I frown. “I really don’t want to.”
“Well, you have to. It’s part of the game.”
I waver, biting my fingernails. He’s taking all the fun out of the moment and replacing it with pressure. “Would you believe me if I told you I was trying to fly?”
“Were you?” His body goes rigid. “Were you trying… Did you do it on purpose?”
I drop my hand to my lap. “You think I’m suicidal?”
“I don’t know what to think,” he says, swallowing hard. “That’s why I’m asking you.” His voice comes out off pitch, troubling, and I wonder why.
“I’m not. I promise.” I pause, trying to shake the emerging feelings out of my body. “What about you? Why were you looking for a fight that night?”
He shakes his head. “You haven’t won a hand yet, so I don’t have to answer.”
I lower my gaze to his cards on the bed. “How the hell did you end up with two aces?”
“I guess I’m just lucky.”
“Luck doesn’t exist.”
We stare at each other stubbornly and then reluctantly I give up, which might be a first for me. But I’m still determined to win the next hand and get an answer from him to level the playing field.
“I was running from a couple of guys,” I say as I collect the cards from the bed. I can’t believe I just gave in to him like that. “That’s why I jumped out the window.”
“Why were you running from them?” He hands me his discarded cards and I add them to the top of the deck.
“No way.” I scoot the cards across the bed toward him. “That would be two questions and you only won one.”
He picks up the cards with a smirk on his face. “That’s okay. I’ll just ask you after I win the next hand.” He shuffles the deck and deals out the cards, looking so pleased with himself.
I end up losing that next hand and he asks me the same question I refused to answer earlier, and then waits patiently for me to respond.
“I did something,” I answer, annoyed. How the hell did he win that hand? It’s bullshit. First two aces, then two queens.
“What kind of something?” He has the deck of cards in his hand and is fanning them with his thumb.
“I screwed someone over.”
“That’s still not really an answer.”
“Well, it’s the best I can give you,” I say, but he just keeps staring at me, fanning the cards, over and over again, his sexy brown eyes weaseling their way under my skin. “Fine.” I give in for some crazy reason, the bliss I felt earlier slipping farther and farther away and I know that soon I’m going to have to do something about it. “I screwed them over during a deal a month or so ago.”
He processes what I said and then sits up, chucking the cards aside. “Wait? ‘Deal’ as in drugs?”
I shrug with my hands out to my side. “Are you really that surprised?”
His eyes scroll up and down me. “Yeah… I don’t know.” He scratches his head. “Why do you do it?”
“Because it’s a job,” I tell him. “I also work as a waitress because I hate being in debt and school has made me get in debt a lot.”
“But you could go to jail. Or worse stuff could happen.” He swallows hard. “Drugs are dangerous, Violet.”
“So.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? What could happen to you?”
“Not really. Life is just life, whether I’m living in the streets, behind bars, or in a dorm.”
He frowns at me. “I had a friend that went to jail once and things weren’t great for him for a while.”
“Things are never great for me.” It slips out and the shocked look on his face makes me want to take it back. “It doesn’t really matter anyway,” I hurry and say, hoping to distract him. “I don’t have a supplier anymore so I won’t be dealing for a while.” I swallow hard at the truth.
He frees a breath, his solid, tattooed chest puffing out. “Where do you get the drugs?”
I hold up two fingers. “That’s two questions and again I only owe you one.”
Shaking his head, he grabs the cards and quickly deals another hand. He wins again and my suspicion rises because he has an ace and a queen and the probability of him getting such good cards three times in a row is unlikely.
“I’m not so sure these are legitimate wins,” I state, putting my cards on top of the deck. It’s not that I’m pissed, which is strange. I’m more intrigued than anything because usually I’m the one screwing someone over, but if he is cheating—if he’s f**ked me over—that’d be a first in a long, long time. “I think you might be cheating, Mr. Stoically Aloof.”
“Prove it then.” His lips quirk. “Now, for my next question. Where do you get the drugs?”
“From a panda bear,” I say the first thing that pops into my head, not ready to fully accept he’s won this hand.
His forehead creases and then he chuckles under his breath. “Oh my f**king God, you are seriously the strangest person I’ve ever met.”
“Thanks.” I shake my head and shuffle the cards on the mattress in front of me.
He puts his hand over mine, stopping me from shuffling. “No way. You still need to answer my question.”
“What? ‘Panda bear’ wasn’t a good enough answer for you?”
“Where do you get the drugs from?” He withdraws his hand from mine.
I align the cards evenly against the mattress. “From the guy you beat up today.”
His lips part in shock. “How do you even know him?”
“He’s my foster parent, or was from the time I was fifteen to eighteen.”
“Your foster parent?” He gapes at me. “Are you f**king serious?”
“What do you think?” I remain as composed as I can, making him work to see if I’m telling the truth.
He firmly maintains my gaze. “I think you are.”
“Okay then. You have your answer.”
“Okay then.” He repeats my words, his face contorting with perplexity as he takes the deck from me. “Next hand.”
This time I watch him carefully, calculating every one of his movements. Everything seems flawless, until I go to pick up my dealt cards. I notice him shift his weight forward and scratch his leg. I swear to God it looks like he takes something out from underneath his ass.