Sordid (Sordid 1)

Tonight I was determined to be my opposite. By God, Addison, you’re going to attempt to flirt. I peeled my lips back into a confident and unfamiliar smile. “Who says I’m going to lose?”

There was no change in Luka’s expression, and yet the air seemed to shift around us. It closed in.

“You’re right.” His hand curled gently around my elbow and urged me forward. “You can’t lose if we don’t play.”

We. I tripped over the word in my head. His hand was warm against my bare skin, and the hairs on my arm lifted in response to his touch. It wasn’t cold in the humid game room, but I had to fight to hold back the shiver.

I’d never gotten flustered when it came to boys, but Luka wasn’t a boy. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, and his eyes . . . he seemed older. I wasn’t surprised at my body’s reaction, though. I certainly hadn’t forgotten him in the last two years; in fact, I’d fantasized about him. I’d also compared the guys I dated to the fictitious Luka I’d created in my head, and always found them lacking.

The real-life Luka wouldn’t be anything like the one I’d crafted, I was sure. The man with a hand on me was probably like every other guy. Too focused on sex. Average intelligence. Boring. I hoped I was wrong.

Luka pulled out the chair for me and I sat, and in my head I issued a sigh when he abandoned his hold and moved to the other side of the table. Had my sigh been audible? His dark eyes hinted at a smirk as he lowered to sit across from me.

His fingers were long and he moved with graceful precision as he picked up the deck of cards and dealt us each a card face down, and then one face up. I evaluated my cards quickly, pleased that I had an eighteen. His card up was a four, and there were a lot of high cards left in the deck.

“I’ll stay,” I said.

He pulled a third card off the deck, which was a queen. He flipped over his other card, exposing a ten, and wrapped a hand around the neck of the tequila. It was strangely erotic to watch him tip back his head and pour the alcohol into his mouth.

Luka’s gaze was fixed on me as the bottle thunked back down on the table. He dealt a second hand, and his focus never wavered as I peeked at my down card. Was he gauging my reaction, hoping I’d give something away? I stared back at him, keeping my expression vacant.

My voice was quiet but firm. “Hit me.”

My jaw tightened when he laid down a king. Maybe he’d think it was a grimace, but it was to hold back my smile. He flipped his card over, revealing a seventeen, and pushed the bottle of tequila at me.

Instead I smiled and revealed my ace. “Twenty-one.” I shoved the bottle back his direction.

Beneath the table, my knees pushed together as his eyebrow arched. How was it I’d waited two years for that, and now he’d given it to me twice in ten minutes?

When I won the third round, something like malice flashed in Luka’s eyes. He clearly did not like to lose.

“Why the hell did you stay with a fifteen?” After he’d finished his shot, his gaze narrowed. His head cocked to one side. Once again, his critical evaluation made me feel naked and vulnerable, but it was a feeling I didn’t mind as much when it came from him.

“What are you doing?” It came out before I could hide the concern from my voice.

An evil smile dawned on the sharp angles of his face as he opened the table drawer and retrieved a new deck of cards. My heart skipped faster as he shuffled the two decks together, erasing all my hard work.

“Oh,” Luka said. “Does that fuck up your count? Let’s play for real now.”

My face flamed red. The sound of the cards shifting couldn’t be heard over the music, but I watched as Luka bridged the decks together. I fought to remain calm and collected. What’s the big deal? You came to have a few drinks and be someone else tonight.

I busted on my first hand and satisfaction streaked through Luka’s expression. I licked my lips, clenched the cold bottle in my hand, and took a deep breath. Just the smell of the tequila had my stomach turning, but I ignored it and leaned back. The burn of the liquor flooded my throat and I swallowed, forcing it down.

“You were counting the cards, yeah?” he asked. I nodded slowly, and he looked intrigued.

I lost the second hand and stared nervously at the bottle. I didn’t drink much. If I lost too many hands, I’d be dangerously drunk. The second mouthful of tequila made me gag, and I chased it with my final sip of beer.