“Make yourself comfortable.”
I stood, rooted to the spot, watching the back of the man who just told me to make myself comfortable as he walked into the suite.
Make myself comfortable indeed.
What the hell was I doing? I must’ve been dreaming. That was the only place that any of this could make sense.
The suite was huge, a lot nicer than the one me and my husband were checked into. The thought made me cringe a little bit. Where was he right now? He had just watched another man escort his wife up to the suite, what was that like? To be honest I was expecting a fight. Maybe a little tissue for my honor? Something. Instead, I got this.
“Can I get you a drink love?” he asked suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “All I have a scotch though, sorry. Anything you want, I can order room service.”
Oh, can you, I thought cynically. Why was he being so… so nice? This didn’t feel like the behavior of a man who would essentially buy another man’s wife off of him. Just 20 minutes ago, we were downstairs together at the casino. My husband was there too with a few other men.
My husband.
I thought it was a joke when he put me up in the card game. I laughed. Everyone around the table laughed. It was a joke. It was ridiculous. Who would think of leveraging their wife in a bet? He was drunk and just pulling other guys’ legs, just getting a laugh out of them, that was what it was supposed to be.
Only it wasn’t. He was dead serious, and here I was. I was this man’s prize. He had won me fair and square in a bet and now…
I got a bad feeling thinking about what now. I squared my shoulders, crossed my arms and stalked over to the sofa.
“Still drinking, are you?” I said. “Didn’t have enough of that downstairs?”
The man laughed and looked at me with a slightly bemused expression on his face. In his hands were two tumblers of scotch.
“Not nearly enough.” He held one up. “Will you join me?”
I frowned at him. Who was this guy? I hadn’t really been paying attention to him downstairs but now he had my full attention. I have never met him before, and even though he didn’t look the part, it was obvious that he had money. Unlike most of the guys in the casino downstairs, he was wearing a regular white button-down shirt and some khakis. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of men wearing their most expensive suits. His hair was a messy mop of blond, right on the verge of being too long but working for him. I couldn’t deduce his job just from looking at him. The part of me that wasn’t completely enraged was a little curious. I mean, I was spending the night here now, it felt normal to ask who this person, my captor, was.
I walked past him to the bar and poured my own drink. I heard him scoff and walk over to the sofa. With my back turned to him, I took a couple of deep breaths, finally. I hated how nervous I was. This whole thing was a farce. If I walked out of this room right now, what would he do? I gave myself a generous pour of whiskey, then took a swig before turning around to face him. He was sitting on the sofa with one of the drinks in front of him on the table and the other in his hand.
“I hope you’re not expecting to get lucky.”
He coughed and almost choked on his drink. “I’m sorry?”
“Just because my husband thinks I can be bought and sold in a game, doesn’t mean I’m about to spread my legs for you.”
He shrugged and smiled wryly. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I was expecting from him, but I was preparing myself for the worst. If I was judging my husband for putting a woman up in a card game, I had to judge the guy who wanted to win one too.
“I wouldn’t presume that you were going to spread anything for me,” he said. “Not even jam on my scone.”
I giggled silently. That didn’t mean I trusted him. All that meant was he cracked a funny joke and I didn’t feel that uncomfortable anymore. I was still uncomfortable. The situation was still one hundred percent absurd, but I wasn’t scared. I was angry, I was confused, I was a little cranky after wearing heels all night, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I sucked down some more of my scotch then looked at the man on the sofa.
“What kind of man wagers his wife in a card game?” I asked out loud.
“Either one who knows he isn’t going to lose her, or…”
“Or what?” I asked. I felt like I knew what he was going to say but he was just pausing because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Newsflash. My husband has just turned me over to another man in a bet. There was nothing that could hurt my feelings more than that.
“I don’t want to make assumptions about the kind of man that he is, but people who put up with their wives, kids, homes up for collateral when they gamble aren’t doing it for fun anymore.”
“Great. So, my husband is a gambling addict?”
“You said it, not me.”
I laughed at his little quip and walked over to the sofa. “You’re probably right. I mean what kind of crazy man does something like that? And then he lost! He didn’t care whether I ended up with some stranger.”
“If I was him, I would keep much better tabs on you.”