Conceal

“She’s fucking hot.”

I turn toward the voice. Douchebag number one. I can’t remember his name, but I’ve met him a million times.

“Fuck, the things I would do to her,” douchebag number two says.

“To see those red lips wrapped around my dick when I choke her with my—”

Before he can go on, I slam my hands down, shutting them all up. “Do you fucking idiots mind?”

They both look at me, brows lifted, and I realize I have probably just put a huge target on her back if they figure out I like her. “I’m trying to play cards.”

That’s the excuse I try to use, but by the looks these fools are giving me, they don’t buy it. Since, I can’t leave yet to talk to her, I turn back to the cards and play. This time, my heart isn’t in it, and eventually, I fold.

With that hand done, I stand. All eyes around the table are now on me. “Bathroom,” I say, and they nod.

I make my way in the direction she came from. I’m still so heated from what they said that I don’t notice her at first. Not until I bump right into her.

Thank fuck, her hands are empty, so she spills nothing. Because that would suck. I reach my hands out to bracket her toward me. We’re so close I can feel her against my body, and I know my body will react. I push back so she doesn’t feel what she does to me.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low. She probably doesn’t want anyone to know that she’s talking to me. I don’t want anybody to know I’m talking to her either. These assholes would use anything to win my money, and she doesn’t need to be the target. “How is the game?”

“Winning.”

“You’re pretty good.”

“The best,” I say smugly because I am.

“And you’re humble.”

“I’m that too.” Seeing her here makes me want to hang out with her again. I would ask her to come over after this, but I’m beat, and I’m sure she is too, so instead, I cock my head and smile.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I was wondering—”

“Never a good idea,” she jokes.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yes, the day that follows today.”

“Cute.”

“I thought so.”

“As you were saying, because as much as I would love to enter into our usual sparring match, I do have to get back to work.”

“Tomorrow. Dinner. My place.”

“Umm, okay.”

She looks tentative and a bit shy. It’s cute.

“Just dinner,” I say. Hands up.

“Okay. Just text me your address.”

“Will do.”

With nothing more to say, she turns and heads back in the direction of the tables. I, on the other hand, head toward the bathroom.

Once done, I go back to the table and play a few more hands. I don’t stay much longer. Just long enough to make sure she’s okay. I want to get home early to plan tomorrow.

God, I really am a girl.

* * *

The next morning comes faster than I anticipated. Somewhere before sleep, an idea for tonight’s dinner popped in my head. It’s pretty creative.

I know she will like it, so even though it’s over the top, I set out to do it anyway.

Hours later, my apartment is set up, the food is ready, and I’m sitting on my couch with a glass of tequila in hand.

I texted her my address a little over an hour ago, and now I’m just waiting.

Midway through the glass, I hear the doorbell. First, I place the glass down, and then I head for the door.

I’m not sure how it’s possible, but she looks even more beautiful today than last night. Sure, last night she was fuckable with her wavy hair, red lips, and skintight black dress, but today, in jeans and a sweater with no makeup on her face, she is the most beautiful I have seen her. She looks like the girl next door, all sweet and innocent, and it makes me want to corrupt her. Then I notice her eyes. They’re blue. She’s not wearing her contacts. She’s no longer hiding any part of herself from me.

Shit.

I’m fucked.

Chapter Thirty-One

Willow

When the door opens, all resolve to not jump Jaxson Price is gone. We have been dancing around this attraction for weeks, but now we are at a boiling point. There is no denying the tension between us.

I should just grab him and kiss him already. It sure would make life easier.

But I don’t.

Instead, I stare with the will power of a chocolate addict in front of a cake, or in my case a Kit Kat.

“Hey,” he finally says, breaking the ice.

“Hi,” I respond. He steps to the side, letting me into his loft.

The place is amazing. All white, with exposed beams, and it’s huge.

“Wow,” slips from my mouth.

He raises a brow in question.

“Your apartment. It’s amazing.”

“It’s home.” He steps forward. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”