Page 17 of The Trouble with Flings

Whoa. That shocking reality stops my thoughts in their tracks.

I quickly try to rein them in with much-needed perspective. That’s my competitive side talking, not my emotions. Fitz is my Costa Rican fling. Once we go back to our real lives, he’s free to do whatever he wants, but not while I’m right here. What if he’s into that kind of thing? My thoughts stumble. Would it be wrong of me to speak for him?

Struggling not to let my inner nightmare show, I look at Fitz, and my chest constricts.

As if he senses my anguish, he glances over. His smile fades briefly, and I force a smile. He takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and keeps hold of it as he turns back to his conversation. In that moment, I remember his comment about my cave.

If he can claim my cave while we’re here, then I can claim his snorkel!

I turn back to Katelyn and say, “I applaud you for shooting your shot and appreciate you asking first, but while we’re here, he’s mine.”

“Okay, cool,” she says. “No hard feelings?”

“None whatsoever,” I say honestly. If she tried to do it behind my back, then the New Yorker in me might have had something else to say, but the jealousy is my issue, not hers, and I’ve got it under control now, filed away under its rightful place as competitiveness.

“Who’s ready to lose some money?” Fitz asks.

There’s a flurry of activity as we down our drinks and head deeper into the casino. Fitz’s hand curls around my waist. He pulls me closer and says, “I thought I picked up on your bat signal back there and wanted to give you an escape. I hope I didn’t read you wrong.”

“You probably shouldn’t be able to read me that well so fast.” It’s another knee-jerk reaction. I have no idea why I can’t just admit he’s not wrong and thank him.

“I’ll take that as confirmation that I was right,” he says smugly. “Is everything okay?”

I whisper, “Katelyn wanted to invite you back to their room…for her and Marco.”

“Really?” He grins and glances at the others gathering around a blackjack table. “How flattering.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, I have to ask, “Are you into that?”

“I’m more of a one-woman man.” He holds me a little tighter. “And my sights are currently set on you.”

That delivers a dose of relief.

When we reach the blackjack table, I glance at the neat stacks of chips in front of our friends and touch Fitz’s hand. “We forgot to get chips.”

“I’ve got it,” he says coolly, pulling a money clip from his pocket. He places five crisp hundred-dollar bills on the table.

The dealer, a young woman with a sleek bun, spreads the bills neatly with her hand and announces, “Changing five hundred.”

Dave leans around Lily and says, “Dude, are those real?”

Fitz tosses him an amused glance. “They don’t accept fakes.”

“The pressure is on,” Marco says, rubbing his hands together.

The dealer slides Fitz’s chips to him with practiced indifference.

Fitz places half of them in front of me and says, “I have a feeling luck is on your side tonight.”

I arch a brow. “Hedging your bets?”

“I’m investing wisely.”

Warmth curls in my chest. “Losing to me might damage your reputation.”

“My reputation will survive.”

“Yes, but will your ego?” I tease as the cards are dealt.