Colorado 03 Lady Luck (8 page)

That’s what he’d said.

That was the deal.

That was what I needed to do to get clean
and free.

And that was why I curled into him,
letting his hand go but moving mine to his chest and sliding it up,
up,
up
until it
curved around the side of his neck.

That neck bent and his eyes hit mine.

I went up on tiptoes but needed more inches
so he was going to have to help.

“We just got married,” I whispered.

He stared into my eyes but said not a
word.

“I’m carrying a wedding bouquet.”

More staring and more silence.

“Ty, he’s watching.”

He continued to stare into my eyes, silent
but his hand hit my waist, gliding around in a touch so light, if
it didn’t trail a burn I could have convinced myself it wasn’t
there. Then he pressed me into him and bent his neck giving me the
inches I needed.

Then his mouth was on mine.

And when it was, I flashed back to our
wedding kiss. Something, after it was done, I promised myself I
would bury. Something, with this flashback, I knew I never
would.

Our wedding kiss wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t
removed. It wasn’t void of emotion.

It was an arms crushing me to his body,
heads slanting, mouths opened, tongues invading, toes curling,
knees weakening, bones dissolving, deep, wet, hungry, carnal
kiss
. It seemed
to last forever but that forever was not near long
enough.

Just then, that memory fresh, sharp and
resurfacing in a surge even though I tried to bury it, his warm,
sleek skin under my hand, his lips hard on mine, my fingers
tightened on his neck, my front pressed tight to his and my mouth
opened of its own volition.

His tongue snaked out and touched the tip of
mine.

Warmth washed through me in a flood.

The elevator dinged.

His head came up, his arm disappeared but
his hand closed around mine and he dragged me into the
elevator.

He tagged the button. Then his arm came
back, joined by his other one, my body collided with his, his head
came down, mine was already tipped back, my free hand sliding
around his shoulders, my hand holding the bouquet moving around his
arm, the stuff under my arm fell unheeded to the floor of the
elevator and his mouth hit mine. My lips opened, giving him instant
access.

He took it.

My bones dissolved and I held on tight.

The elevator doors closed.

* * * * *

I put the folder, envelope and clutch that
Walker had collected from the floor of the elevator and handed to
me after our kiss on the table by the window in our hotel room.
Then I carefully set the bouquet on its side.

Then I turned and saw he was at the desk,
flipping through the leatherette binder there. Then he picked up
the phone, hit two buttons and put it to his ear.

I stood there and watched as he said into
the phone, “Yeah, room six twenty-three. Bottle of Cristal, two
glasses, now.” His head was dipped down and one, long finger was
touching the leatherette binder as he went on, “Two bowls of clam
chowder. Two prime rib dinners, one potato loaded, the other one
all the shit on the side.” He flipped a page. “One cheesecake. One
chocolate truffle cake with whipped cream. One panna cotta. One hot
fudge sundae. And another bottle of Cristal. Deliver that in an
hour. No. An hour and a half.” Pause. “Right.”

Then he hung up and looked at me.

That was when he asked, “You like prime
rib?”

I burst out laughing.

When I quit laughing, he was staring at me,
deadpan.

“Uh… yeah, thanks for asking,” I answered,
still smiling because I couldn’t help it, he was hilarious even if
he didn’t think so then I finished, “Belatedly.”

He made no response, pulled off his suit
jacket while moving, tossed it on his duffle, walked to the bed and
sat down.

I realized I hadn’t had anything to eat
since my tuna melt. I’d sucked back two lattes while shopping
because I could go without food, at a push. Caffeine, no way in
hell.

And I was starved.

“An hour and a half?” I said to his back as
he pulled off his boots.

“A man marries a woman like you in a dress
like the one you got on, he’ll want champagne but he won’t be
thinkin’ about food. Still, he’ll want her to have something
special so he’ll be makin’ sure she does,” he said to his
boots.

My hand went to the table to hold myself
standing because it wasn’t an extravagant compliment but that
didn’t mean it wasn’t a supremely effective one.

And he’d noticed the dress.

And these meant a lot to me, both of them
did, the compliment and the fact he noticed my dress. I didn’t know
why, they just did. And when I say it meant a lot, I mean it
meant
a
lot.

I swallowed.

Then I forced out, “That might be so but
–”

He stood and turned to me, hands going to
the buttons on his shirt. “Bag of bones?”

“Yeah.”

“Good guess, he’s down the hall and
watchin’.”

My gut tightened again.

“Really?”

“Really.”

That’s when I thought,
oh hell with it.

So I tried, “Why?”

He stared at me as he unbuttoned his shirt.
He got it totally unbuttoned. Then he walked to his duffle.

He didn’t answer.

I sighed.

Then I turned to the table and picked up my
bouquet, walking behind him as he pawed through the duffle and I
went to the bathroom. Then I stoppered the sink, filled it with
water and set the bouquet in it wishing I had scissors so I could
give the stems a fresh cut in order for them to drink hearty. I
didn’t want that bouquet to die. Not yet. Not tomorrow. Not the
next day. I wanted to keep it alive for as long as possible. And it
wasn’t because it cost a hundred and fifty dollars. I didn’t know
why it was. I just knew I did.

I decided I’d take my steak knife and saw
off the stems later.

I walked back into the bedroom to see Ty on
the bed, eyes aimed at the TV which was on but muted, no sound at
all, baseball game. He had not taken off his shirt and a wide (but
not wide enough) expanse of his chest, abs and tats were on
display. His feet were bare. His long, muscled legs stretched out.
Ankles crossed. His back was to the headboard, one arm lifted, hand
behind his head.

That big beautiful body reclined in bed, the
big man energy that normally flowed from him turned low but not
turned off, his gorgeous eyes on the game, his fantastic features
no less fantastic at rest, I wondered, what the fuck?

Why go to a pimp for a woman when you looked
like that? When you could take the elevator downstairs and find at
least a couple dozen women on the floor playing slots who would
jump at the chance to pretend to be your wife and you wouldn’t have
to give up fifty grand or a secondary fortune in diamonds.

“Uh… Ty –” I started but as I spoke there
came a knock on the door.

He angled off the bed and I moved across the
room. A waiter came in with a tray on which was a silver bucket, a
bottle of champagne draped in a crisp linen napkin, two glasses on
the sides. He put it on the table by the window.

“Would you like me to open it?” he asked,
tipping his head back to look at Walker.

Walker shook his head.

The waiter grinned a knowing grin, smiled at
me and headed back to the door, Walker following him. Walker came
back alone and went right to the champagne. He opened it with a
practiced hand and poured a glass, handing it to me, another one
for him.

“To connubial bliss,” I toasted as a joke,
lifting my glass but his eyes cut to me.

Nope, no sense of humor.

He put the glass to his lips and threw back
half the contents while I watched his corded throat working like I
was watching a master at a canvas.

Then he dropped his chin and hand, grabbed
the bottle, refilled and moved back to the bed, resuming his
position but without the hand behind his head.

I took a sip of my champagne and walked to
the side of the bed.

“Um… Ty,” I called and his eyes went from
the game to me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yep,” he answered but I knew this meant I
could ask but that didn’t mean he’d answer.

I took in a breath. Then I went for it.

“I don’t want to point out the obvious but…
you’re hot.”

He stared at me but didn’t speak. I didn’t
either.

Finally, he asked, “Is that a question?”

I shook my head and explained, “What I mean
is, why Shift? You could –”

He cut me off. “Five years ago, yeah. Now,
no.”

“What’s that mean?”

His eyes went back to the game.

End of subject.

I took a sip of champagne and my eyes
drifted to the game. Then they drifted back to him and I tried
again.

“Ty,” I called and he looked back at me but
said nothing. So I continued, “I’m supposed to play your wife.
That’s gonna be hard, I don’t know shit about you.”

He stared at me again then said, “Give and
take.”

“What?”

“Give and take,” he repeated. “You give, I
take. Then I give and you take.”

“You mean, I tell you about me, you tell me
about you?”

He didn’t answer but held my eyes so I took
that as a yes.

I could do this. I had nothing to hide.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“You pick what you wanna share. I pick what
I wanna share.”

Totally doable.

I nodded to him to indicate that, took a sip
of champagne then put a knee to the bed and moved in, sitting on a
hip and leaning into a hand, knees bent, legs to my side.

“You know Ronnie Rodriguez?” I asked.

Again his eyes held mine for a moment before
he answered, “Name’s familiar.”

I nodded again. He watched baseball. He was
a man. It was a long time ago but these two things told me Ronnie’s
name would be familiar.

“Basketball. Indiana University. Full
scholarship.”

I stopped talking when he jerked up his chin
and stated, “Scholarship yanked. Brother was juicin’, sellin’ juice
to teammates and pimpin’ his basketball groupies to his fraternity
brothers.”

Yep. That was Ronnie. Stupid. Or stupid when
he wasn’t with me and he wasn’t. I was in Texas, he was in Indiana
making fucked up decisions. He needed steroids like he needed a
hole in the head. Hoop dreams. Shit life. Projects. Desperate.
Wanted a life where all that was a faded memory. Wanted his Mom and
sisters seen to, his girl dripping gold. Wanted to make sure it
happened and wanted insurance. Scholarship yanked and since he was
dealing and pimping and ended up doing time for both, he was
banned. He was destined for the NBA. Everyone said it. He wasn’t
even going to get his degree. He was going to go for it the minute
he was eligible. Then he fucked it up.

“We started seeing each other when I was
fifteen and stayed together until four years ago and it was over
when he took seven bullets from a rival dealer who wanted Ronnie’s
turf. His Mom and I chose closed casket seeing as two of those
bullets he took to the face,” I shared.

Walker had no response to me sharing this
shocking and tragic news of a talented man who lost it all in a
hideous way. Then again, Walker had walked out of a penitentiary
the day before. He’d probably heard it all.

“After he did time in Indiana, he got out,
came back to Dallas and was loose partners with Shift. Ronnie was
about the girls, Shift about the dope,” I told him. “But it was
Shift’s dope that got Ronnie dead.”

Walker again had no response.

I took a sip of champagne and turned my head
to face the TV but didn’t see the game.

And then, for some bizarre reason, reclined
on a bed in Vegas with a man I didn’t know, I shared shit I’d never
shared with anyone but Ronnie’s Mom and his two sisters.

“I loved him, crazy loved him,” I said
quietly. “Thought I could live the life, straight and narrow, prove
to him it wasn’t that bad. I didn’t have a degree. I wasn’t a
hotshot basketball player. But I did it, though it was a struggle.
Ronnie didn’t like struggle and he didn’t like to see me doing it.
Lost his dream, lost his way, hooked up with Shift who he’d known
for God knows how long, Shift dragged him down further. I never
gave in but I also never gave up.” I took another sip of champagne
then whispered, “Should have given up.”

“Never pimped you?”

At his question, I turned my head to face
him again then shook it.

“Miracle,” he muttered.

“Ronnie wouldn’t let anything touch me.”

“You’re wrong.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Might not have wanted your mouth around
another man’s cock but he didn’t give a shit about you.”

My throat closed as what he said penetrated
but I pushed past it and began, “I –”

“Didn’t give that first shit.”

“Ty –”

He interrupted me again. “Dope, that’s a
choice, a weak one, but a choice. Girls who suck cock and spread
for cash, they don’t choose that life, a shit life chooses them.
Desperation. Any man who uses that to make a living doesn’t give a
shit about women.
Any
women.”

“That isn’t true. He had me. He had a Mom
and two sisters he loved. But he saw no other future,” I defended
lamely. “And he promised me he took care of his girls.”

“He lied.”

My back went straight. “You don’t know
him.”

“He lied.”

“You don’t know that,” I snapped.

His back came away from the headboard and
his torso twisted to face me. “Woman, he sold cunt. You value your
cunt?”

I closed my eyes and looked away, giving him
his answer.

“Right,” he whispered.

I opened my eyes, looked at him and
whispered back, “He gave a shit about me.”