Mercy (Somerset University #3) - Ruby Vincent Page 0,28

they truly were before I got close. Listening and observing was what you did in a round of poker.

Or at least that’s how every single other game I’ve played in my life went down. Not this time. From the moment the first chip struck the felt, these guys hadn’t shut up for a second.

“—want me to marry her,” said Winston. “An arranged marriage in our day and age. Ridiculous.”

“What’s the duchess look like?” Rowen asked. “Uggo?”

Winston leaned back, turning his pleased expression to the ceiling. “Cornflower blue eyes. Hair like silk. An ass I’d tap on repeat—and have.”

The guys hooted and hollered. They weren’t so much as looking at their cards.

“So what’s the problem?” Nasir spoke up. “Marriage is a business move. In your case, you’ve acquired a fine asset.”

His tone left no imagination in what he meant by “fine” and “asset.”

“She’s a good fuck but why be limited to one for the rest of your life? I floated the idea of an open marriage and she threatened to cut the boys off with a rusty spoon. Needless to say, marriage talks are breaking down.”

The guys laughed in his face. I admit I cracked a smile too.

Good for the duchess. Thirty minutes with Winston Abernathy III and it’s obvious she deserves better.

“My parents aren’t dangling picks in front of me,” Rowen said, “but they made it clear I can’t bring a wife home without a prenup. They’re cut-off-my-inheritance serious.”

“Same,” Nasir said.

“Me too,” echoed Hayes. “What about you, Maverick?”

What about playing the fucking game?

“Call,” I said, tossing in my chips. “I don’t have to worry about any of that. I’m not getting married.”

“Makes sense.” Sawyer raised and threw a handful in without even looking. “Val can only legally marry one of you. Keeps things equal to stay out of the wedding ring roulette.”

Hayes pulled a face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Maverick and his friends have the same girlfriend.” Aiden answered with the reply still on my tongue. “What do they call that again? Poly relationship or something.”

Hayes blinked at me. “You serious?”

“Now that’s the way to do it.” Winston surveyed me in a whole new appreciative light. “If only I could get the duchess on board.”

“The duchess might not object to being loved and worshiped by multiple partners,” I said. “But it’s Val and Val alone for me. Pretty sure your soon-to-be fiancée made it clear she’d expect to be your one.”

“What about your friends?” Nasir asked. “Are you with them too?”

“Asking me if I’m with my boys is like asking how often I hook up with my sister. They’re as close to brothers as I got.”

“Brothers? Are you talking about Lennox, Shea, and Van Zandt?” Hayes asked. “I remember you guys used to be tight.”

“Still are.”

“Sooo... if I’m getting this straight,” Rowen drew out, “you have one girlfriend, and your girlfriend has four boyfriends.”

“And we have a son, cat, possible puppy, and a home in the Estates. Any more questions?”

The guys traded looks, ranging from astonished to uninterested—Aiden and Sawyer—and said nothing.

“Looks like I finally shut the noise down,” I said, grinning away. “Now we can play some poker.”

“In that case,” said Aiden, “all in.”

The guys stopped nattering for a solid stretch and played, contributing to the growing pile of chips in front of me.

Rowen finally shoved from the table. “Let’s take a break.”

The others were up on the last word. Clearly, they were cool to stop losing money to me.

“Surprised you’re not three hundred pounds and choking on diabetes,” Nasir said to me. We followed the others to the bar.

“What?”

“With all the Oreos you’ve skimmed off unlucky saps over the years.”

I barked a laugh. “The weight couldn’t keep up with my growth spurt, and now I skim pocket change from unlucky saps.”

“You’re not so bad, Beaumont.” Rowen crossed his legs at the ankles, leaning against the barstool.

“Told you guys.” Sawyer shot me a look of approval that, again, I didn’t understand.

“Slow down,” Winston said. “The real measure of a man is how well he can handle his scotch. Give this a taste, Ricky.”

His fingers obscured the label. Winston poured me a generous helping and passed it over with a look in his russet eyes that he truly was seeking my measure.

I accepted, eyes locked on him, and chanced a sip. The Scottish whiskey burned a sharp and smoky trail down my throat. I hummed in pleasure. “Ten-year Laphroaig. Personal favorite of mine.”

Winston’s smile came slow, but it came all the same. “I’m a Balvenie man myself, but