Irreversible Damage (Irreparable 2)

“You’ve become quite bossy, you know that?” I follow him to an open area in front of the windows.

He spins to face me. His dark gaze sends another shiver through me. I don’t know why. I wish it would quit happening. “You have no idea, pretty girl. Now sit!”

I laugh. For some twisted reason, I kind of like bossy Tug.

We sit down on the floor. Tug sets the bottle of gin and two shot glasses on the floor next to him.

“Okay.” He grins and waggles his eyebrows. I may like bossy Tug, but I adore playful Tug. “Here are the rules.” He lines up the shot glasses and fills each of them with gin. “I lose the hand, I drink. You lose, and you drink.”

“Are you sure?” I poke him in the chest. He grabs my finger and bites it gently before pushing it way. I laugh. “You do remember that you have never beaten me?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He grins devilishly. It makes me wonder how much he’s been practicing.

Tug and I throw back a “just because” shot. I feel surprisingly relaxed. I haven’t felt this good in so long. I forgot what it feels like to be young and free. It’s been since way before Mona was born that I’ve felt like the nearly twenty-two-year-old I am. Between my thoughts and the cards being dealt, my mind drifts back to the beach, the night everything changed for Brady

and me. Brady taught me to play poker. That night, I beat him for the first time. I was elated, and then it all went to shit. Harrison spilled Brady’s secrets, and Brady ran. We got through all of it, though, and up until losing Mona, I thought we could get past anything. I shake away my thoughts when Tug pipes up,

“Oh, pretty girl. You ready to lose your ass?”

I laugh and pick up my cards. Mr. Confident is evidently here to stay. I glance over the top of my cards, looking at Tug. He has all five cards in his hands. “You’re keeping yours?” I ask, watching his face for any signs of a tell. There’s nothing.

“Oh, yeah!” He nods, basking in his hand.

“All right. I am, too.” I wink and stick my tongue out at him. “What do you have?”

“Three queens.” His smile is so full of triumph, I almost consider not laying my hand down.

Almost.

“Four kings.” I gloat as I lay each card down one at time.

“Gah, woman! How do you do that?”

I shrug with a giggle. “Drink.”

After we exchange a few hands, the affects of the alcohol are really sinking in. I’m feeling no pain. I think it’s time to shake things up a bit. It’s probably a stupid idea, but I love how carefree being with him feels.

“Okay, new game, Tuggy.” My words only slur a little. He raises an eyebrow at my calling him Tuggy. I’m sure it dissolves his newfound masculinity. I don’t care if it bruises his ego. It’s who he’ll always be to me. “To make this interesting, I say loser drinks and removes a piece of clothing.”

His response is instant. “Deal!”

I laugh.

I lose the first hand, toss the drink back and then nearly choke when I realize I only have on four pieces of clothing, two of which are undergarments. I didn’t think this over very well before opening my mouth. I clearly am not thinking at all, since I’m alone in a hotel room playing drunk strip poker with the new Tug. But I’m having a blast. Fuck it! Tug is staring at me with a smug-as-can-be-grin. His eyes roam over my breasts. I hear his heavy breaths.

“You made up the game, sweet girl.” He motions to my shirt with his index finger. “Off.”

With a smirk, I stand up. I shimmy out of my skirt instead. I’m left in my blouse, bra, and panties. The blouse hangs just above the top of my panties. Tug’s brown eyes scour up and down my legs. His eyes smile with enjoyment as they work their way up, stopping at my mouth. He shifts nervously, adjusting his crotch and looking away.

“Sit,” he barks before dealing the next hand.

I smile and sit. I like that I’m having this effect on him. Nonetheless, I’m going to need to sharpen my focus before I’m stripped bare.

After I win the next three hands, Tug is still completely clothed. Bastard! He definitely inventoried our clothing before he said yes to this little game. He’s removed two socks and his suit jacket.

The next hand, I’m dealt two tens. I hate this hand. It’s more than beatable, but not terrible enough to get rid of. If I ask for three cards, he’ll know I have a low pair. I bluff. “Oh, say goodbye to your shirt, smug Tug.”

He arches a brow. “We’ll see.” He’s too confident.