Page 59 of Gambler's Conceit

“All right, all right. Let’s get out onto the floor, or we’ll miss the start of the show.” I squeeze Seven’s shoulders again. “Ready?”

He nods, still looking like an overeager puppy. “Thanks, Della. I’ll be back.”

“Oh, will you?” I ask, amused as I lead him toward the door.

“Yes,” he says. “Daddy.”

I roll my eyes, but I head for the exit without commenting on his cheek.

The guy at the door requests our tickets, and I let him scan my phone. Seven is practically bouncing up and down as we head toward our seats. I have to give Caleb credit; he got us good seats where Seven and I will be able to see everything up close.

“So, what did you think of Della?” I ask him when he’s settled in his seat next to me.

“I meant it about going back.” Seven eyes me like he’s expecting me to argue, but I only shrug.

“That’s up to the boss, but I’ll talk to him.” Not that I could get Caleb to do anything he doesn’t want to do, but even he will have to admit it’ll do Seven some good to be around people. He might have been a little freaked out by Linda, but the queens—Della, at least—had set him at ease.

“So will I,” Seven drawls. “We’ll have a nice, longconversation.”

“Conversation, huh?” I start to speak again, but one of the queens sashays onto the stage, grabbing the microphone as she begins the show. With the way Seven’s attention is so rapt on her, I don’t want to talk through it.

I spend more time watching him than the show. I can always come back and see it for the umpteenth time, but his awe andwonder as they sing and dance, put on a comedy act, and involve the audience in their antics make me want to just let him have this.

So I do, and by the end of it, I feel like I know him a little better.

When the applause dies down and people start to file out of the room, I turn to him. “You ready? I’d take you backstage again, but it’s going to be complete mayhem.” I check my phone. “It’s late, though. I’ll take you upstairs and tuck you and Nacho in. How about that?”

Seven gives me a strange look. “We aren’t going to fuck?”

Yes.

Having his body close to me, hearing him call me “Daddy”? Yeah, that had gotten me revved up. I haven’t even completely shaken off the adrenaline from the violence earlier today.

I step into his personal space and tilt his head up. “Is that what you want, Seven?” I ask in a low voice.

He shivers, then nods to me. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

“You think?” I ask, caressing his cheek. It would be easy to get distracted by the promise of his body, but I’d told Caleb I’d try to coax information out of him. “How about we go get dessert before we head upstairs?”

He looks even more surprised at that, downright taken aback, but he nods. “Sure.”

“There’s this ice cream place I like,” I tell him. “C’mon.”

He follows me through the door, the excited chatter of the other patrons briefly drowning out anything we could say. It’s fine. I need a minute to try to prepare myself. I’m not exactly smooth with words. It’s never been my forte. But I think that after tonight, he might trust me a little more.

Everything quiets down when we’re halfway to the ice cream shop past several restaurants within the casino, which is still open despite the late hour.

“They have a lot of unique flavors here,” I tell him. “They’ll give you little samples if you want to try any of them.”

For some reason I don’t understand, Seven looks spooked. “I… Nah. I’ll just get chocolate. No. Vanilla. Or… should I try strawberry?” He nibbles on his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably.

All of the confident allure he’d been displaying since the moment he’d met Della is downright gone, replaced by an anxious young man who seems desperate to please all of a sudden.

“Hey,” I say, gently touching his arm. “There’s nothing wrong with the classics, but you don’t have to worry about getting something you don’t like. As long as you’re not trying to get full on the samples without ordering anything, they don’t care. It’s pretty much dead in here, so no one else is waiting.”

Seven doesn’t look reassured. His eyes dart around, landing on the woman who’s scrolling on her phone behind the counter. “She looks busy, though,” he hedges.

I scoff. “This is her job. She’ll probably be grateful for a break from the monotony,” I tell him. “C’mon. I’ll get something off the wall for us to try.” He follows me as I walk up to the counter. “Hey. Can I try the… Hmm. Blueberry ripple?”