I liked this. A lot.
Too much.
Ty went on, “I sat that game for a reason. That money’s got a purpose. That money finances the business I need to see to. I got a life to restart, that money will help me restart it. Now I got the money, don’t need to sit another game.”
In other words, it wasn’t about bling, great shoes and one hour tailoring of expensive suits.
Tonight had a purpose, he’d seen to it and he was moving on.
Yes, I liked this. A lot. I liked it even though any business that required nearly half a million dollars was dubious too.
“Well, I’m glad you got what you needed, Ty,” I said quietly and he stared at me, face expressionless but, again, it felt like he was reading me then he jerked up his chin.
Then he started unbuttoning his shirt.
I moved to the unit and dropped my earrings on it, took off my necklace and put it there too then struggled with my bracelet and managed to unclasp it and laid it with the others.
Then I went to my bag which had exploded on the floor at the end of the luggage shelf. I dug in, got my drawstring shorts and the little, tight tee I wore to bed and moved to the bathroom. I secured my hair in a messy bunch on top of my head, changed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, moisturized and walked out carrying my dress and shoes. I hung the dress, dumped the shoes and saw Ty in bed, back to headboard, sheet up to his waist, chest and defined abs on display, eyes on the TV and they didn’t come to me even as I moved about the room.
Even though I hadn’t been in the bathroom very long, the air in the room seemed about ten degrees cooler than when I went in and the AC was audibly pumping. Therefore, I wasted no time in moving around the bed and sliding under the covers beside him. Last night, after a huge meal and almost a bottle of champagne to myself, I fell asleep watching TV and slept on the covers. Tonight, sliding into bed beside him felt strange. And part of this strange had to do with wondering what he was wearing under the sheet.
I sucked it up, rolled to my side facing Ty, up on an elbow in the pillow, knees curled and pointed my eyes down my body to the TV.
“Put your jewelry in the safe,” Ty muttered and my gaze slid to the unit then back to the TV.
“Thanks,” I whispered back then I noted softly, “You mentioned something about when a mechanic hits a high stakes game. Obviously, you’ve played before.”
To my comment, his response was, “Give and take?”
My gaze moved from the TV up his large frame to his beautiful eyes that were on me.
“Sure,” I whispered.
“I played, yeah. Not often but I did it. My Dad drank his paycheck so growin’ up, wasn’t used to havin’ a lot but found I’m a man who likes nice shit. You like it; you find a way to get it. I discovered I got talent at a table, I found the way.”
Okay, suffice it to say, this I didn’t like. Ronnie liked nice shit too and he found a way to get it. And I was seeing I should have noticed this about Ty earlier. Firstly, he wore jeans and tees well but he wasn’t a stranger to nice suits and expensive cufflinks. Secondly, that morning when I saw his shades, I knew he didn’t pick them off a tall, upright, plastic rack displaying a hundred other pairs of five dollar sunglasses. They cost some cake and he wore them with jeans, a tee and boots like he was used to wearing two hundred and fifty dollar sunglasses. Thirdly, practically the first thing he did when he hit Vegas after getting released from prison was go shopping and drop tens of thousands of dollars. The bags on the desk he still hadn’t emptied weren’t just bling and shades.
Therefore, I remarked, “I noticed you don’t have an aversion to shopping.”
“Also don’t got an aversion to work or gettin’ my hands dirty,” he returned.
“What?”
“I like nice shit but I don’t mind workin’ for it and as much as I like it, not gonna f**k myself in order to get it.”
“So…” I hesitated then went for it, “you playing poker didn’t have anything to do with you being wrongly imprisoned?”
His eyes held mine.
Then he said quietly, “Didn’t say that.”
There it was. Shit.
“That’s why you won’t play anymore after tonight,” I whispered, disappointed that he’d semi-lied.
“No,” he replied. “The men who marked me to go down needed a fall guy. I took money from one at a table; he got pissed about it so I got his attention and became his fall guy.”
“So you playing poker had something to do with you being wrongly imprisoned,” I stated.