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Yes. She wanted that.
Poker sounded like fun, but she wanted dinner with Jason. She wanted to get dressed up in date clothes—something sparkly and feminine—wear heels and know how it felt to kiss a man suddenly shorter than she was. She’d heard that sex standing up was easier if the woman was a little taller. Better angles. She’d keep her heels on for that, no matter how badly her feet hurt.
No. No. No. If she did that, it was because Jason was a fling. A man she went out and had fun with, not a man she was going to settle down with. He wasn’t everything she wanted. And she didn’t want to settle for less than everything.
“I might not be as good at poker as you think I am. I’m good at math and probability, but lots of people are good at that and bad at poker.” She could just do the poker part. And the dinner part, if it came to that. She didn’t have to do the sex part that her brain was leading her to.
He stayed leaning forward, evaluating her. She stayed leaning forward, her hulking desk between them. They wouldn’t get any closer in her office. But if she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself slipping into his arms and curling up. He had such nice arms. And those T-shirts he wore to work only made her think about them more.
She kept her eyes open and let him evaluate her. She couldn’t even imagine her life going that way, wrapped up in his arms. It wasn’t part of her plans.
“I think you’re better than I think you are. I think you’re better than I think you are at everything.”
Her resistance melted like snow in Florida. Jason gave the best compliments. She wouldn’t let herself imagine what he would be like as a life partner. That was a dream for another—a different kind of—woman. But Marsie was sure as hell going to go out and play poker. It wasn’t that Jason thought she was going to be better, but—for Jason—she wanted to be better. At everything.
“What time? And where am I going?”
“Seven thirty. And we can go together if you want. I’ll pick you up. That way you don’t have to walk into a house you don’t know alone.”
“Oh. Yes. That would be good. Thanks.”
“Where do you live?”
She gave him her address and he nodded. “Okay. That’s about twenty minutes from my friend’s. So I’ll pick you up around seven ten.”
The fact that they had plans made her suddenly nervous. “You’re telling them that I’m coming, right? You’re not just springing me on some private party that I really have no business being at.”
He held up one hand. “Scout’s honor. We’re allowed, encouraged even, to bring someone else to play. They’ve all brought idiots who bragged about how awesome they were at poker and lost their shirts.”
His smile was still playful, but there was a tinge of wickedness under it. “If I do clean everyone out, you’re going to enjoy it, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah. I’m not going to collude with you to help you win. In fact, I’m going to play as hard and smart as I’ve ever played. Make you work for it.” When his playful smile went wide, the wickedness disappeared and all that was left was pure joy. “And I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it. For months.”
He stood, brushing at unseen dirt on his pants. “So we’re good then?”
“We’re good. I’ll see you a little after seven. And I’ll head home a little early to remind myself of the poker rules.”
He waved her off. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll kill us all.”
As he walked out of her office, she watched his butt and wondered what she was going to wear.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARSIE’S HOUSE WAS exactly what he had expected, big and in perfect order. Not a single one of the bushes lining the front walk dared to have a leaf out of place. Before he had met Marsie, he would have passed a house like this and thought the person living in it had to be straitlaced and boring. After having coffee with Marsie a couple times a week for almost a year, he had realized straight lines were interesting, with depth and detail that he hadn’t noticed before. Like he’d learned at a woodworking class he’d taken at the local community college a couple years ago—there was art and skill in the perfect straight line.
