Page 21 of The Score We Never Settled

I just wish she’d fucking do it again.

“Ben,” Tom drawls again. “You didn’t make Romeo in grade school. Actin’ ain’t your thing, shut up.”

“And quiet down,” William tacks on. “We’re tryin’ to focus here.”

“Call,” Tom announces, laying down his two cards and coming out with nothing. “Crap hand.”

“Two pair,” William announces, laying down his threes.

“Straight,” Dodger quips, almost sounding proud as hell.

Until I lay down my hand.

“Flush.”

All five hearts.

I can feel Ben seething from across the table, but it doesn’t stop me from looking up.

It can’t be from the thirty bucks I won because, at this point in my life, that’s chump change. But money has never meant shit to me.

The game and Layla have.

“Are you gonna stew all night over there, Mr. Melrose, until I answer the question?”

His dark eyes stay clipped and narrowed on me when he clips out, “Yes.”

Not gonna like the answer.

The thing is, Laylamayhave listened to him most of the time, in terms of staying away from me full-time.

But she still came.

And came and came and came because any opportunity I could, I had my hands on Layla Melrose, and I couldn’t keep them off.

Still can’t and won’t.

It’s been two years since I have. However, that hasn’t swayed me in any particular way but toward feral.

“Nothing’s changed,” I manage easily. “I’m still in love with Layla Jean.”

A collected mixture of groans and scoffs emits from around the table because I fucked up the vibe, and Ben is going to throw a temper tantrum.

Dodger invited me to this game, or so he thought. I stopped by the Sheriff’s office, out of nowhere, to say hi to him, when I had never done it before.

Sure, if I saw him, I wouldn’t ignore him.

However, we haven’t kept in touch that much. I think he flew him up a few years ago to see a game, but that’s because he asked for a girl he was dating at the time, and he wanted awesome seats.

It was cool with me.

“You’re still an idiot, kid,” Tom mutters under his breath when Ben suddenly shoves his chair back, making it screech against the hardwood floors.

“Out!” He points to the front door. “Go on, now, this is a private game. No outsiders allowed.”

“I invited him,” Dodger drones. “He’s a guest.”

“And I wanna win my forty bucks back,” William chimes. “That’s my lunch money for the week.”