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  “Like its owner.” She sat back and crossed her arms.

  “What?”

  “You’re cranky. Maybe you should’ve slept in like I did. You could use some beauty sleep.”

  “I was up late trying to figure out how you cheated at cards last night.”

  “I didn’t cheat. I didn’t even use my feminine wiles.”

  “The hell you didn’t. You were barely dressed and, every time you moved, your shirt inched higher, revealing a little more thigh, inviting me over.”

  She snorted. “Just because you have no self-control does not mean I cheated.”

  When he came to a red light, he turned to her. She bit her lower lip. She was a horrible liar. He didn’t even need to comment for her to break.

  “Okay, but it wasn’t cheating exactly. Yes, I let my shirt ride up, but that was so you wouldn’t pay attention to my face. I learned how to count cards to win at blackjack. I simply improvised and studied what cards were being played so I could win.”

  “Counting cards doesn’t work with gin.” He stepped on the gas.

  “Technically, no, but I created a method on the fly. I don’t know if it really worked. It was kind of like I was trying to memorize the cards laid out and figure out the probability of what you held.”

  “Good thing you aren’t going to Vegas. Use your skills for good not evil.”

  “Like you do?”

  “What do you mean? I taught you how to play pool. That was good.”

  “You only did that because you wanted to fuck me.”

  He couldn’t argue that.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes and then the moment he dreaded hit.

  “Tell me about being a gypsy.”

  His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He should’ve known she’d go there. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. When someone says the word gypsy to me, I think crazy fortune-teller wearing a colorful headscarf. I don’t know anything about the real culture.”

  He had no idea where to start. He didn’t like to talk about that life. “There are a lot of fortune-tellers in my family. The stereotype you’re imagining isn’t far off base.”

  “So people are right when they say not to trust a gypsy.”

  “Definitely. At least in my experience. Gypsies don’t trust anyone outside the family.” Thankfully, he pulled into the lot for the first pool hall. It was Sunday afternoon, after church, so he hoped to find a few decent games.

  “It’s got to be kind of exciting though, right? Moving around all the time. To be totally free from responsibility. It’s got to be liberating.” She jumped out of the truck before he could even form a response.

  Liberating? More like suffocating. He had never had a choice where or when they moved. He had never known if someone would be caught and arrested. That concern had amplified once his mother had left. If his dad were to go jail, Phin had worried about what would happen to him. The family would have taken care of him, but he would’ve lost the few freedoms that his father had given him.

  He got out of the truck with his cue and joined Layla on the other side of the vehicle. She slid an arm around his waist and tugged him close. “One more question and then I’ll leave you alone. You obviously hate talking about it.”

  He looked into her eyes, staring at him so openly and honestly. “Go ahead.”

  “Why did you leave? It had to have been really hard to walk away.”

  Phin leaned against his truck, breaking contact with her. He ran his fingers through his hair. “There are certain expectations for each member of the family. I wasn’t willing to live up to those expectations.”

  “Every family has expectations. My family expected me to go to a good college and graduate and then get a decent job. They expect I’ll settle down, get married, and give them grandchildren. That’s life.” She tucked her hands into the pockets of jeans that hugged her slender curves.

  “I didn’t want to get married.”

  “Oh.”

  He shoved off the truck, wanting to leave the subject behind them and focus on the game. True to her word, Layla didn’t ask another question, but he knew she was dying to. Leaving his family had been his choice. His mother had made sure he had a taste of a regular life, and a taste was all he’d needed. Now he knew how to find it on his own. Layla was proof of that.

  Chapter 5

  Layla walked beside Phin toward the pool hall, thinking about what he’d said. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. So what if he didn’t want to get married? There was something more to it. She saw it in his eyes. After he’d stopped talking, she’d watched his countenance change. From trying to hide his wounds to putting on his game face. She wished for half the strength he had.

  Phin was the kind of guy to grab life and run with it. He had no fear, whereas there were times when she felt like she was caught in a hurricane of panic. To have complete control of everything . . . Maybe one day she’d feel that way.

  They walked through the doors, and Layla looked around. She’d never stepped foot in a pool hall before. She had known they existed, but she’d always imagined them to be nothing more than a place for motorcycle gangs to hang out. Phin studied the layout and chose a table. She took a seat nearby and watched him rack the balls the way she had the previous day when he’d been nothing more than a sexy stranger to look at.

  As Phin took his first shot, she eased off her stool and walked to him. “This might be a stupid question, but shouldn’t you have asked someone at a different table to play you instead of standing here alone?”

  He leaned down and stole a quick kiss. “I’m not alone, babe; I’m with you. And if I wait for someone to come to me, he can only blame himself for losing. I don’t look like a predator.” He winked and turned back to the table.

  She’d watched him play yesterday, and although she’d pegged him as a hustler or a shark easily enough, he didn’t look like a predator. He was too friendly, downright charming. He excelled at the role of con man because she’d seen the predator when they were alone together. A bright glimpse in his eye when he knew he’d win.

  She hadn’t seen it while playing pool or even during gin, but when he’d kissed her and stroked her and then asked if it was okay. That was the predator taking over the con man. Maybe she should’ve been insulted or even pissed off, but it only made him more intriguing.

  Layla had never gone for bad boys. Unlike most girls she knew, she wasn’t drawn to the danger. But Phin was a different type of bad boy. She sat back on her stool and watched him clear the table. As he racked the next round, a guy who looked to be about forty sauntered over.

  Phin didn’t say anything, so the man spoke. “Mind if I play?”

  “Sure. I like a little competition. The girlfriend’s not really good enough to challenge me.”

  The man chuckled and heat clawed up Layla’s neck. First, Phin had no business calling her his girlfriend, and second, who the fuck was he to say she didn’t challenge him? She hopped off her stool and glared at him before heading to the adjacent table.

  Phin swatted her ass and said in a low voice, “Stay out of trouble.”

  She slid her money into the table to release the balls. Let him have his game and scam that asshole. She’d play on her own and she’d show him a challenge. After racking the balls, she chose a cue stick and cleared her mind with a deep breath. She tuned out the clacking of balls and the low grumbles of men throughout the hall.

  She even managed to ignore Phin’s presence and the heady feeling that rose in her every time he looked her way. Single-minded focus was one of her many gifts. She remembered what Phin had taught her about body position and watching where the balls could land, not just where they did.

  When she reopened her eyes, she leaned over and broke, scattering balls across the table, sinking the three. She circled the table once and studied the balls. Without Phin’s interference, she now saw what he’d tried to teach her. In her mind, she imagined the angles and shapes acro
ss the table. She leaned over and began her attack. One by one, the solids thunked into pockets.

  By the time she sank the last one, she realized she was being watched. Layla glanced over her shoulder and winked at Phin. His opponent was grumbling about losing, but slapped ten bucks on the table. Phin tucked it in his pocket, but his cryptic eyes stayed on her.

  “Hey, sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?”

  Layla straightened to face the man across from her. “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Well, how about a game then? A little friendly wager.”

  She felt the air shift and knew that Phin had stiffened, but didn’t move. “What kind of wager?”

  Layla couldn’t help but think of her wager with Phin the previous day and all of the delicious things it had led to.

  “I win, you let me buy you a drink.”

  “And if I win?”

  “I’ll still buy you a drink.”

  She studied the guy, trying to see him the way Phin would. He stood relaxed, wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He was tan and his muscles bulged. He worked manual labor of some sort, but that didn’t help her determine what kind of player he’d be. But there was Phin burning a hole into her back, so she said, “There’s no challenge in that. If I win, you pay me twenty bucks.”

  “You got it.” He placed a twenty on the table.

  She dug into her pocket and did the same. He walked around the table and extended his hand. “I’m Joe.”

  “Layla.” They shook briefly, and Joe turned to rack the balls. “You want to break?”

  “Ladies first.”

  She rolled her shoulders and tried not to be nervous, but closing out all distractions was harder this time. Leaning over, she shot the cue, but didn’t follow through. As soon as the ball rolled, she knew her mistake, but there was no calling it back. There were no do-overs. The white cue ball tapped into the triangle and opened it, but the balls didn’t scatter the way they needed to.

  Joe made a sound like a lame laugh and said, “We can ditch this game now and go get that drink. It’ll relax both of us.”

  “Your shot,” she answered. She took a step back and bumped into Phin. She didn’t turn, but knew it was him. God, she so didn’t need him laughing at her too. She shifted to get away, but his hand grabbed the back of her waistband.

  He lowered his head to her ear. “You can handle this joker. Play like you’re alone, like your last game, and you’ll wipe the floor with him.”

  She watched as Joe managed to sink two striped balls before missing. Phin’s hand released her jeans, but caressed over her hip as he added, “See it and own it.”

  Then he was gone. Layla closed her eyes and expelled the anxiety gnawing at her. She went to the table to figure out her options. Her brain took over then. Math never let her down. One by one, she sank every solid. When the eight ball dropped in, Joe groaned.

  He picked up his twenty and placed it in her hand. “Good game. I’d still like to buy you that drink.”

  “No thanks.” She watched him walk away and, when she was sure he wasn’t going to turn back, she jumped and danced.

  “What are you doing?” Phin asked.

  “I’m celebrating, of course. Just because winning means nothing to you, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get pleasure from it. I won. I can buy dinner tonight.” She smiled up at him and then kissed his cheek. “Still think I’m not enough of a challenge for you?”

  “You’re more challenge than I need in a lifetime. Let’s go find some people to play doubles with.”

  Phin had been a lone player his whole life. Even when he’d been with his family, he’d struck out alone because that was where he excelled, where he had control. Never had he imagined that hooking up with a partner would be so enjoyable.

  In the past, a partner had meant splitting the profits with someone he’d have to carry. Today, with Layla, he’d not only made more money than he had on any other Sunday, but he’d had a great time. They’d laughed and joked and schemed to win. After playing at a couple of pool halls, they’d moved on to a few bars.

  When he pulled the stack of cash from his pocket and counted out half to her, her face lit up, but she looked ready to cry.

  She giggled uncontrollably while she played with the bills. “Who needs a degree from MIT when I can make this kind of money playing a game?”

  He stared at her as he put the key in the ignition. “You can’t be serious.”

  She sobered. “Why would I joke about this much money? I work at the campus bookstore making minimum wage. Do you have any idea how long it would take me to make this much money?”

  He turned the key.

  “Three days, Phin. And this was fun. Staring at textbooks all day? Not so much.”

  “We had a good day. It’s not always like this. Sometimes I go out and come back with nothing.”

  “But you still have fun.”

  He lifted a shoulder. Pool wasn’t really about fun for him. It was just a means to an end, unlike when he’d first learned. They picked up a pizza on the way back to his apartment. Layla insisted on paying for it out of her winnings.

  At home, Phin popped the tops on a couple of beers while Layla opened the pizza. She’d found an action movie on TV and sat curled on the corner of his couch. It all felt so normal. Like they belonged here together. He shook his head to lose the thought. Layla was passing through the same way he was, and they were headed in opposite directions. She had a life ready and waiting for her. He was still scrambling to figure his out.

  He sat next to her and they ate while making fun of the crappy acting in the movie. When the movie ended, they got ready for bed together. Layla had become uncharacteristically quiet. He should ask her what was wrong, but he didn’t want to care. Seriousness didn’t fit into what they had going. Fun and games until it was time for her to hit the road.

  Lying in bed, Phin needed to get them back on track. What better way to have fun than to have sex? Layla hadn’t bothered to put on clothes. There was no pretense that they might not have sex. They wanted each other, and playing pool all day, shooting dirty looks across the table, had turned them both on.

  She pushed him onto his back and straddled him. The woman liked to think she was in control all the time.

  “Hey,” she started, and waited to have his full attention.

  He stopped groping her breasts and looked at her face.

  “I had the best time ever today. Thank you for that.”

  “Not a problem.” He sat up and took a nipple into his mouth.

  She pulled away and shoved him back down on the bed. Kissing her way down his neck and then his torso, Layla played with his body. She traced lines along his ribs with her nails, bit at his nipples, and then licked a long trail down his body.

  It wasn’t until she had gotten to his hip that he realized her intention and jolted up, grabbing her shoulders.

  “What?” she asked, startled.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  She wiggled away. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

  She moved down his body again and he pulled her up. “No.”

  Layla laughed. “What do you mean, no? I’ve never come across a man who didn’t want a blow job.”

  He tossed her off him and sat up. “I don’t.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting his back to her. He’d never had such a persistent woman before. He’d had other offers, but when he’d relieved them of the expectation, they’d always been more than happy to stop.

  But not Layla. Her fingers stroked his back before he felt her breasts pressed to him. “What is it?” she asked softly.

  How could he explain? He’d said he had left the gypsy life behind him, but some things from childhood were imbedded so deep, he didn’t know how to let go. “I was taught . . . in our culture . . .” There was no way to do this without sounding stupid.

  He knew it didn’t make sense, but his gut reaction was always the same. It was ba
d, dirty, impure.

  She kissed his shoulder and threaded her fingers into his hair. “Tell me.”

  “I was raised to believe that anything below the waist was . . .” He sighed. “The only word I’ve got is impure. In my culture, we don’t wash our shirts or face towels with pants or underwear. After she gives birth, a woman’s husband stays away from her in that way.”

  Layla pulled away from his back. He knew she’d be ready to pack up and go, so he stood.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but it took me more than a year without my family to do all of my laundry together.” And that had been more because he couldn’t afford the extra cost.

  Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Come back to bed.”

  He sat and then lay, unsure of his next move. Or hers.

  Layla stretched her body next to his. She went back to tracing designs on his chest. “I’d like to be your first.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve never had a blow job, right? And although it was part of your upbringing, it doesn’t seem like you really believe it. Let’s try.” She pushed up against his chest and began kissing his stomach. “If you feel weird, or uncomfortable, we’ll stop. You say the word.”

  He swallowed hard, but there was no spit left in his mouth. His entire head drained, and his heart pumped double-time. Her fingers wrapped around his dick and stroked. He was already hard, so slipping against her palm offered some relief. When he didn’t stop her, or tell her no, she moved quickly.

  Her tongue ran down the length of him. Wet and warm followed by her cool breath. She shifted her body so she knelt between his legs, giving him full view of his cock being sucked into her mouth. He twitched at the thought, but the sensation felt amazing.

  She paused and looked up at him, his tip resting between her lips and teeth, her tongue swirling over it. He nodded, as he pushed down his childhood fears and enjoyed what she offered. She took him in her mouth then and bobbed up and down, creating a rhythm opposite her hand fisted at his base.

  He had no words to describe it. Then she pulled away with a loud smacking sound and lowered herself to his balls. She licked and laved her tongue across them and up in between them. Every muscle in his body went taut. Fuck! How had he gone his whole life without knowing this? As his balls began to tighten, Layla brought her lips back to his dick. He grabbed at the sheets, something to hold him together, regain some sense of control.