Things here are good. I have some news for you. Actually, it’s really Tina’s news. Okay. Here goes. Tina has a daughter. Which means you have a granddaughter. Her name is Waylay. She’s eleven years old and I’m watching her for Tina for a while.
She’s really great.
Call me when you get home and I’ll tell you the whole story. Maybe Waylay and I can drive up for a weekend so you can meet her.
Love,
Naomi
NINETEEN
HIGH STAKES
Naomi
“Well, look who just strutted her fabulous ass in here,” Fi called from the corner of Honky Tonk’s bar where she was keying the night’s specials into the system.
I held out my arms and did a slow turn.
Who knew a haircut could make me feel ten years younger and a thousand times sassier? Not to mention the short denim skirt Stef had talked me into.
The man set the gold standard for being a best friend. While waiting for me to prance out of the dressing room in my new skirt, Stef had been on a conference call with his “people,” arranging to have my stuff packed and my house on Long Island put on the market.
Tonight he was staying with Waylay, and I wasn’t sure who was more excited about their plans to binge-watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine.
“You like the hair, Fi?” I asked, giving my head a shake to make the curls bounce.
“Love it. My brother’s a damn genius with hair. Speaking of Jer, is your Stef single and if so can we play matchmaker?”
“Why? Did Jeremiah say anything about Stef?” I demanded.
“He only casually mentioned that your friend was the hottest gay man to strut into Knockemout in a decade.”
I squealed. “Stef asked me if Jeremiah was seeing anyone!”
“Oh, it’s so on,” Fi announced, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth. “By the way, I’ve got good news for you.”
I grinned as I stowed my purse behind the bar. “Did Idris Elba come to his senses and offer to whisk you away to a private island?”
She grinned wickedly. “Not quite that good. But you’ve got a party in the private room starting at nine. High rollers.”
I perked up. “High rollers?”
Fi jerked her head toward the hallway. “Poker game. Hush-hush. Half a dozen big spenders who feel like throwing away six figures on cards.”
“Six figures?” I blinked. “Is this legal?” I whispered the question despite the fact that we were alone in the empty bar.
The lollipop returned to her mouth. “Weeeell, let’s just say if Chief Morgan wanders his fine ass in here tonight, he doesn’t get in that room.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. As someone who was supposed to be looking good in the eyes of the court, I probably shouldn’t be lying to law enforcement about anything.
But I’d cross that bridge when I had to tonight. Feeling happy, I swung into the kitchen to get set up for the busy night.
The extent of my professional poker knowledge was entirely based on the snippets of games I’d seen on TV while changing channels. I was pretty sure the players on TV looked nothing like the ones crowded around the round table in Honky Tonk’s secret back room.
Beneath his turquoise polo shirt, the British-accented Ian had muscles that looked like he bench pressed cars all day. He had dark skin, short-cropped hair, and the kind of smile that made a woman’s knees go weak. He was wearing a wedding ring with a whole lot of diamonds.
On Ian’s right was Tanner. He had reddish-blond hair that looked like a woman’s fingers had just left it. He wore the D.C. commuter uniform of expensive, fitted trousers, rolled-up shirt sleeves, and a loosened tie. No wedding ring, and he’d made certain I’d noticed with every top-shelf scotch I brought him. He fidgeted constantly and jumped every time the door opened.