Page 5 of Wicked Games
I welcomed the numbness from the cold. “I only smoke cigars on special occasions.”
“Such as successful galas.”
“Absolutely,” I said, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice.More like ones that a certain sexy thief didn’t ruin with his presence.I felt my mouth tilt up at the corner in a sneer. Then why was I so fucking miserable?
“Did things not go well with the sexy-as-fuck waiter?” Trent asked.
“What is this? High school?”
Trent snorted. “I wasn’t asking for a blow-by-blow recounting of your office sexcapades.”
I quirked a brow. “Blow-by-blow?”
“All I meant is you don’t look or sound like a man who just got laid. So, either it didn’t happen, it was horrible, or you regret it.”
“None of the above,” I replied. “An orgasm is an orgasm. Makes no difference if it’s with a bendy waiter or achieved with my fist.”
Trent let out a long whistle. “Wow. The situation is worse than I thought.”
“The situation?”
“You’re much too young to be as jaded as our parents.”
“Age has nothing to do with it,” I told Trent.
“Man, I’m not sure what to say other than I’m sorry. At first glance, you look like the guy I grew up with, but it didn’t take me long to see the changes. What happened to harden your heart and wipe away your boyish smile, Ry?”
I thought about unburdening my soul to Trent. Only my family knew the truth, and they didn’t know everything. I’d kept my interactions with Sebastian in Cairo to myself. Maybe talking to someone would relieve the pressure in my chest. I might’ve acted on my instinct if the sliding door hadn’t opened.
Iris stepped onto the balcony and gasped. “You have cigars and didn’t offer me one?” She had discovered a fondness for cigars and bourbon when she was still in high school. “I’m definitely going to take you up on your offer to move in now. Where are you hiding them?”
“In the humidor in my study.” I’d made no attempt to hide them.
She tilted her head back and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Smells like fine Cuban tobacco.”
I lifted the cigar to my lips, inhaled deeply, and held it until my throat burned before slowly exhaling the smoke. “Only the best in all things for a Jameson. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Trent and Iris said at the same time, making me laugh.
“Dr. Love,” Iris said with a dramatic gasp. “You’re going to ignore the American Medical Association’s warning about the negative effects of tobacco use?”
“Miss Jameson,” Trent said primly. “Are you going to ignore the etiquette lessons you learned at boarding school?”
“Fuck yeah,” she said, turning to go back inside.
“That goes double for me,” Trent said when we were alone again. “I haven’t smoked in five years. I’m due for a good Cuban.”
“Are we still talking about tobacco products?” I teased.
“Ah, Havana,” Trent said wistfully. “Swarthy men with beautiful dark eyes, and… Well, let’s say it’s become my favorite vacation spot.”
Iris returned wearing my tuxedo jacket as protection against the chilly, early November breeze. She carried a crystal decanter of bourbon in her left hand and two Cuban cigars in her right.
“I’ll grab us some tumblers,” I said, moving toward the door.
“Don’t bother,” Trent said. “We’ll pass it around like old times.”
“So gauche,” Iris teased, unaware I’d used the same term earlier in the evening.