“So,” he says, putting his glass down on the side table. “Feel like watching some television?”
The way he says it tells me he’s not really asking me if I want to watch TV. He’s asking me if I want to do that other thing we discussed before that intruder set off the yard alarm.
I put my glass down carefully, hoping the tremor in my hand isn’t showing too much. “I don’t know. Maybe. Is there anything good on?”
He shakes his head really slowly. “No. There’s nothing good on.”
“We could rent a movie,” I say, kind of teasing. I want to see what he’ll say to that.
“We could. But there aren’t any good movies right now.”
“There aren’t?” I’m trying not to smile.
“No. None.” He steps back a couple feet and slowly undoes his belt.
Panic rises up into my chest, into my throat, cutting off my air.
“What are you doing?” I say in a choked whisper. It’s all I’m capable of right now.
“Taking my belt off.”
“Oh.” I nod. Of course that’s what he’s doing. Silly me.
After he drops his belt onto the floor, he pulls the bottom of his shirt out of his waistband.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are you doing now?”
“Taking off my shirt.” He lifts it up over his head and down one arm with practiced ease, letting it fall to the floor to join his belt.
I gasp with admiration at all the muscles I see there. Holy shit, that shirt was covering waaay more than I thought possible. His body is beyond sculpted. It’s like a Mr. Potato Head workout body. Clip-on abs, clip-on pecs, clip on triangle-shaped muscle thingies that go down into the front of his pants.
Oh my god, he’s taking those pants off!
“Wait!” I yell, holding out a hand like a stop sign.
His hands pause on his button. “You want me to stop?” His right eyebrow goes up, and half his mouth moves up in a devious grin.
“Yes. Stop. Stop right there.”
His hands fall away from his pants and hang at his sides. His grin slowly falls away too.
I fold my hands in my lap and press my lips together. I have to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. I need to get it all organized in my head before I start. It’s not that I don’t want to see him naked; it’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready to do anything other than see him naked. And it doesn’t seem fair to ogle him and then not offer him the payoff.
“Am I moving too fast for you?” he asks.
“You could say that.”
“Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”
“No, not really.” I cringe at my own honesty. How creepy I am. I’m an ogler.
He smiles. “But you want me to keep my pants on.”
“For now, I think that would be a good idea.”
He nods. “Okay. I can handle it.” He walks over to his desk.
“What are you doing now?” My nerves are frayed. I want him, but I’m afraid to sleep with him. Madonna’s most famous hit runs through my head, a little off tune. “Like a virgin . . .” Yeah. That’s what I feel like. A virgin. How that can happen when I’ve had sex at least twenty times, probably more, I don’t know. But it is. “Touched for the very first tiiiimmme . . .”
He opens up a drawer in the desk and pulls something small enough to fit in his hand out.
It has to be a condom. What else would he be bringing over here to the bed where I’m waiting like a non-virgin virgin?
“Can’t watch TV, can’t have sex, might as well play cards,” he says, climbing up onto the bed on hands and knees, stopping when he gets to the center. He sits, drawing his legs up, bent at the knees.
I watch as he opens up a deck of cards and starts shuffling them on his leg.
I can’t help but laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?” He looks up at me and winks. “You afraid?”
“Who me? May ‘Card Shark’ Wexler? I think not.” I turn around and get to the middle of the bed near the pillows. I cross my legs and tuck my feet under them. This, I can handle. “What’s your poison? Poker? Blackjack?”
“We’ll start with poker.”
“Excellent.” I rub my hands together, thankful that the pressure has temporarily been removed. Maybe after we play for a while and joke around a bit, I’ll feel more comfortable about sleeping with him.
His grin is decidedly sly. “Seven card draw, jokers wild. You lose, you take off an article of clothing.”
Ooooor maybe I won’t feel more comfortable. I guess we’re going to find out.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I lose the first hand and my shoes. He loses the next three hands, which has him down to his underpants. He wears boxer briefs, in black, of course. His arms rest on his knees, and his poker hand hovers between them. He’s looking at me. “What’s it going to be, May ‘Card Shark’ Wexler? You want any cards?”
I’m holding a pair of threes. That’s it. I’m sweating too, because if I lose this one, I’m taking off my top or my pants. He already put the kibosh on me taking off earrings. Clothing only, that’s the rule.
“Hmmm, yeah. I’ll take four.”
He chuckles as he pulls four cards off the top of the deck. “Oh my, May. I think you’re in a little bit of trouble.”
I look at the cards he selected for me and smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I’m completely bluffing. I know this pair of threes with a ten high isn’t going to do jack diddly for me. My only hope is to get him to fold. Folding is a forfeit but without clothing removal.
“I’m going to take one card,” he says, removing one from his hand and taking a new one from the deck.
One card. Oh, crap.
“What’s it going to be?” he asks me. “You ready to go down?”
My face heats up. Go down? Not quite yet.
“I’m not folding, I know that. Maybe you should, though. You’re going to be starkers if you lose another hand.”
“Maybe I want to be starkers.” He winks at me.
I frown. “Have you been losing on purpose?”
“Who, me?” He frowns a little too hard. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m too competitive to lose on purpose.”
Or too chivalrous. I try to replay our earlier hands back in my head. Did he forfeit good cards for bad? I wasn’t paying attention then, and it’s too late now to figure it out. Dammit. And here I thought I was being a card shark for real when what I was probably being was a non-virgin virgin wannabe card shark. Double dammit.
He puts his cards on the bed. “Read ’em and weep.” He has a full house.
I slowly put my cards on the bed in front of me. “Pair of threes, otherwise known as total suckage.”
He leans over and takes my top button in his fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you.” He unbuttons the first one.
I slap his hand away. “Hey! What if I was planning on taking my pants off first?” I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack right here over this stupid deck of cards. We are going to be naked together, and I’m not ready!
He leans back. “Take your pants off then, if you prefer.” He leans back on his hands and grins. “I’ll just wait over here. Your turn to deal, you know.”
“I know.” I say it with my annoyed voice. Standing, I first button my shirt up, all the way to my neck, and then I undo the top button of my pants.
“You nervous?” he asks. He’s not smiling anymore.
“No.”
“Liar.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I’m lying. I am nervous.” I push my pants down to my ankles anyway. Fair is fair; I lost the hand.
“We can quit anytime you want.” He falls onto his back and talks at the ceiling. “I’m kind of tired of cards now anyway.”