Page 70 of Burning Ember

“Right. It looked like nothing. I’ve known Mav for two years, and he’s never once look at a girl the way he was lookin’ at you.”

I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Dozer walking across the yard toward me. “You hidin’ out?” he asks. I’m leaning back on a picnic table catching some rays.

“No. Taking a break. Why? You need something?”

He shakes his head. “No, wanted to let you know tonight’s poker night and we’ll be orderin’ pizza so you don’t have to cook.”

I stand and brush off my butt. Dozer watches. When he sees he’s been caught, he smirks and shrugs.

“You play? Poker?”

“Yeah. I can playcards.”

He chuckles. “Play or play good?”

“Well, when you grow up without video games or a TV like the rest of your friends, you have to find other productive ways to entertain yourself.”

He lets out a laugh. “Alone . . . with you . . . I could find a lot of productive ways to entertain myself.” Then he looks around and finding no one outside, he pulls me in close. “No video games or TV necessary.”

I get a little nervous when Dozer becomes flirty like this. I worry that maybe I’ve played my part a little too well. He likes me. He’s interested in me physically, but there’s no spark with him. Not like there is with Mav. With Mav, I merely see or feel him near and my body reacts like tinder while the rest of the world falls away.

Griz raps his knuckles on the table next to me. “Your call, sweetheart. You in or you out?”

I chew on my lip and furrow my brows. “I’m in. I think. One sec.”

Griz leans over and peeks at my hand.

“Hey now.” I pull my cards in close to my chest.

Chuckling, he says, “Just trying to help you out.”

“Pay attention to your own cards, old man.” Dozer’s sitting on my left, his arm behind my chair. He pushes Griz back into his own chair on my right. “If she needs help, she knows where to find it.”

When the guys first asked me to play, it was a joke. They thought they’d hustle me out of the money I’ve made this week doing laundry—one hundred and two dollars. Not much to them but it’s a lot to me. Dozer’s been encouraging me to hustle the shit out of them in return. Over the last hour, that’s exactly what I’ve done, and I’ve raked in a good pile of chips too.

All from beginners luck, of course.

“I’m going to go for it,” I say aloud.

When I raise the bet, Taz curses under his breath.

He’s sitting directly across from me, holding a joint and every time he takes a hit, my attention falls on his knuckles. They’re cut up and swollen like he’s been in a fight. That along with the comments some of the guys have made, solidifies my hunch that he’s a boxer of some sort. I’ve also concluded he holds a special rank in the club. He doesn’t wear a patch like Mav’s SAA patch, or Griz’s Secretary patch, or even Goose’s Road Captain patch, but he gets a certain level of respect from the members of the club. They both revere him and are wary of him at the same time.

Well, except Dozer who doesn’t care for him at all.

And Mav who seems to be the only one he’s friendly with.

The temperature in the room abruptly rises. Like a heat wave, its warmth washes over me. Eyes flicker past me and a couple of the guys at the table pop their chins.

Speak of the Devil . . .

I swear I can feel him enter the room the instant he does like some sixth sense. With effort, I ignore the chills prickling over my skin.

Lita circles the table, replenishing drinks and taking away empties. She sets down the second fuzzy navel in front of me. It’s mostly orange juice with a bit of peach schnapps, or so I’m told. I tried to stick to water, but Taz kept insisting that if I was going to play with the big boys, I needed to drink with them too.

Taz snorts when I lift my glass to my lips.

“What?” I ask.