Reading Online Novel

Bought: Highest Bidder(48)



I shake my head. "Hell, no! I have a friend who did and she was shitting glitter and rainbows all week."

"Mindy!" Brianna protests.

I shake my head. "I'm serious! It's a real drink."

Brianna looks like she's about to argue and then thinks better of it, shaking her head. "I'll take your word for it."

"Good," I say, reaching across the counter to tug on Rafe's small hand.  He giggles as I shake it. He's a spitting image of both his parents,  with adorable baby blues and dirty-blonde hair. "How's my little man  doing?"

Brianna smiles, her eyes lighting up as she looks at her baby boy.  "Good. He's talking even more now and can almost form a full sentence."         

     



 

"That's awesome." I grin at Rafe and soften my tone into a voice as  sweet as sugar. "Can you say a sentence for Aunt Mindy? Huh, Rafey?"

"Hungry!" Rafe says, reaching for his mom's left breast.

"Rafe stop it!" Brianna snaps, grabbing Rafe's little arm before he can  pull her boob out in public, her cheeks turning red. "Sorry," she  mutters. "He does that all the time."

I shake my head. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. "Takes  after his Daddy, and I don't blame him, Jersey Maid. You look like you  can feed the village with those milk jugs."

"Mindy!"

"Girl, I'm serious. What are you, a triple-D now? If I ever run out of creamer, I know just the person to call."

"I'm gonna leave!" Brianna threatens.

I let out a laugh. "Oh my God, lighten up, will you? It was just a joke."

Brianna scowls. "Well, you're not funny."

"Yeah, I am." The grin on my face slowly fades as I remember my idea.

"So how's Gavin?" I ask, clearing my throat. Gavin, Brianna's husband,  is almost just as good a friend as Brianna is to me. A former football  star, he's settled down into small-town life with surprising ease. But I  would think it would be hard not to with the beautiful ranch they moved  into. "He enjoying fatherhood much?"

Brianna nods, a smile coming to her face. "Very much so. He can't wait  until Rafe is old enough to go fishing with him. He talks about it every  day."

"What about work?" I ask, leaning in with intense interest.

Brianna gazes at me for a moment. "Well, with the money he made during  his football career and his investments, he's not hard up for a job.  He's taking it easy right now. The kids love the football camp he runs,  mentoring disadvantaged children, and helping local actors-"

Brianna's talking, but I'm starting to zone out, my mind drifting to my predicament.

It seems she notices, and Brianna stares at me suspiciously. As my best  friend, she always knows when something is up. "Mindy Price, what is  going on in that head of yours?"

"Umm . . . I need to ask you something," I admit.

Brianna arches an eyebrow as I feel sweat begin to form on my brow. "Oh, really? What's that?"

I stand there silently, not knowing how to form my next words, my heart  pounding like a battering ram. Jesus, she's not going to make this easy.

"Mindy," she presses. "I'm waiting."

I'm unable to part my lips. I don't know how to tell her about the lie that I'm caught up in.

"Mindy!" Bri cracks.

"Mindy!" Rafe echoes, pointing at me.

Just say it!

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. And when I open them, I finally ask, "Know any hot guys named Harold?"



Chapter 2

Oliver



"Pair of aces," I announce with a grin, turning my cards over on the  wooden table and gathering the pot from the middle of the table in one  giant swoop. "Bend over, buddy. Your ass is mine."

"Fuck, man!" Jason Woods, a twenty-four-year-old friend and fellow  businessman yells, slapping his hand down on the table with enough force  to cause some of my chips to go flying off, his face an angry red.  "That's the second fucking time you called my bluff," he complains.

I sit back in my seat and appraise him, hiding a smirk. Jason's not a  good poker player. He's okay when he's winning, but whenever he starts  losing or is under pressure, I can read him like a book. With his tells,  I can easily see if he's bluffing or if he has a good hand.

"He's a lucky bastard," Kevin White, another buddy of mine in his early  thirties who's sitting beside me, agrees. Shaking his head, he rolls  back the sleeves of his white dress shirt, his blonde hair glinting  against the single light hanging above our heads. Having lost nearly all  night, he's not as pissed as Jason is. But then again, Kevin never gets  that pissed about anything. I bet he could lose his life savings and  his reaction would be mild.

"Sorry, boys," I say with a grin and then joke, "I taught Phil Ivey everything he knows."

Jason lets out a derisive snort. "Dude, you're so full of shit. Your  whole game is about sitting there with that cocky smirk on your face and  getting lucky on the river."

I huff out a short laugh. "Don't hate. A win's a win."

"And a dick's a dick," Jason snarls.

"Hey, hey, now," Gavin Adams says sternly from across the table, shaking  his head at Jason. Dressed all in black, he looks like the dark knight  with golden hair as he scowls. "Let's not. We all know Oliver's good.  We're all grown men here. There's no reason to get pissed when we lose.  This is like the third time you've popped off after a loss, and it's  getting old."         

     



 

Gavin's words seemed to calm Jason at once. "You're right." He barely  looks my way as he adds, "Sorry, Oliver. Tired of losing, that's all."

As a former football star and kind of a celebrity, Gavin has more clout  with the friends in our circle. No matter how wrong he might be, they  almost always agree with whatever he says. It's a nice perk, but it's  got to get old with everyone being fake around you. I'd rather someone  give it to me straight.

I toss Gavin an imperceptible nod of thanks, though I think I could've handled the situation just fine myself.

"All good," I tell Jason. "No offense taken."

"Yeah, cause you have my money," Jason mutters under his breath, but I pretend I don't hear it.

"Glad y'all got that out the way. Now can we fucking play?" Kevin says.

The blood rushes through my veins at his words, Jason's anger quickly  forgotten. Looking at my stash, I rub my palms together in anticipation.  "Let's do it."

I love playing poker and taking risks. The higher the stakes, the bigger the rush.

Rock climbing, sky diving, martial arts, poker . . . if there's a real  risk involved, I want a taste of it. It hasn't always been this way,  though.

As an executive at Steele Pharmaceuticals, I never wanted for cash. My  father was the CEO and owner, and I was his right-hand man. I could have  and do anything I wanted. But with that position of power came a fuck  ton of stress . . . along with a lot of disagreements. The stress and  the arguing got so bad that I eventually sold all of my shares of the  company and quit after my seven-year tenure, leaving my Dad to run the  company by himself.

My father was furious with me over my move. He thought my leaving at the  height of our success was a huge slap in the face. But I couldn't help  myself. If I'd stayed there any longer, we would've ended up at each  other's throat and hating each other. I didn't want it to be that way,  so I left.

A year later, I have a net worth of over ten million, living the  small-town life. I even own a small home a few blocks down from my  mother when I could be living large. It's been quite an adjustment for  someone so used to the city. But it's nice to be able to help my mom, a  poor single woman who chose not to accept a red cent from my wealthy  father when they got divorced.

"Well, as long as you gentlemen don't start pulling out guns and  shooting each other," says old man Joe, the sixty-year-old barber and  host for our games, "I'm fine with it."

I chuckle as my eyes find the man sitting at the head of the table,  dressed in dark clothing with a straw hat on. Old Joe has a large belly  and a big mop of salt and pepper hair. He has one of those finely  groomed beards that hides his face and makes him look like he's jolly  even when he's pissed. He's the living punchline of the old joke, if a  town has two barbers, go to the one with the bad haircut since he's the  good one and the other one sucks.

"Let me get a smoke first," Jason says, taking out a cigarette and a  lighter in one smooth flourish. He's about to light it when Gavin shakes  his head.

"Not in here," Gavin says firmly. "If you want to do that shit, go outside."

"Come on, man," Jason whines. "Are you serious? We're playing poker. Smoking goes hand in hand."

"We have to tell you this shit every time. You're the only one who smokes here. Take it outside."

Jason scowls, still fingering the cigarette like it's his lifeline. "My wife doesn't care if I smoke."