite her, and Cruz was in front of Dalton.
I guessed that it wasn’t a good time to confess to Cruz that I’d had three more drinks he wasn’t aware of while he was playing blackjack, and that I was tight-roping the line of drunk as a skunk.
Jocelyn couldn’t stop undressing Cruz with her gaze while Dalton seriously eye-plucked me into oblivion.
Were they swingers?