Page 20 of Keller

West doesn't argue. He sips his drink and glances toward the tables, scanning for anything off. Then he shifts, his shoulders loosening just slightly.

"So. Green dress?"

I nearly choke on my whiskey.

"What?"

"You heard me." West grins. "Are you going to see her again? I saw you walk out with her at the gala. Goddamn, you're a dog."

I take another sip instead of answering right away. The burn of the whiskey gives me something to focus on besides the fact that West is grinning at me like he already knows.

"It's not what you think. And yes, I think I will see her again."

"Oh, yeah? Alright." He leans against the bar, hazel eyes locked on me with that steady, patient look he gets when he's decided to wait me out. "When?"

I adjust my glasses. The frames press against my temples, and I focus on that instead of the way my pulse kicked up when I saw her name on my screen this morning.

"I'm not sure yet. I texted her Sunday, and she just texted me back today. I'll probably ask her to grab a drink tomorrow night or something."

"And?"

"And what?"

West laughs, low and rough. "You gonna play this game all night, or are we gonna talk about the fact that you've been checking your phone every twenty minutes all night?"

"I have not."

"You absolutely have." He raises his glass toward me in mock salute. "No shame in that, brother. Like I said. She's a looker."

"No shame here. I'm just telling you I'm not checking my phone for any reasons you seem to think."

His eyebrows lift. "Sure, whatever."

I ignore that. My fingers tap against the side of my glass, a rhythm I don't realize I'm keeping until I catch myself and stop. The room behind us is quieter now, just the shuffle of cards and the low murmur of conversation. Table four is running a slow hand. Table one just folded.

I scan the space out of habit, clocking positions, reading body language. Everything is steady.

"She gave me her number on a matchbook, man. How about that shit?"

West blinks. "That's amazing. When, after y'all disappeared for a while?"

"Yeah, at the gala, shortly before we left. She walked past me, slipped it into my hand, and kept walking." The memory surfaces sharp and clear. The brush of her fingertips. The scent of jasmine and something sharper underneath. The way she didn't look back. "That's hot, right?"

West's grin widens. "Yeah, you've got to see her again. I've got to hear how this one ends. Because they all end. But this one may have a hold on you already. I think I like her already."

I drain the rest of my whiskey and set the glass down with a hard clink. "You're an idiot."

He is more right than I will admit to him. She let me kiss her, push her against the wall, let me slide her dress up her thigh, and press her against the shelves until her breath caught. And then she stopped it.

I was hard enough to ache, and she still stepped back like she hadn’t just come apart in my hands. Most women would have letit go where it was already headed, but she didn’t. She drew a line and held it.

For reasons I can’t quite explain, that’s hot as fuck.

The cards slide across the black felt at table two. The sound is crisp, precise. The dealer turns them with practiced efficiency. Four players, two mid-level regulars, one newcomer, and the one woman here tonight who's been winning for the past forty minutes. She watches her cards without expression. I track the rhythm of the game, the way the bets shift, the energy at the table.

The door opens behind me.

I don’t turn right away. West tracks the room so I don’t have to react to every shift in the air. My focus stays on the woman who just shoved her stack forward without blinking.