The Gambler Read online

  Her hand slid down my arm to my waist and then curled around my shaft, her thumb circling the head of my penis, her fingers squeezing. I gasped against the pleasure, speared my fingers deeper and harder into her, feeling her hips begin to thrust against me.

  The need to come began its long downhill roll and I knew I couldn’t last long.

  Then Juliette pulled me back toward the bed, my hand slipping away from her. We lay down, me on top of all her silky warm skin, and I wanted to die, right there, her naked and trembling body pressed against mine.

  I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened and then her fingers were back on me, a delicious torment, a glorious tease.

  The condom was on and she pushed me onto my back, sliding one of those long legs over me. She reared up, holding me still, upright, notching the head of my dick to that damp heat. I held my breath, and she paused. Her smile wicked, she shifted, my dick bumped her clitoris and slid along her. She did it again. The tease. The beautiful sexy tease. Blood pounded through my body, my dick straining against her hand.

  “You want to play games?” I asked.

  “I just want to play,” she said, her smile both young and seductive at the same time. We could play, I thought, all damn night. But right now, I could barely see straight.

  “Jules,” I whispered, so close to the edge it was killing me.

  She paused and I tried to smile, but this was Juliette and I’d wanted her my whole life. And I knew she could see it on my face, how much I was feeling, and I couldn’t be bothered to hide it.

  “Please.”

  She blinked, her smile fading, her breasts rising faster with her breath.

  Gorgeous, I thought, transfixed by the fire of her eyes.

  Juliette sat down hard, my dick spearing into the tight heat and I cried out, my hands curling into the quilt.

  I arched, lifting my hips, and she gasped, tossing her hair back.

  “It’s so good,” she breathed, finding a rhythm that made me see stars. “Always so good.”

  I’d wanted her so long, missed her so much, that I knew there was no way I could take this pleasure and make it last. I sat up, crushing her body to mine, my lips against her breasts. I sucked her nipples, urging her harder, faster, wanting her to be as wild as me. Her fingers dug into my scalp, holding me to her.

  “Yes,” she breathed, and rocked hard against me, pushing me higher. I slid a hand around her back and then up over her shoulder, bearing her down against me while I thrust up and forward until I was so deep inside of her there was no way I could ever leave.

  Her nails bit into my back and her hips pistoned back and forth, short and sharp, and that need to release slammed into me. I clenched my jaw and stole one hand between us, my thumb finding the ridge of her clit and I held it there, letting her ride it out on me. Use me.

  She bucked against me, kissing my neck, licking my ear, her hot breath a brand against my skin.

  She lost her grace and became mindless, nearly awkward, as I felt her orgasm building. Her skin turned red as every muscle went fiercely taut.

  Finally. Finally.

  I bent my head to her breast and cried out, arching and shaking and shuddering against her.

  I rolled to my side, taking her with me, not willing to let an inch of air come between us. I faced the ceiling, my throat thick and full of impossible emotion. It was too soon, I tried to tell myself.

  Don’t be an idiot. Don’t ruin this moment.

  But the words wouldn’t stay buried. Like untrained dogs, they ran out of control.

  “I love you,” I said, and she jerked in surprise.

  “What?” she breathed, lifting herself up to her elbow, her hair curling over my chest.

  “I love you.” My smile was sweet. Tender. “I’ve always loved you and I always will.” She only stared at me, and that wasn’t entirely what I wanted, but I was down this road.

  “I think I’ve only shown you the worst of myself,” I said. “And I really want a chance to show you the best. Because you make me feel like a better man, like there are things I have to offer. To you.”

  “You already—”

  I shook my head. “I’m not talking about sex.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I understand if you haven’t forgiven me, or even if you can’t. Because I hurt you—I hurt you more than anyone should be hurt.”

  “I forgive you,” she said.

  I shook my head, unable to believe her.

  “Do not tell me how I should feel, Tyler. That’s what got us into this mess last time.” She brushed the hair back from my forehead, her fingers framing my face.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years and now I’m awake, and it feels so good. I don’t want to go back.” Her eyes were liquid and huge in the moonlight. “I don’t want to go back to missing you.”

  “I’m right here,” I said, pulling her closer. I was getting hard again and I shifted, sliding into her, making her gasp. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Two hours later, I pulled a sheet up over Juliette’s back as she slept face-first in her pillow. I smiled, trailing a finger across her skin. She slept like she did everything—wholeheartedly.

  One of the many things I loved about her.

  I loved her.

  Watching her, my heart so big it felt as though it might beat right out of my chest, I loved her so much it hurt.

  I set the box of Girl Scout cookies I’d grabbed from my car on her bedside table along with a note that she should call me as soon as she woke up.

  According to my watch, I had about five hours before a morning meeting with some roofing suppliers for the build. Juliette sighed and shifted in her sleep, rolling slightly to reveal her breasts.

  Man, responsibility really sucked.

  “Tyler?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to go,” I said. “I have a meeting in a few hours. I should maybe get a few minutes of sleep.”

  She pulled hair out of her eyes and pouted. “You want to sleep?” she asked, twisting in the sheets. “Really?”

  It required no thought.

  “No,” I said, and threw off my clothes.

  An hour later I opened the front door of The Manor and my father’s laugh boomed through the empty foyer. Another voice, mumbled and quieter, joined in, and the short hairs on the back of my neck stirred from their sex-induced slumber.

  No way. No freaking way.

  I found them in the kitchen. Richard and Miguel, sitting at the table, cards in their hands, as if it was all no big deal. As if they’d been doing it every night I went out to Remy’s.

  Little clues started coming together and it occurred to me that they probably had.

  “When you’ve got a queen in the flop—” my father was saying, as if I was some kind of gambling professor.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

  Miguel had the good sense to put down the cards and look ashamed. But not Dad. No, not Richard Bonavie.

  “Hey, son, come on in. We’re just playing a little Texas hold ’em.”

  “I can see what you’re doing,” I spat.

  “Don’t be mad at your dad,” Miguel said, standing up. “It was my idea.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going to teach you cards!” I said.

  “And you’re not.” Richard stepped in, all smiles. “I am.”

  I had to look away, take a step back. A deep breath.

  Do not punch your father. Do not punch your father.

  “I wanted something more for you,” I said, turning to Miguel. “I wanted you to have some skills. Something besides cards.”

  “I know,” Miguel said, looking at his shoes.

  “Clearly you don’t!”

  “Hey,” Richard said. He stood and clapped a hand on my shoulder, which I threw off with so much force Richard was knocked back slightly.

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is!” Richard
said.

  “You never do, Dad!” I yelled. “You don’t see the big deal about walking away from your family. You don’t see the big deal about mooching off your son. About vanishing for months at a time. About credit-card fraud—”

  “I told you I had nothing to do with that,” Richard said, his chin suddenly hard, as though his pride had been offended.

  “Did Miguel tell you that I didn’t want him to learn how to play cards?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And you did it anyway?”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “Last I checked, I was your father. Not the other way around.”

  I laughed. I laughed so hard it hurt. It hurt from my toes to my heart, my gut and my throat. My father was never going to understand what was wrong. Never.

  “Get out of my house,” I said.

  Miguel crouched to grab his coat. “I’m sorry, I. I am. It’s not—”

  “Not you,” I said, stopping the boy. This moment had been a long time coming, years and years of pretending that what passed between us was working. Was worth it.

  I pointed at my father. “Get out of my house.”

  17

  “You’re kicking me out? This isn’t even your house.”

  “It’s more mine than yours,” I said. “And I want you to leave.”

  For a second Richard looked at a loss and I felt a moment’s pity. But then he laughed again, the sound colored with desperation.

  “Good one, son. You nearly had me going there.” Richard crouched in front of the kitchen liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle of Jack. “Come on, why don’t we all have a drink and—”

  I slammed the door shut and had to force myself not to do more. Not to do worse. Years of letting this man steer me into waters I had no desire to visit—waters I thought I deserved because of my blood, because of the people I’d hurt and left behind. All those years coalesced into something so dark, so damning, I couldn’t turn away from this path.

  My anger wouldn’t let me.

  “I’m done with you, Dad.”

  “Ty, come on.”

  Just then, Richard looked every moment of his age, his belly curving over the edge of his belt, silver chest hair fighting its way out of his collar. A con man at the end of his days, and I could see where the old man would end up. Some bachelor apartment off the strip with sagging furniture and water stains on the ceiling, waiting for his luck to turn around.

  I felt bad, I truly did, but I didn’t want to end up there with him.

  And Richard would have no second thoughts about dragging me down to his level.

  “Pack your stuff,” I said to Richard’s stunned face.

  “You’ll regret this,” Richard said, finally stumbling into action.

  “I won’t,” I said, thinking of Juliette. Of what my life could be without Richard around my neck like a stone. Something in me was swimming toward the surface, pulling me toward a future that had no Richard in it, and I was happy. Hopeful.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I am. But you have to go.”

  I followed my father into the living room, where Richard had been keeping his stuff.

  “Don’t come looking for me when your money runs out,” Richard said, tossing golf shirts into his bag.

  I felt a twinge of guilt and pulled out my wallet. “How much do you need, Dad?”

  Richard spun around. “I won’t take a penny of your—”

  “You have no cash, Dad. You can’t even get a bus ticket.” I unfolded some bills, enough for a bus to New Orleans and a first-class ticket to Las Vegas.

  “You don’t know what I have,” Richard said, his voice mean and snide. Richard Bonavie with his back against the wall—I had seen it a million times.

  I pressed the money into my dad’s fist and when Richard looked as if he was going to toss it in my face, I closed my fist around my father’s as hard as I could, putting every empty moment we’d spent together into his grip.

  Pain bracketed Richard’s lips but he said nothing.

  “This is the last money you’ll see from me,” I said.

  Cowed, Richard took it.

  I watched, my heart hard, thoughts of Juliette a bright light guiding me to safer waters.

  I opened the door for my father, the night and the unknown and the next big con waiting for Richard like an old lover.

  Richard paused at the threshold. “I tried,” he whispered. “I know you don’t believe that, but I did the best I could.”

  I did believe it, and for a moment I felt this resolve waiver. I felt like I was kicking a puppy that didn’t know any better.

  “But the kid is good,” my father whispered. “The three of us, we could—”

  “Go,” I said. “Just go.”

  I watched my father walk off into the night, toward town and the bus station, and wondered if this was how snakes felt when they got rid of that skin.

  I felt new. Fresh. Capable of anything.

  “I’m sorry, Tyler,” Miguel whispered. “I came to him with the idea.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “He was pretty decent to me,” Miguel said. “He didn’t drink when I was here.”

  There was nothing to say to that. I felt regret bite hard into my throat, not that I’d kicked my father out, but that my father couldn’t manage to string those moments of decency together. That he couldn’t rise above the worst of himself.

  “He taught me a lot about cards,” Miguel said.

  “But cards are nothing to pin a future on, do you get that?”

  “But the money—”

  “Money runs out, Miguel,” I said. “When I found my dad ten years ago, he had so much money he couldn’t spend it fast enough. But he did. Look at him.”

  Miguel looked out into the night. Richard, once the big man, was walking away with borrowed money in his pocket, about to take a bus.

  “You’re starting this job after school in a week,” I said. “A real job. And I bet in time, you’ll be a foreman on that job. And you’ll have skills you can take anywhere. And money to get you into college. You’ll have a way to take care of your sister for good, not just for a while.”

  Miguel licked his lips and nodded. “I guess,” he said.

  “You guess?” I laughed. “I think it’s a whole lot better than I guess, considering you tried to steal Suzy.”

  Miguel rolled his eyes. “Dude! You are so weird.”

  “Keep that up and I won’t teach you how to drive her.”

  “Did I say weird?” Miguel asked. “I meant awesome.”

  “I know you did, kid. I know you did.”

  JULIETTE

  * * *

  Sunday morning, I stood on The Manor’s brand-new front porch and took a deep breath. Another one. I smoothed a hand down the front of my blue skirt, wishing I’d taken the time to iron it a little better.

  My hands, slippery with sweat, were in danger of dropping the box I carried, so before I could delay and grow any more nervous I reached out and rang the doorbell.

  I was here to show Tyler and myself—and Priscilla, if the old lady cared—that I was ready to love all of Tyler. Even the bad stuff. And that meant getting to know his father.

  The door swung open, revealing Tyler holding a steaming cup of coffee. A long slow smile that was better than a kiss crossed his face.

  “Well, now,” he said, leaning against the door and making me want to giggle with nerves and lust. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Here,” I said, thrusting the small white box at him. Nerves made me awkward, ungracious.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Muffins.”

  “You baked?”

  I snorted and then tried very hard to pretend I hadn’t. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said, stepping aside so I could walk in. “I was being hopeful. Juliette Tremblant at my door in a skirt carrying muffins? Where’s the porno music?”

  I laughed, helpless against this man’s humor. Hi
s charm. This was why I loved him, because he brought light to my darkest days, turned my gray life into Technicolor.

  “I’m here to meet your father,” I said, turning to face him in time to see his expression go hard. Cold. “Is that a problem?”

  “I’m guessing by the skirt and muffins you’re not here as police chief?”

  I shook my head. “I want to know all of you, Tyler,” I said. “Good, bad and otherwise. And that means your father.”

  Tyler put down the mug and box on the table in the foyer and stepped close to me, his warmth embracing me, his smell enveloping me.

  “I hate to disappoint you,” he said, his fingers toying with the hem of the gauzy white shirt I wore. Desire seeped into me and I watched his fingers unbutton the bottom button. And the next one up. “Since you’re all dressed up in your Sunday best, bringing gifts, but I kicked him out Friday night.”

  “What?” I asked, rallying my brain function. “Why?”

  His fingers kept climbing the buttons on my shirt, until he slipped it off my shoulders, revealing a thin camisole.

  “Can I tell you later?” he asked, kissing my shoulder, my collarbone. “I get so turned on by a woman bearing baked goods.”

  An hour later, wrapped in the old worn wedding-ring-patterned quilt that Tyler had had on his bed since high school, I sat facing him. Sunlight poured in the room and across Tyler’s face, illuminating the day-old beard, the dark circles under his eyes. I hadn’t noticed the other night how thin he’d gotten. He was all planes and angles.

  He was working too hard, which, frankly, was not something I ever thought I’d say about him.

  “These are great,” he said, finishing off his third muffin.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Cindy down at The Sunrise.” I picked the last blueberry out of mine and handed the rest of it to Tyler. Suddenly, I wanted to take care of him. Make sure he slept. Was fed. The boy needed a keeper. “You want to tell me about your father?”