Текст книги "Bend"

Автор книги: Alessandra Torre

Соавторы: Ella James,K. Bromberg
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Текущая страница: 33 (всего у книги 41 страниц)

chapter 22

I snuck out of work an hour early, wanting nothing more than to put this day behind me. Darin's innuendos had unnerved me. I didn't need him stirring up any drama, especially since my internship was ending next month, and I had applied for a permanent position with the bureau.

I beat both Eli and Cain home, going to my room to take a shower and change into something suitable for La Chaumiere. If I even had anything suitable, that is.

I saw that two wrapped boxes had been placed on my bed. More gifts? One dress-sized box, the other one small.

My guys…damn.

I knew I should probably have waited until they got home, but shit, you knew that wasn't going to happen.

I tore into the big box immediately, taking off the lid, and separating the tissue paper.

Oh. My God.

It was the most beautiful black dinner dress that I'd ever laid my eyes on. It was simple, but chic in the way it was cut. It had a sweetheart neckline with long sleeves that tapered at the wrist. It was perfect for La Chaumiere. I looked at the designer tag and saw that it was Donna Karan.

My Eli.

The other box contained a pair of earrings that matched the birthstone encrusted necklace they had bought for me. My birthstone was on the post, and each of their birthstones dangled daintily on a tiny gold chain from it. There was a note in the box.

"These will look great with the necklace."

* * *

Lindsey, Trace, Darcy and Easton were already at La Chaumiere when our threesome arrived. I felt nervous for some reason, and by the time our entrees were served, I was pretty damn sure that Darcy had finished analyzing me under her mental microscope.

"I love your necklace," she commented, glancing over at my birthday gift, "And the matching earrings," she finished, her eyes skimming over them.

I fumbled with an earring, and felt my face flush under everyone's perusal.

"Thank you," I said. "Birthday gift from my roomies," I smiled, doing my best to avoid looking at Eli who was sitting across from me. I felt Cain's hand move over to cover mine in my lap. He gave it a squeeze.

"Well, they certainly spoil you; that's for sure," Lindsey piped up, taking a sip of her white wine. "How about a birthday toast?"

Trace cleared his throat.

"If I may?" he said, raising his glass of wine. "To our little sister on her birthday—in hopes that this will be the best one yet, and wishes for many more to come. And also to welcome Paige Matthews as the newest member of the F.B.I. family."

"What?" I gasped, my eyes immediately widened in surprise.

Trace and Lindsey's smiles were panoramic, and contagious, it seemed, as everyone else at our table smiled as if it were no surprise that my application for permanent employment with the F.B.I. had been accepted.

"You were going to find out tomorrow anyway," Trace said. "I just pulled rank a little bit to get the information to make your birthday that much sweeter," he finished, giving me a brotherly wink.

All eyes were on me and, for some reason, I was simply speechless. I mean, I thought I'd had a fairly good chance, but in all honesty, I just wasn't one to believe in myself all that much.

"You seem surprised, babe," Cain said quietly, his gaze penetrating me.

"I just don't know what to say," I said, a smile finally breaking through.

"Well I do," Trace said. "Good job, Paige. You worked your ass off and I, for one, am proud as hell of you."

"Hear, hear," Eli chimed in, beaming.

"Congratulations and cheers," Easton said, as we all held up our wine glasses to tap with one another's—well, except for Darcy who was obviously not imbibing since she was pregnant.

"Thank you all," I said, suddenly feeling shy at the amount of attention on me, and seriously not accustomed to it. "This is totally awesome." I took a long sip of wine, and the warmth spread throughout me; my brother's words echoed over and over in my mind. I never would've guessed just how much hearing Trace tell me that he was proud of me would make me feel. I felt an unfamiliar bit of self-pride and damn it felt good.

I was grateful as hell when Easton started conversing with Eli and Darcy started talking to Lindsey about the new nursery for the baby. I could feel Cain's hand move from mine, and gently rub my nylon-clad thigh beneath my new dress. Immediately, my face warmed with a flush, and I felt that familiar tingle in my belly.

I took another sip of my wine, looking over his way, but he had started conversing with Trace. Although I knew where his focus really was at the moment: between my freakin' legs.

I crossed my legs and squirmed a bit, however that did nothing to dissuade his talented fingers from finding my mound, his thumb now rubbing against my slit from outside my clothing.

Sweet Baby Jesus!

"Umm, excuse me," I said, "I've got to make a visit to the Little Girl's Room," I lied. If I continued allowing him to do what he was intent upon doing, it would only be a matter of minutes before I'd be moaning my release.

"I'll go with you," Darcy piped up, scooting her chair back. "These last couple of months are hell on the old bladder."

"Hurry back," Cain said with a slight twitch of his lips, as he looked over at me.

The door to the large powder room had barely closed behind Darcy and me when she spoke.

"Hold up, Paige," she said from behind, causing me to halt in my tracks.

Oh…dayumm.

I turned around to face her, and the accusatory expression on her face didn't go unnoticed.

"Can we sit for a minute?" she asked, nodding toward the intricately carved, plum velvet settee against the mirrored wall of the powder room.

"Sure," I shrugged, my pulse speeding up a bit because this could mean only one thing: Eli had shared the details of our relationship with her.

How stupid was it that it hadn't even crossed my mind to ask him after all these weeks?

"Paige, you must know how important Eli is to me, right?"

I nodded silently.

"Then, please don't think it's none of my business, because when it comes to protecting him, there are no boundaries for me. Are you fucking Cain behind Eli's back?"

Holy shit.

"Wh-what?" I stammered, momentarily taken aback by the conclusion she'd jumped to. "Why would you ask me that?" It was my turn to put some edge in my voice.

She leaned back against the cushion on the settee, one hand rubbing her baby bump in a circular motion, as if that had some sort of calming effect on her.

"The chemistry going back and forth between the two of you is kind of…well, obvious. And let's just say I've been around long enough to know when a dude's feeling you up under the table," she finished, her eyes directly on mine.

Busted.

"It's not what you think, Darcy," I replied, feeling a sigh escape through my whole body. I hated that I felt compelled to be so secretive about my feelings for these men. It wasn't that I was ashamed of it; it was just that I wasn't ready for the negative reactions, disapproving comments and judgy attitudes that I knew would be forthcoming.

"Then what is it?" she asked pointedly.

I fingered my new necklace nervously, trying to decide whether I should tell her, and wondering if I did, could I trust her not to broadcast it? Her eyes were now on my necklace, watching as my finger rubbed each stone in it.

"Wait a minute," she said slowly, "That's a custom necklace, isn't it?"

She didn't wait for me to respond. "That's your birthstone in the center. And the aquamarine—that's Eli's birthstone for March. What month was Cain born?" she asked, her eyes narrowing just a bit.

"May," I replied, knowing that if anyone knew the birthstone for each month of the year, it would be Darcy.

"Emerald," she said quietly. "Oh my God."

I looked over at her and hesitated only for a moment. "Please don't say anything to Lindsey or Easton. I'm not sure if we're ready to go public with our relationship just yet."

"Oh my God," she repeated, shaking her head back and forth. "How did I not see this?"

I didn't answer because it was obviously a question she was posing to herself.

"I mean, I still talk to Eli on the phone at least once or twice a week and he has said nothing. I mean Christ almighty—it never occurred to me that he'd cross back over."

Huh?

"What?" I asked, not sure what she meant by that.

"Oh…sorry," she said, with a slight smile. "Eli told me a while back about that brief, albeit disastrous marriage of his. He said because of it, he'd made the decision to pursue only those of his own gender. That it was safer for his heart that way. Wow—what the hell did you do to my brotha from anotha?"

I felt myself smile in relief. Darcy was okay with it and it helped that someone I knew wasn't going to give me shit about it.

"Darcy, please," I said, putting just a hint of pleading into my voice to grab her attention. "Can you please keep this to yourself until…well, until further notice?"

"No worries," she replied, nodding. "Your secret's safe with me. But hey, is it okay if I give Eli shit about keeping it from me?"

I giggled softly. "As long as Easton, Trace or Lindsey are nowhere around when you do. I'm in a nice place with my brothers at the moment, and I don't know—I guess I kind of like that."

"Deal," she replied, "But I think maybe you're not giving them enough credit here. It is your life and your business after all."

I nodded.

"By the way," I said, wanting to change the subject, "I see you're gestating very nicely. When's the baby due? All Eli says when I ask is that it's April or May."

"He's such a bonehead, isn't he?" she teased. "We're expecting our baby girl, Carson, around the twenty-seventh of April. Eli always says that if she takes after me, she won't arrive until early May."

I laughed because that is exactly the type of thing Eli would say about Darcy.

Still, I knew that he loved her, but not the same way that he loved me, so I was more than fine with it. Those two actually did seem like brother and sister in many ways. More so than Trace and me, it would seem. But that was something I hoped to change, now that I would be residing in D.C. permanently.

"I love the name you picked out for her," I said wistfully. "Carson Matthews is an awesome name for a girl."

"Or a boy, as Easton has so eloquently reminded me once or a hundred times. Geez, sometimes I think Lindsey's right."

"About what?"

"Your oldest brother can be quite stuffy, Paige," she replied, trying her best to use a British accent, but kind of failing at it.

Darcy and I returned to our table, and I didn't miss the looks of concern that passed between Eli and Cain. My guys were instinctual and kind of protective that way. I gave them both a smile and a nod, letting them know that everything was cool—for now.

Through the rest of dinner, we were entertained with some of Darcy's exaggerated "Eli" stories from when they were roommates, along with some hilarious tales about a cruise they had all gone on together over a year ago. Darcy referred to it as "The 12 Days of Vacay," and Easton referred to it as 'yet another one of Darcy's brilliant ideas gone sour,' for which I'm pretty sure he received a swift kick to the shin underneath the table.

True to Eli's prediction, Easton insisted on picking up the tab for everyone's dinner as his birthday present to me. Darcy slipped me a card, which I was fairly certain contained a generous check.

Once everyone had finished and was preparing to leave, Eli said he'd go outside to have the valet bring our car around. Lindsey was talking to Darcy, and I watched as Trace made his way over to me.

"Can we talk in private for a moment, Paige?" he asked, his eyes giving away nothing.

"Sure," I replied, quietly, not sure of his intent.

Cain approached, holding my coat open for me. I immediately put my arms through the sleeves, as he lifted my hair out from underneath the collar, brushing it back from my face, his eyes meeting mine.

"Trace needs to speak to me for a minute, Cain. I'll see you outside?" I posed it as a question.

He nodded, eyeing Trace through shuttered eyes, but it wasn't extremely obvious—or maybe it was, but my brother seemed unaffected nonetheless.

Once out on the sidewalk, I pulled my collar up a bit to keep the windy chill of the night off of my neck.

"Paige," Trace started, actually appearing to be unsure of what he wanted to say. "I meant what I said earlier to you. I'm really fucking proud of you and how you've really grown over this past year."

"Okkaay," I said quirking a brow. "So, why do I think that's not why we're out here?"

He ran a hand through his thick, brown hair and looked me dead-ass in the eye. "I had a call from Darin Murphy this evening," he said. "What the hell are you doing?"

I immediately felt defensive. Fuck Darin Murphy! And the fact that Trace would have even listened to him was kind of pissing me off.

"This is my business, Trace," I said simply. "It's not on display, it's not up for debate, and I don't have to explain myself to anyone—not to you, not to Mom or Dad. This is my life and, for once, I'm fucking happy."

"Hey," he said, his voice softening. "I'm not here to judge you sweetie. Christ, I'm no saint and I've got a past. I just want to make sure—I need to know—that this isn't something you've been pressured into, you know?"

"How could you even think that?" I snapped. "What? Paige is so impulsive or Paige is trying to get attention just like she always does so it must be what? Fake? Well, I'm here to tell you, Trace, that this is real. It's actually the first real relationship that I've ever had."

"No need to get upset, sweetie. I just needed to ask, because well—I love you, sis. I know that it might not seem that way, but I do. I will always be here for you and I just needed to know that you're okay and I can see that you’re different. Hell, who am I to question your choices? I've known Eli for awhile; I don't know Cain as well, but as long as you're happy and they're good to you—that's all I care about."

I felt a heavy load lift from my shoulders after he said that. One down—strike that—two down, and a helluva lot more to go, but I knew having Trace in my corner was a big win.

I felt my eyes tear up immediately because I knew that Taz truly loved and cared about me. Yes, I was officially now going to call him Taz because it just seemed so right, and because that's what everyone else called him. Until now, he had seemed too uptight to be a "Taz." But now he wasn't. He was my big brother and I knew that he loved me unconditionally.

I stood on my tip-toes, throwing my arms around him for a hug.

"Thank you, Taz," I whispered against him. "Thank you so much for that."

"I can't make promises where Mom and Dad are concerned, Paige. That's up to you to tell them about…your relationship whenever you choose. They'll not hear it from me."

I nodded, sniffling a bit as I wiped an errant tear from my cheek.

"Is everything okay, Paige?" It was Cain and he was now standing next to us, his voice filled with concern, and his dark eyes getting darker as he tried to assess the situation.

"It's all good, Maddox," Taz said, releasing me. "Just wishing my sister a happy birthday. And I wanted to give her this."

Taz reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope.

"You know I'm not much of a shopper, Paige. But I know how much you've learned to enjoy working out, so I got you a membership of your own at Lifetime Fitness. That way you never have to put up with that ass-hat Murphy showing up during your workouts."

"Thanks, Taz," I said with a smile, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

Eli pulled up in his car, honking his horn.

"Take care of her Maddox," Taz said gruffly, "Or you'll have me to face."

Cain remained solemn, but I could see the corners of his mouth twitching, so I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he totally understood where my big brother was coming from.

"No worries, Taz. We will. Paige is very important to the both of us."

And with that, Taz was off.

Cain helped me into the car. "You okay, babe?"

"I'm totally fine. But you know what? There was no birthday cake today. No candles for me to blow out with my birthday wish."

"We can take care of that, right Eli?"

"Consider it done," Eli said, pulling away from the curb.

* * *

Later that evening, when we were all stretched out on top of our bed, Cain and I shared with Eli the conversation that I'd had with Taz. I then shared the conversation that I'd had with Darcy, which was pretty much a moot point now, since Darin Murphy had seen to it that my brother had been clued in.

"There's still the matter of your parents," Eli pointed out. "And I'm sure there will be scores of others that want to put their fucking two cents in."

"I know," I replied, not wanting to feel any melancholy at the moment. I just wanted to finish my birthday out with the traditional birthday wish.

Cain had stuck a candle in the fancy cupcake that we'd stopped to buy at a bakery on our way home to represent my official birthday cake.

"I don't understand, guys," I said. "Is this something that we're supposed to be ashamed of? Because, if it is, I have to tell you that I'm not. But, at the same time, I just don't want the grief that I know I'll get from my parents. I feel like such a freakin' hypocrite about it. I guess I've grown comfortable in this private little cocoon that we've created here for ourselves. I don't want it spoiled by any ugliness."

"Hey," Cain said, turning on his other side to face me. "We'll figure it out, sweetie. We've got plenty of time to figure it all out, okay?"

I nodded, biting my lower lip and wondering about that. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was simply a matter of time before everything came together and people accepted what we were about.

"Because," Eli piped up, "We are all in this together—for the long haul, right?"

"Right," Cain and I answered together.

"I feel so lucky," I sighed, plucking at the comforter. "A year ago, I never would've guessed how happy I'd be right now. Right here."

"Tell us what makes you feel so lucky," Cain challenged softly, as he flicked a match and lit the candle on the cupcake.

"Well, I have an awesome new career as a forensic technician with the F.B.I," I started. "And then there are these men you see—two of them that I love so fucking hard. They make me so happy and they love me right back and it's seriously the best feeling in the world for me. And for now, I have my brother's approval, which isn't easily given, mind you—at least to me, and it kind of rocks. My life is damn near perfect I guess."

"What would make it perfect?" Cain whispered, leaning over me so that his lips grazed my jawline with slow, soft kisses.

"Yes," Eli chimed in quietly, his fingertips tracing a trail along my cheek, his warm breath caressing my ear as I felt his tongue lightly trace the outer edge.

I shivered with anticipation because I knew that these men were going to make love to me tonight. And it would be slow, and it would be sensual, and it would be so very sweet. And for whatever reason, I knew that it would be different with them tonight. Because more than anything else going on in my life, there was one thing that I was sure of: I had the love of these men, and it was more precious to me than any other gift I had received…ever!

I reflected on how Darcy had looked tonight. She was glowing and happy and I loved when she let everyone feel her tummy when Carson kicked during dinner. I had been totally mesmerized by it.

"A baby," I finally sighed. "Having our baby would make it perfect. It's what I want."

I sat up for a moment and leaned back on my elbows. "So, it’s official—for my next birthday, my wish is to have a baby in my belly."

I leaned over and blew out the single candle on my cupcake, and as I watched the smoke curl and snake its way up to the ceiling, I smiled.

The End

Still
by
Alessandra Torre

Dedicated to the incredible women of Torreville. You guys make each and every day a joy, bringing me support and laughter. You are the community of women I have never had, and I appreciate you immensely.

Here’s to your wicked and open minds, I love you all.

Chapter 1

I don’t belong here—not in a loud casino, smoke curling up the walls, disappearing into discreet vents. Flip flops sharing space with sequins and diamonds. The crowd a mix of sandy tourists and high rollers, eighteen year old spring breakers polka-dotting the mix with their wide eyes and slurred steps, the available alcohol hitting their virgin systems hard. We’re at a craps table, a game that none of us understand, yet the Asians to our right are grinning and gesturing like we are hitting the mother load, so we blow on dice and move markers and our chip stack continues to grow.

Chelsea. She’s the reason we are all here. Six of us split between three rooms, the four hundred dollar nightly rate generously taken care of by Mr. McCrory, Chelsea’s father and the king of the Atlanta carwash market. Chelsea’s big day is two weeks away, so here we are, in Nassau, bachelorette-partying our country asses off.

I don’t belong here. I belong on my front porch, sunning my toes on the railing of the porch, a sweet tea next to me, a magazine on my lap, Sugarland on the radio. That’s what I’d spend a weekend off doing. Not here, in this loud place, with Tammy’s hand digging into my shoulders, her fresh manicure biting imprints into my sunburned skin. There is a bump of bodies behind me, and the curve of the table cuts into my still-gorged-on-seafood stomach. Ouch. I gaze longingly at the stool holding up the cigarette-smoking female to my right. My feet are on fire, four hours in a-size-too-small-but-they-were-on-sale heels taking their toll in the most painful way possible.

I gather my chips and turn to Megan Gallt, the bit of a girl to my left, her platinum curls bouncing excitedly at some aspect of this gamble that we don’t understand. “I’m gonna head upstairs,” I yell, my mouth as close to her ear as I can manage without swallowing her chandelier earrings.

“What?” She glances down at her wrist, the fake Rolex we all—with the exception of Chelsea—had gobbled up from the first roadside stand the taxi driver had stopped at. It glitters impressively at me, and I fight a glimpse downward to see if my own looks as good. “It’s only ten.”

“My feet are killing me.”

She looks down. “You got a long way to walk to the room.”

She isn’t kidding. My brain groans at the trek before me. Through the casino, through the shops, down a flight of stairs, through a second lobby, up twelve floors via elevator, and then down a thousand feet of hallway. “I know. That’s why I’m leaving while my soles still have a little bit of life left in them.”

She leans in, lowering her voice slightly. “Chelsea will be pissed.”

I shrug, craning my neck ’til I see the future bride’s over-highlighted head. I lean in, give Megan a quick peck on the cheek, then hobble over to Chelsea. “I’m heading up to the room,” I yell.

She waves her hand dismissively, her eyes glued to the table, the movement of our Asian coaching staff leaping in the air dominating her attention, her own voice whooping at an ear-splitting crescendo.

Great. I move before my words register and her attention moves to me, weaving through crowds of people as fast as my raw feet will take me, opening my purse and dumping my handful of chips into it.

Past blackjack. I can do this. It’s not really that bad if I don’t pause long enough for my feet to bitch.

Past poker. Damn, there are a lot of tables. I keep my eyes focused forward, like I do when I feel like I will faint. Step, hobble. Step, hobble. I can do this. Damn, I hope I’m going the right way.

Past blackjack. Shit. Are these the same tables I passed before? Or different ones? Maybe the others were in a high-roller portion of the casino. These must be different. They have to be different. I look for a sign, an arrow, a member of the casino staff. The blister on the back of my right heel is now competing with my left pinky toe, which I’d be willing to bet is bleeding.

Past slots. Okay, I think this is right. I am jostled out of place by an overweight white woman who shoots me a dirty look. Almost turn my ankle and bust my ass. Great. Just what I need. An injury to accompany my pansy-ass feet.

There is an exit before me, and I crane to see over the heads blocking my view. Please lead out of the casino. Please lead into the lobby by the shops, please … Oh, thank God. I almost cry with relief when the crowd parts, and I enter the smoke-free arena that is the rest of the hotel. Bathrooms to my left, a seating area on my right. I walk like my ninety year old grandma and collapse into the closest chair, working off my heels with trembling fingers, and moan when the heavy stilettos drop to the tiled floor. Sweet Jesus. I flex my feet and lean back in the chair. Close my eyes and cover my face for a moment, rubbing gentle patterns into my hairline as I try to massage the headache that has spent the last two hours building. Aspirin. I’ll get to the room, take aspirin, and draw a bath. Soak my feet and create enough bubbles to make Mr. Clean jealous. The prospect brings a smile to my face, and I let my hands drop. Take a moment to breathe, to relax.

It’s quieter out here. Away from the madness of the casino.

I can’t believe it’s only Friday. I got off early, our bank manager unhappy with the request, yet unable to bitch too loud, seeing as I’m the only FA our small town chain has. FA. That’s fancy country talk for Financial Advisor. In a big city I’d manage large portfolios, dispense stock advice, buy and sell quotients like Ben Affleck in Boiler Room. But in our small town? An hour from Atlanta, where Sunday sermons focus on rain prayers, and where the average household income lies right on the forty-five thousand dollar mark? My days are spent selling mutual funds, life insurance, and doing the I’m-not-qualified-for-this job of will creation and estate planning. Nothing that can’t wait ’til Monday morning, when my raw feet and hung over self will crack open the doors of Smith Bank & Trust at the ungodly hour of 7:30 AM.

I pick up my right foot and examine the damage done by my stilettos. Stilettos that are uglier by the minute, trotting their pretty selves straight into my trash can at their current rate of travel. Too bad I didn’t pack many other options. Fancy shoes take up a very small corner of my closet. Sensible black grandma heels dominate the rest of that said closet floor. Paired with my tan nylons, they help to complete the too-sexy-for-a-date vibe that I rock ninety percent of the year. Maybe I can’t pull off the cute strappy heels, sexpot in a minidress look. Maybe that ability set sail at age thirty. Maybe, at thirty-two, I should invest in some ballet flats and sundresses. I see a lot of the minivan moms with that look. And they look comfortable. They certainly don’t have the engine red feet that are currently screaming a slow death beneath my fingertips. I gingerly push on the bubble on my back heel. Uck. I can almost hear liquid squishing in it.

Fuzzy white. It is thrust in my line of vision, interrupting my new fascination with the chipped polish on my big toe. I focus on the white, fluffy soft slippers coming into view. Thick ones, where you’d sink an inch into a pillow top bed of comfort, a brand I’ve never heard of embroidered along the top. I look from the shoes, up a tan arm, my eyes tripping and already drooling over clean nails, a strong hand, golden hair light over a Rolex ten times more authentic than mine, a muscular forearm, rolled sleeves, a jaw I’d nibble to death, and a face that competed with easy superiority against any celebrity I have previously strummed myself off to in recent memory.

He smiles, a rueful grin that may have just burst my heart. I work my jaw, trying to formulate speech, glancing back and forth from the slippers to his face.

“Would you like these?” His voice. Sandpaper over the hull of a yacht. A combination of roughness and polish.

I swallow. “The slippers?” Of course the slippers. What else would he be talking about?

A surprised look crosses his face. “You’re Southern. From … Alabama?”

“Georgia.” I wince. I can’t hide the drawl; it drags through that one word with such ownership, as if the Southern notes are fused through every syllable.

He nods slowly, still holding out the slippers. His other hand moves, reaching across. “I’m Brett.”

I should stand. It’s the polite thing to do. Stand and shake his hand. But I don’t. I don’t think my feet can handle it. I just reach out, shake his hand with a firm grip, like my daddy taught me, and meet his eyes. “Riley.”

Bemused. I don’t know what about that exchange he found funny, but his mouth widened, and I got another devastating look at his teeth. God, I’d love for him to nibble my skin. Tease my neck, take the other, more sensitive parts of my body and wreak havoc on them. I shiver at the thought and pull my eyes from his. Take the slippers from his hands. “You carry around slippers?”

“I saw your hobble across the casino. It caught my eye. I wandered out, wanted to make sure a man didn’t take advantage of your ill state.”

“By what? Swooping to my rescue with ridiculously comfortable slippers?”

If possible, his grin widened. “Yes. You should probably avoid me from this point forward.”

Having no intelligent response, I pretend to distract myself from the conversation, working the soft cotton over my injured feet and sighing with relief when they are on. “Where did you get these?”

He tilts his head to the right. “The store next door. They carry matching robes if you’d like to complete the look.”

I laugh. “No, I’m good.”

“I would have offered to carry you, but it didn’t seem appropriate. When I saw that you had sat down … How far do you have to go?”

“My room.” I wave a hand dismissively in the direction of our room. “Coral Towers.”

He frowns. “A bit of a hike.”

“It was.” I wiggle my toes. “A lot better now. Please sit down.” I gesture to the seat next to me. Pull open my purse and dig through the chips there, seeing him, out of my peripheral, remain standing. Okay. I collect all of the green chips I can find. Six total. Sixty bucks worth. I close my purse and hold out the handful, watching Brett eye my closed fist. “Go on, open your hand,” I urge.