Weekend hit and Jake mentioned the monthly cowboys' card game like it was no big deal. Just casually dropped it over coffee.
"Heading to the hall tonight. Poker with the guys."
Cool. Fine. Not like I'd been dying of boredom for three days while he processed his feelings or whatever emotional crisis he was currently having.
"Can I come?"
He looked at me like I'd suggested cliff diving. "It's not really your scene."
"My scene is currently watching paint dry on your barn while you avoid eye contact. So yeah, poker with cowboys sounds fucking thrilling by comparison."
His jaw did that thing. The clenching thing that meant he was about to say no but couldn't figure out how to justify it.
"Please?" Added that because sometimes basic manners worked when sarcasm failed. "I'm going insane here. I need human interaction that isn't Tommy asking if I'm okay every five seconds."
He studied me for a long moment.
Probably calculating risks. Weighing pros and cons. Doing that Jake Sullivan thing where he overthought everything into paralysis.
"Fine." Said it like I'd twisted his arm. "But you sit, you watch, you don't cause problems."
"Scout's honor." Held up three fingers. "I'll be so well-behaved you'll forget I'm there."
His expression said he didn't believe that for a second. Smart man.
The hall was exactly what you'd expect—fold-out tables, fluorescent lighting that made everyone look vaguely jaundiced, the smell of beer and testosterone. A dozen cowboys in various stages of drunk and competitive.
Jake did introductions. Names I immediately forgot except Dale—rough-looking guy with a scar through his eyebrow and the kind of smile that said he enjoyed other people's discomfort.
He looked at me the way you'd look at a poker chip.
Interesting.
"Sullivan brought a date," someone said. Laughter all around. "Didn't know you still had game, old man."
"She's Richard's daughter." Jake's voice was flat. "Staying at the ranch. That's all."
Sure. That's all.
That's why he couldn't make eye contact and his shoulders were rigid enough to snap.
I grabbed a chair next to Jake. Close enough that our arms brushed. When he shifted away slightly, I shifted closer.
Oh, this was fun already.
The game started—Texas Hold'em, apparently. I knew the basics from a guy I'd dated sophomore year who thought being good at poker made him interesting.
Spoiler: it didn't.
But watching Jake play? That was actually fascinating. He had a tell—the tiniest twitch near his left eye when he was bluffing. Barely visible unless you were studying his face, which I absolutely was.
"You gonna bet or just stare at Sullivan all night?" Dale's voice cut through my analysis.
"Not playing," I said. "Just watching."
"Shame. Would've liked taking your money." His grin was all teeth. "Or whatever else you're willing to lose."
Jake's hand tightened on his cards.
Noted.
I leaned forward to see his hand better. Accidentally-on-purpose let my breast press against his arm, and his entire body went rigid.
Also noted.
"That's a terrible hand," I whispered.
Like I knew what I was talking about. Like I wasn't just looking for excuses to get close.
"Thank you for your expert analysis," he muttered.
But his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Progress.
The game continued, and I found other reasons to touch him. Adjusting his collar (didn't need adjusting), brushing something off his shoulder (nothing was there), reaching across him for the drink I'd strategically placed on his far side.
The other cowboys noticed, because of course they noticed. Exchange of knowing looks, raised eyebrows. That particular male communication that happened without words.
Jake was losing. Like, actually hemorrhaging cash in a way that made his jaw progressively tighter with each hand. His pile was getting smaller while mood only got darker.
I leaned in to see his cards again. This time my hand landed on his thigh, squeezed gently. Just being supportive, obviously. Totally innocent.
He grabbed my wrist under the table. Firm and warning. His thumb pressed against my pulse point and my heart decided to run a marathon.
"Behave, princess," he whispered.
"I am behaving." Smiled sweetly. "This is me being good."
"Your version of good is going to get us both in trouble."
"Maybe I like trouble. Maybe some back-seat trouble."
His eyes darkened. Pupils dilating.
Oh, we were definitely not just talking about poker anymore.
I reached for his drink—that beer he'd been nursing—to take a sip. Prove some kind of point about familiarity or ownership or I don't know, the tequila logic wasn't fully gone yet.
Knocked it over instead. Completely accidentally. The bottle tipped, beer spreading across the table in a slow-motion disaster that soaked cards and cash and made everyone jump back cursing.
"Shit!" I grabbed napkins. Started mopping. "Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry—"
"Careful there, sweetheart." Dale's voice carried amusement. "Sullivan's already having a bad night. Don't need you making it worse."
Jake's expression was unreadable, somewhere between frustrated and resigned. Like he'd expected me to cause chaos and was almost impressed I'd waited this long.
The cards got replaced. Money got dried off. The game continued but now everyone was definitely watching us. Watching how Jake's hand hovered near my back. How I leaned into him.
How we orbited each other like gravity had opinions.
"You two fucking?" Dale asked. Just casually. Like he was commenting on the weather.
The table went quiet. That particular silence that meant everyone wanted the answer but nobody else had the balls to ask.
"No." Jake's voice was ice. "She's Richard's daughter."
"Right." Dale's grin widened. "Richard Ward. Your best friend Richard. The one who'd probably kill you if you touched his baby girl…"
"Drop it, Dale."
"Just making observations. Girl's all over you. You're wound tighter than a spring. Figured there was a story."
"There's no story." But Jake's knuckles were white on his cards. "Can we play?"
The game resumed. Tension thick enough to cut and Jake's pile kept shrinking. Bad cards, worse decisions, the kind of downward spiral that happened when you were too distracted to focus.
Final hand and Jake went all-in on what had to be desperation.
Lost spectacularly to Dale's full house.
"Well, shit." Dale leaned back, grinning. "Looks like Sullivan's tapped out. No more cash to lose."
Jake stood. Rigid. Controlled. "I'm done. Thanks for the game."
"Hold up." Dale's voice stopped him. Stopped everyone. "Debt's a debt, Sullivan. You're down what, three hundred? Can't just walk away."
"I'll pay you tomorrow."
"Nah." Dale's eyes slid to me. Deliberate. Predatory. "I think we can work something out tonight."
The table went dead quiet. That dangerous kind of quiet where violence was one wrong word away.
"Seems like you've got something much more valuable here than cash." Dale's grin was pure malice now. "Something we could take as interest on your debt…"
His eyes locked on me. Made sure everyone understood exactly what he meant.
Jake moved so fast I almost missed it. One second sitting, the next standing between me and Dale, body language screaming threat.
"Finish that sentence," Jake said quietly. "I fucking dare you."