“MeeMaw, you used words worse than that less than five minutes ago!” he cried in outrage, rubbing the back of his head where she had just assaulted him.
“I’m a grownup. I can do whatever I want.”
“I’m thirty-nine years old, MeeMaw!” he protested.
She stared him down until he demurred.
“So who the heck was that?” he asked again.
I shrugged. “She’s a friend.”
“A friend,” they all repeated at once.
“Yes,” I replied. “She’s my friend. And she works at my office.”
“And she has clothes here,” Eli tossed in.
“And she’s hot,” D’Shaun said. He stared down the hallway where she had just gone, like he was still watching her walk away. MeeMaw lifted her hand to slap him too, but he ducked away and laughed.
“And she’s never played poker before,” Eli said. He rubbed his hands together with excitement. But they had no idea how quick Shelly’s brain worked. Shelly would probably wipe the floor with all of them. And she would do it quickly.
Shelly came back out wearing a pair of leggings and a long t-shirt. I watched as more than one set of eyes skimmed her curves. MeeMaw drew her into the room and passed her a bowl of chili with cheese and sour cream on top, and Shelly walked over to stand next to me by the counter. She leaned close to me so she could whisper. “I heard you as I walked away. You called me your friend.”
“So?” I replied, not sure where she was going.
“Did you mean that?” she asked, her voice still quiet enough that only I could hear it. “Or are we pretending, like with the girlfriend thing?”
I shook my head. “No, I meant it.”
“Okay,” she said, then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose. She smiled at me, and I could have sworn that I could see her soul in her gaze. And it was easy and happy and light. “We’re friends?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she whispered again.
I nodded my head and went to take my seat at the table. She followed and sat down next to me, her knee accidentally brushing mine. She didn’t jerk away, and neither did I.
Chapter 24
Shelly
Clark glared at me. “Why did you do that?”
I stacked all the poker chips back in their protective case, making neat columns of each color, and returned the cards to their red and white box. “Do what?” I asked.
“Why did you lose on purpose?” he asked.
I let my mouth drop open in mock surprise. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“You just let them win.” He got up and started raking chip dust from the tabletop into his cupped palm.
“I did no such thing.” I’d walked away from the game with exactly the same amount of money with which I’d started—twenty dollars. “I broke even.”
He growled low in his throat. “And I still don’t understand why.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I stared at him. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was genuinely upset that I hadn’t taken all their money.
Finally, he got in my face and stared hard at me, his hands braced on the table, his weight on his palms. I bent into the same position so that I could look into his eyes. “You and I both know that you could have won all their money if you’d tried,” he said. He glanced down at my lips really quickly, so quickly that if I’d blinked, I’d have missed it. My heart did a little trip in my chest. I stood up straight and took a breath.