Maverick (Sin City Saints Hockey 1)

When I get my phone from my locker, there’s a text from Gia.

Gia: Congrats on win #7! Everyone already knew who the better man is, but it had to feel great to win this one.

I sit down and smile at my phone, texting her back.

Me: Yeah, it was good. That shit between me and Hunter is just unfinished business between former friends. There’s only one woman I want and it’s you.

Gia: I get it. No one understands settling a score better than me.

Me: I’ve been playing blackjack online. Turns out I’m fucking awesome at it.

Gia: Awesome at running your mouth, too.

Me: I’ll be running it all over your body soon enough.

Gia: You guys have to lose a game first. I’m starting to think this blackjack game will be at the end of the hockey season…

Me: Nah. My nuts can’t hold on much longer, to be honest.

Gia: Sorry, just got a seat at a great table. Have to go.

Me: See you at home tomorrow.

Gia: xoxo

Chapter Twenty

Gia

“Another long island?” a cocktail waitress at the MGM Grand asks me.

“No, thanks.”

When the dealer looks at me, I check, knowing I’m going to lose this hand of blackjack.

That’s the idea, though. Maverick’s team ended its win streak at seven games, dropping last night’s game and saving his balls from the waxing table. We’re now sitting across from each other, playing out the bet we both hope he wins.

He made the entire thing sexy as hell, getting two rooms next door to each other at the MGM Grand. When I entered my room this afternoon, there was a beautiful red dress hanging up inside the closet, and a pair of nude Louboutin heels and a lacy white bra and panty set on the bed. He must have asked Ro for my sizes, because everything fit perfectly.

A fan recognizes Maverick and asks him for an autograph and a selfie, which Maverick obliges. His new haircut and the wager with his team have been making headlines, positive headlines.

He’s wearing a baseball cap tonight to cover his smooth head, but even without his lush hair, he’s still hot as hell. It turns me on that winning with his team means more to him than his hair. I’m not into pretty men.

The casino is busy tonight, lots of tourists booking trips here since the summer heat has subsided a bit. A couple wearing matching Hawaiian shirts walks past, making me feel weary.

I’ve been living in Vegas for almost a year now, chasing my dreams of putting my brothers through college and giving Will Roan what he deserves. So many hours spent in casinos playing the game I love against strangers.

At first, it was a rush. After all those years of working to help my mom raise my brothers, of fantasizing about coming to Vegas to win the money I need to confront Will Roan, I’m finally doing it.

But I didn’t count on what it would cost me. Maverick and Ro have brought authenticity back into my life. Laughter and fun. Not caring whether my facial expression is giving too much away or if I’ve won too much money at a certain casino this month.

Before I leave for Philly, I want tonight. One night with Maverick where all bets are off and we’re just two people connecting in the deepest, most intimate way we can.

“Ma’am?”

The dealer gives me a confused look when I ask for a card even though I’m showing twenty. I nod, assuring him I meant to do it.

And I bust. Which was the plan. It would break my heart if Maverick ran out of chips before I did, and even though it doesn’t look like there’s any danger of that, I suddenly want the rest of our night to begin as soon as possible. The long island gave me just enough courage to say fuck it and dump off the rest of my chips.

I’ve been ready for this for a very long time.

Maverick’s gaze finds mine, and the corners of his lips turn up slightly. He turns to the woman next to him and says, “Want some chips?”

She looks at him like he’s just grown a second head.

“No, seriously,” he says, looking down at his stacks. “I’ve got somewhere to be and I don’t have time to cash out. Do you want them?”

“I…sure?” she says, sounding skeptical.

“You know what?” I say to the guy beside me, who looks like he might still be in college. “I have somewhere to be, too. Would you want mine?”

“Hell yeah, thanks!”

“Good luck,” I say, passing him my chips. “And stop hitting on seventeen.”

“No game advice between players,” the dealer warns.

I put my palms up. “I’m leaving.”

Grabbing my bag, I slide out of my chair, which is immediately occupied by another player. I look across the table and find Maverick. Our eyes stay locked until we meet up in an open spot between tables.