Page 89 of Gambler's Conceit
Dave clears his throat. “You’re playing with fire, Seven,” he says, ignoring my request as he strides down to the other end of the bar to serve another patron.
“Not your fucking business,” I mutter, glowering after him.
“Some people should focus on their jobs,” Michael agrees, stroking my back before settling his hand just above my ass.
He’s not being subtle, but I don’t need him to be subtle. I don’twanthim to be, either. I want him to be everything he’spromising—a rich dick with the need to show off—so I can end up getting railed into the mattress without having to think of anything that’s bothering me.
“Yeah,” I say. “What do you do?” I don’t really care, but men like Michael enjoy talking about themselves. He launches into some self-aggrandizing description about stocks and bonds and day trading and whatever.
I’ve heard these things before from men richer and more powerful than Michael.
At least, I think they were.
I peer at him, considering, as the warmth in my belly grows in intensity. Maybe he’s more well-off and influential than I’m giving him credit for. Maybe he’s connected to the mafia, too, which is why he’s here.
It’s a thought that makes me wish for more vodka, but Dave is pointedly ignoring us now.
Michael’s wearing a suit, which could hide all sorts of damage and tattoos.
Of course, Caleb’s skin is as smooth as if he’s never been in any sort of altercation in his life, and if he’s a mafia baby, it’s possible he’s just gotten all the privilege without any of the work.
“What about you, pretty boy?” Michael asks, signaling that he’s finally done talking about himself.
“Hmm?” I ask, trying to bring myself back to the conversation instead of thinking about fucking Caleb and men like him.
“What do you do when you aren’t drawing everyone’s eyes at the casino bar?” he clarifies.
I laugh, reaching out to trail my fingertips along his knuckles as I contemplate. I should probably make this stop before it goes too far. Caleb might get pissed that I’ve added yet another man to our little… setup.
But I doubt Michael is going to stick around, so he’s safe.
Right. Safe.
“Draw eyes on the casino floor,” I drawl. “Draw eyes everywhere I go. It’s a hard life, but someone has to do it.”
The flirtation is so easy and familiar.
I hate Caleb, suddenly.
I hate that he put me into this situation.
I hate that he made me think, for three seconds, that I was safe.
I hate Vortex and Havoc, too, for not just fucking me and being done with everything. Havoc and his stupid sob story and Vortex and his fake comfort. They both know what kind of man Caleb is, and they don’t care.
Dave suddenly sets a bowl of chips down in front of us. “Seven. Quit while you’re ahead.”
I smirk at him. “I’m not ahead yet,” I say, then turn to Michael and place my hands on his hips. “You know a place around here where somebody mightreallyget a… head?”
Michael laughs at my terrible joke, but he brings his lips closer to mine. “I’m here for a conference. They paid for a very swanky room in the hotel.”
“Cool.” I lean in, brushing my mouth against his before drawing back. I get up, and I sway a little until he steadies me. “Whoops,” I say with another giggle.
Michael smiles indulgently at me. “You okay there?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Seven…” Dave interrupts, his expression wary.