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He stayed in and raised another two hundred. While he had more chips than I did, I had to see his bluff through. I’d already pushed the game too far to back out now, so I raised another two hundred.

“You’re playing with a lot of money here,” Corvo said.

Is he really trying to start a conversation with me?

I suppressed a laugh and simply glanced at him.

“The kid’s got guts, Corvo,” Papageno chimed in with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but what could he have? Do you have two Jacks, perhaps?”

I focused on the spot between Corvo’s eyebrows. His eyes were just so stunning, and I couldn’t keep a neutral expression any longer.

“Or maybe you have a Jack and a Queen?” Corvo speculated.

“Maybe he’s got two sixes,” Yakuza suggested.

“Are you staying in?” Bruce Lee asked.

There was a lot of money in the pot, and for the first time that evening, Corvo seemed irritated and slightly unsure.

“Are you folding?” Pestalozzi asked.

Corvo stared at me as if he could find the answer in my face. And then he did it. He actually threw his cards into the middle. “Fold.”

My jaw dropped, and I could hardly believe I had pulled off the bluff. Bruce Lee revealed my cards, and Corvo jumped up from his chair.

“What? You had nothing at all!” he exclaimed, looking at me in disbelief.

The men at the table laughed, and all I could think was: Damn, he’s hot.

As Corvo sat back down, laughing, a weight lifted from my chest, and I noticed how genuinely beautiful his laugh was.

“We should probably watch out for Rossi,” Papageno said. “First the Full House, and now the bluff.”

“A secret gambler?” Corvo asked.

“Not really. It’s just for research.”

“For a project?” Bruce Lee asked as he gathered the cards.

“For a novel.”

“A writer. Very nice,” Pestalozzi said, who looked exactly like how I imagined a literature professor would. “It’s a shame we don’t use our real names here.”

“Things must be going well if you can afford to gamble with a five hundred buy-in,” Yakuza remarked with admiration.

He wasn’t wrong. Although my first and only work was published eight years ago, it still brought in good royalties.

I published my novel before turning eighteen and aimed for a writing career.

But after a year of writer’s block, my father urged me to go to college.

I was at a loss, unable to believe I couldn’t write anymore.

The block was so severe that I avoided humanities, choosing law instead.

With a photographic memory, I hoped to find time for my book.

Now, at twenty-seven with a master’s degree, the block persisted.

Despite having completed law school and with an internship on the horizon, I held on to it. I was a writer, and what I was doing here was research for a novel that would eventually be written.

“And what about you guys?” I asked while sorting my chips. “Are you all here just for fun?”

“Of course! There’s nothing better than a semi-legal poker night with the guys,” Yakuza replied.

Almost everyone agreed with laughter, highlighting the benefits of such an evening. Only Corvo remained silent. As I turned my head and caught him looking at me with a slightly dreamy expression, I was spellbound.

This can’t possibly be manipulation. Not after he accepted his defeat with such a beautiful smile.

From that moment on, the evening became a real test for me. I would have loved to pull Corvo into a corner and bombard him with questions. I found the man so interesting. I was eager to learn more about him, but he was the quietest at the table.

Despite his silence, we shared a subtle connection, exchanging glances and awkward smiles. I was even happy when he won a round. And when his cards were too weak to stay in, I regretted it because the game was only half as fun without him.

I had clearly earned the respect of the men with my Full House and bluff, but I only had eyes for Corvo—like a lovesick teenager.

DaVinci won the pot of four thousand francs and eventually convinced me to toast to his victory with a cognac. I enjoyed the round and felt quite comfortable.

When Pestalozzi and Yakuza said their goodbyes, Bruce Lee yanked out a wooden box. I wasn’t surprised it was cigars, but more perplexed that they hadn’t started smoking earlier.

“Would you like one?” Papageno asked, presenting me with his selection of cigars in a small humidor.

I shook my head and watched as Corvo also declined politely. As he licked his lips and raised the glass to his mouth, I averted my gaze.

“Why are you smoking now?” I asked. “Isn’t it a bit late? These things last forever.”

“Pestalozzi had throat cancer,” Bruce Lee replied. “He smoked for almost forty years. It’s a miracle he survived. We don’t need to tempt him with cigars either.”

As the first wisps of smoke gathered under the lamp, I felt torn.

Normally, cigar smoke didn’t bother me, but the room was so small, and Papageno, DaVinci, and Bruce Lee were smoking like chimneys, making it increasingly hard to breathe.

I wanted to stay longer since leaving would mean saying goodbye to Corvo.

But in the end, I had no choice. I was running out of oxygen. Plus, the cognac was suddenly sitting heavily in my stomach. I would have preferred a beer, but there wasn’t any here. With a heavy heart, I did what I had to do.

“It’s been an honor, gentlemen,” I said, getting up from my chair.

“Join us anytime! Your buddy has my number,” Bruce Lee said.

I shook hands with everyone and said my goodbyes.

Corvo looked at me with confusion and only reluctantly took my hand.

When he opened his mouth, I hoped he would say something to keep this thing between us going, but he remained silent.

He let go of my hand and looked away. Not wanting to let my disappointment show, I slipped into my parka, wrapped my scarf around me, and left the hobby room.

As I walked down the dim corridor toward the stairs, I replayed the situation in my head, trying to understand what had happened between Corvo and me. The attraction was undeniable. I’d had many one-night stands, and I certainly wouldn’t have said no to Corvo.

What a pity …

I reached for my phone and opened the Uber app.

“Rossi!” echoed behind me in the dark hallway.

–––––

Chapter 2 – Hector

Calling out his name felt wrong and forbidden, even though I had a reason to chase after him. Besides, I wasn’t the type to pursue others. One might assume I was a man in his forties, a successful lawyer, but right now, I felt more like a dog.

The corridor was long and dark. Rossi had turned around halfway to the stairwell, under the only lamp that cast its dull light. When he recognized me, he visibly tensed up but shook off the unease.

“Corvo,” he said, frowning. “Did I…?”

I stepped closer to him and handed him his gloves. “These were under your chair.”

“Oh… They must have fallen out of my pocket.” He quickly stuffed them away. “Thanks.”

He stood before me, his expression serious, his gaze sincere—just as it had been since the first moment it captivated me.

It was almost unbelievable that, in this shabby, damp corridor under the harsh, unflattering light, I could finally appreciate the deep, beautiful blue of his eyes.

We were almost the same height, standing face to face.

When he opened his mouth to speak, his white teeth gleamed between his full lips, leaving me utterly mesmerized and unable to do anything but stare.

God, he took my breath away. He looked like a model, with his shoulder-length hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly stylish.

His roots were as dark as his strong eyebrows, while the rest of his hair lightened to a honey blond.

He had a hint of a surfer vibe, tempered by the chiseled features that gave him a striking Nordic allure.

All evening, I had been captivated by his mere presence. It had been far too long since I’d been with a man—far too long. And then, out of nowhere, I ended up at this poker night…

“Is there… uh… anything else?” Rossi asked, his gaze locked on me, unable to look away.

“No,” I forced out. Just looking at him made me feel warm inside.

“Then … I guess I’ll go now,” he said softly.

I could have sworn I heard disappointment in his voice, and in that instant, I panicked. Yes, I wanted him. I had no idea how to make that clear, but my whole body was aching for him. Did he really want to leave? It was so obvious that he wanted it too.

Rossi managed to give me another smile. The moment he turned away from me, I grabbed his arm.

“Or … we …”

I was hopeless. My God! I was forty-three!

But it didn’t feel that way right now.

Time seemed to stand still. My hand clung to Rossi’s arm as he looked at me with an inscrutable expression.

His lower eyelids twitched slightly, and then, suddenly, he stepped forward, pushed me against the wall, and kissed me passionately.

It was exactly what I wanted. I pulled him closer, pressing our bodies together, sliding a hand to the nape of his neck, and welcomed him with my tongue.

“You’ve been looking at me like that all night,” he said between kisses. “I hope I’m not overstepping.”

“You have no idea how much you’ve turned me on,” I replied, slipping my hands under his sweater. I wanted to feel his warmth, and as soon as I touched his skin, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

He began exploring with his hands, aiming for my belt.

But just as he was about to undo it, the stairwell light flicked on.

We both froze. Rossi glanced down the corridor, his expression shifting into a slight grimace, as if fearing we’d be caught and the moment would end.

I have to admit, I was probably even more afraid of that—but I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let this opportunity slip away.

“Come with me,” I said, but he stood still as I headed toward the stairwell. “Trust me.”

“I don’t know if that’s smart after my bluff.”