Page 31 of Proposal Play

GIRL SORCERY

Asher

After I’ve showered, Maeve is back in the bathroom, curling her hair, or straightening it, or rolling it. Who even knows? She’s working some kind of girl sorcery in the bathroom while I’m sitting on the couch, reading up on off-season baseball trades.

My nose twitches. Sweet plum. Well, fuck me. She must be spritzing something on herself in the next room. The scent of her body spray floats out here, and it’s definitely time to go.

That’s entirely too tempting for a man tasked with pulling offjust fun. “I’ll meet you in the casino. I’m going to play a round,” I call out.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she shouts back.

“I guess I won’t try to pull off a casino heist tonight,” I say as I head to the door, tucking a key card into my pocket.

As I walk down the hall, I pull out my phone. A couplereplies have popped up from my parents since I sent that video.

Carlos: It’s been a few hours. Do we need to bail you out yet?

John: Our bags are packed. Just say the word.

Asher: If it’s true I suck at cards, and I categorically deny that accusation, then it’s YOUR fault. You guys taught me to play.

Carlos: You mean we tried to teach you to play, Ash. We tried.

Asher: I can’t wait to prove you wrong when I win big tonight. Also, is this why I’m so good at hockey? Because you two negative reinforced me the whole time?

John: Yes. You’re welcome. It’s all part of our master plan.

Carlos: We can’t help it if you loved a challenge. If someone said you couldn’t do something, that only made you want it more.

I grumble as I walk. Damn them. They’re right. I fucking love proving people wrong. Not sure what that says about me. But it is what it is.

Asher: Just you wait then.

Carlos: Holding my breath. Well, figuratively. I’ve seen you try blackjack.

John: Bating mine. BTW, what is bated breath? It sounds like bad breath with a fishy aftertaste.

Carlos: It’s breath you hold when you’re waiting, babe.

John: Ah, good to know. And here I thought I needed mints.

I laugh at the way they rib each other, the way they always have, even when times were hard when John was sick for a while back when I was thirteen and fourteen. But we made it through.

We banter like that as I make my way to the casino floor. Once I’m there I put the phone away, buy some chips, then beeline for a table. I’m eager to play a round before dinner and the show and try to clear my head with some straightforward decisions that I am damn fucking good at, no matter what they say, before I begin my official mission.

Fun. Only fun.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m nursing a glass of scotch, contemplating my cards, deciding if I want to stay in or hit. The dealer is waiting, the other players at the table glancing my way as I weigh my chances. I’ve got a sixteen, and the dealer’s showing a seven. Risk it or play it safe? The usual tension of blackjack—knowing the odds, yet still gambling against them—tightens in my chest.

But before I can make a call, a charge slides down myspine. It’s like my body feels her before my eyes see her. When I look up from my cards a second later, my mouth goes dry.

Maeve’s weaving through the blackjack tables, a jean skirt brushing mid-thigh, short pink cowboy boots padding softly on the carpet, and…my vest snug on her body.

That’s it. Just the vest. She’s all bare arms and cleavage, and I can hardly handle how good my friend looks.

In. My. Clothes.

My fingers tighten on the edges of the cards, my brain fogging as I try to focus on the decision in front of me. Sixteen against a seven. My gut screams to hit, but with Maeve in my line of sight coming, I can’t think.