Page 32 of Proposal Play
With her easy smile, she’s oblivious to the effect her girl sorcery is having as she walks closer. That’s good. I really don’t want to let on that she’s cast a spell on me, and that I’ve got a bad case of lust for my best friend.
She’s your best friend’s sister too.
The dealer clears his throat. “What’s it gonna be?” His expression is neutral, but there’s a hint of impatience in his eyes. I can’t find it in me to care, though, since all I see is Maeve and the way the vest dips in all the right places. She must have taken it in since she last wore it, because it’s so goddamn snug right now it should be illegal.
Still, I manage to tear my gaze back to the cards. Normally, I’d play this hand safe, maybe even fold, like I’d do if I were playing on the team jet with the guys. But here tonight, I want to win. No, I’m compelled to win.
Possibly because there’s a reckless edge to my thoughts right now, spurred on by the mission of the evening. Or maybe it’s driven by the sight of her in that vest.
Yes, Maeve can definitely make vests a thing.
“Hit me,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
The dealer nods, sliding a card my way. I flip it over and want to pump a fist. A five. I’ve got twenty-one.
Yep, luck is on our side tonight.
Maeve sidles up to me, her bare arm brushing mine as she leans in, just close enough that her scent—like a fruit I want to bite into—invades my senses. “Nice hand,” she murmurs.
Electricity shoots through me, from her voice, her words, her scent. “Nice vest,” I reply, my voice equally low, matching her tone.
“Oh, this thing? It’s a hand-me-down,” she says, fingering the top of it, drawing my attention to the pale, freckled flesh of her chest, covered in layers of silver chains, to the column of her throat, to her face. Heart-shaped with a spray of freckles across her nose and mischievous hazel eyes, with wild curls framing her face.
And I know I got lucky that round. I want to keep that luck for the rest of the night, so it’s time to walk away from the table. “Let’s get some food, and then see the show.”
“Let’s do it,” she says as I take my chips and follow her, snapping a pic as I go. Feeling a little smug, I send it to my dads.
Asher: Oh, ye of little faith.
Carlos: Yes! I always believed in you.
John: We knew you could do it.
Laughing, I shake my head as I dictate a final reply for now.
Asher: Lies, sweet little lies.
Then, I tuck my phone away so I can focus on Maeve for the rest of the night.
After we eat, we head to the theater in the heart of The Extravagant, walking through a glitzy concourse, flanked by high-end boutiques and bustling cafés. Along the way, Maeve pinwheels her arms, pointing frantically up ahead.
I groan when I see another ad for CheekyBeast. Damn, the brand really went all out here in Vegas—but then again, this is the kind of city where you bring your best drawers. Several feet away a glossy image of me is plastered to the wall. In it, I’m striding to a work-at-home-style desk, dressed in a crisp button-down and a pair of monkey-print briefs, with the sloganMonkey Around at the Home Officeacross the bottom of the image.
Maeve grabs my arm, tugging me to a stop. “We need a selfie with the real thing and the image. I’ll call it—Seeing Double.”
Even I have limits when it comes to this woman. “That’d be a hard no.”
“Why not?”
I scoff, then spin around, arms out. The concourse is packed. “If I’m spotted taking a selfie with an ad of me inboxer briefs, how long do you think the guys will give me hell for?”
She taps her chin. “Forever?”
“And then some,” I add, and we move on past the image, but not before Maeve waves to it, saying, “Bye, Asher’s ass.”
As we continue down the hall, she shoots me a quizzical look. “So you’re wearing monkeys tonight?”
“A gentleman doesn’t tell,” I say.