Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(49)

I shake my head. “Something expensive,” I say with a ghost of a smile.

Her face lights up, a little more eager now as she notes my request on her pad and goes off to consult the bartender.

I close my eyes, remember the moment. Robert and I, sitting in that bar with glass walls. He had offered me champagne. I had wanted something stronger. . . .

The waitress comes back with my drink. I don’t ask how much it is and she doesn’t offer the price. If I have to mortgage my house for the memory, it’ll be worth it.

I clink the ice cubes together. He had taken a scotch-drenched ice cube, dragged it slowly along the neckline of my Herve Leger, up my thigh, between my legs. . . .

And then he had tasted the scotch.

I lift the glass, stare into the golden brown liquid. What should the toast be today? Cheers? I’m not that happy. Salut? But how healthy can I be when my heart is still in fragments?

I raise my glass a little higher. “To memories,” I say quietly to myself before bringing the drink to my lips.

The taste is smoky and luxurious and, yes, it makes me think of him. It makes me think of sex.

It would have been better if Dave had told me that things had changed for him a week ago, a day ago, an hour ago. But it happened months ago; Robert had rectified things for Dave within days of our breakup. Back when he cared, before he had moved on. And now? Who knows what he feels now? Maybe he’s with someone else.

I close my eyes against the thought.

Another sip, another memory, another tear.

“This looks like a good table.”

I keep my eyes closed, unsure if the voice I heard was from my memory or from a man standing beside me. And not just any man. . . .

My grip around my glass tightens; my breathing gets just a little bit quicker.

I hear the sound of something being dropped on the table.

Keeping my eyes low I look. A deck of cards. A spade on the cover of the open box, a lone queen of hearts pulled halfway out, as if she’s trying to escape. I don’t look up but I can see his legs, see his strong hands hanging at his sides, as if waiting for something to hold.

“Care to make it interesting?”

It’s only then that I will myself to meet his eyes. Were they always that stormy? So hopeful? I want to reach for him but instead I reach for the cards.

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” I say as I pull the deck out, shuffle it with moderate skill. He sits opposite me, watches the cards dance.

“More interesting,” he says softly. “If I have a better hand, we’ll leave the table and you’ll have a drink with me.”

“And if I have the upper hand?” I ask. The words are hard to get out, the emotions too close to the surface for me to keep my voice steady.

He puts his hand over mine, over the cards, stilling them. “Then I’ll have a drink with you.”

The calluses on his palms seem a little rougher than I remember, the tension between us a little thicker.

I gently pull away. “I’ll have the drink, but I’m not ready to leave the table.” I continue to shuffle and then very carefully deal the cards. “Not yet.”

He watches my motions; there’s a flicker of confusion as he asks what we’re playing.

“Heads-up poker,” I say, the words a little clipped.

“Not blackjack?”

“No.” I pick up my hand. “It’s a different place, different time, different game.” I lift my eyes to his, hold his gaze. “And like all games this one has rules. Are you ready to play by the rules, Mr. Dade?”

His mouth curves up at one corner. Slowly he picks up his cards. “Shall we gamble with coins?”

“With secrets,” I say, “and with answers.”

“Really?” he asks. A couple enters the bar, their voices are too bright for this mood-lit room. Out of the corner of my eye I see her metal-tipped heels tapping against the floor.

“It sounds like you’re making up the rules as you go along, Kasie,” he says.

“And changing them at a whim,” I say. “But the basic structure of the game, that stays pure. Understand? We can be creative with how and what we risk but the game is poker. The rules are what they are.”

He nods, looks down at his cards. “I’m not sure I know how to gamble away a secret.”

“I’ll teach you,” I say, my focus on the cards. I put my hand on the surface of the table as if touching something invisible there. “I’m in for one secret.”

He smiles. “I’ll see your secret and raise you an answer.”

It’s odd that we can be so playful when there is so much time, pain, and ambiguity between us. But I sense this is the best way to proceed. Stay with the cards, Kasie, my angel whispers. The numbers will give you something solid to hold on to.