Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,70
leave Ernie to play poker with himself and have Saint fuck me out in the garden he hadn’t let die.
A muscle in the man’s jaw ticked. I didn’t know him well enough to determine if it was because he was feeling the same way I was, he was pissed off over his lack of greeting, or just pissed off I hadn’t been the one to break the proverbial stare-off.
“What is Ernie doing here?” Saint asked, seemingly annoyed he was even asking the question.
I got the feeling, since I found myself asking a lot of questions I shouldn’t when I was around him. I shouldn’t ask him any questions, shouldn’t learn more things to be fascinated about.
Cold crept in further, my shirt, not thick enough to handle it, was in danger of showing my nipples for both Saint and Ernie’s viewing pleasure. Saint had seen them and Ernie did not need to get any ideas, so I stepped back, leaving the door open. I walked toward the fridge.
“He was invited,” I said gesturing to Ernie, who hadn’t given Saint so much as the manly chin lift, leaning into my fridge and getting his beer. I didn’t like beer. I didn’t stock it in my fridge, ever. No matter which boyfriend loved it and would’ve liked to have a girlfriend that kept her fridge stocked with a beverage she hated in order to please him.
But Ernie was different.
I had been right when I first saw him. He was grumpy. Ornery. A loner. Didn’t like people. Didn’t like change. Didn’t like much at all. But it turned out, he was good company. Misery does love company.
“Invited?” Saint repeated. “You invited someone to your house. To spend time with? Not to fix a pipe you broke on purpose in order to fuck with me?”
I scowled at him, not showing my surprise he even knew about that. “Don’t let the door hit you.”
I turned my back on him but he followed me. I knew it because I heard it and his scent and heat clung to my back.
Ernie took the beer and didn’t acknowledge Saint, apart from the almost imperceptible lift of his chin. “Your deal,” he grunted to me. “Be prepared to lose more of that New York money.”
“Don’t be so sure, old-timer,” I replied, sitting down. We both ignored Saint.
I thought if we continued playing like he didn’t exist, his ego would take a big enough hit and he’d skulk off.
He sat, silently, brooding, and watched us play poker for another hour.
Ernie didn’t speak to him. But when he left, he met his eyes. “Watch out for this one, buddy. She has teeth. You fuck her over, she’ll eat you alive.”
I smiled at Ernie.
Because he was right.
“You play poker with Ernie.” A statement and a question at the same time.
I packed my cards carefully into my Tiffany case. Ernie had a lot to say about that. I had a lot to say about the fact he recognized Tiffany.
“Every Tuesday.”
“Ernie hates everyone,” Saint continued.
“Which is why we’re friends,” I replied.
To be fair, it was an unexpected friendship, despite our common hatred of people. I’d gone to get gas, he’d ribbed me about my car and price of my purse. I was surprised he even knew the price of my purse. Some sarcastic back and forth had me betting him if he beat me in poker, he would win the exact amount my purse was worth.
I was the best poker player I knew, because I obsessed about becoming an expert in odd things men wouldn’t expect. Like wakeboarding, building an engine, cleaning almost any gun, and being able to put together a flat pack of furniture.
Ernie was better than me, with a poker face that beat even mine. He won that night. I got pissed and impressed and offered a rematch in a week. It had been a thing since. We didn’t talk much beyond the ribbing we gave each other, but I found myself enjoying and looking forward to Tuesday nights.
“What?” I snapped, looking up from the table I was pretending to clean up. “Did you expect me to make voodoo dolls out of everyone in town, staying inside and hoping everyone suffers?”
“I honestly can say I expect nothing and everything from you now.”
I paused, biting my lip. “Why are you here?”
“To refill your firewood.”
I stared at him. “My ankle is healed. I’m able to chop my own firewood. Honest answer this time.”