His eyes came to me. "I won big but I'm seein' with that question you were payin' attention to me not the game. He won bigger and that's how good he is. Half his mind on the game, half on your legs and he still took them for almost nine hundred large."

"Oh," I whispered, thinking nearly a million dollars was cool too but I wasn't in a room with a man who won nearly a million dollars. I was in a room with Ty and what he won was more than enough. Then I asked, "What did Stetson guy mean when he told you that you wouldn't be invited to sit another table? Was he just pissed you won?

"The Texan figured out I played him and wasn't happy about it because he thinks I'm dirt. I'm an ex-con but even if I wasn't, I'm half black and have been all my life so I can smell it when a man don't like color. That man don't like color so he thinks I'm beneath him, ex-con or not and ex-con only makes it worse and also makes him think he's right, all the reasons he's convinced himself it's okay he don't like color. He's in his sixties and still tappin' twenty-somethin' ass because his money and status can buy him that kinda tail. Still, I played him. He doesn't like that. But he didn't like me the minute I walked in with you. Man like me shouldn't have class like you. Mouthed off to save face and remind me of my place."

I felt angry heat hit my chest as I whispered, "That isn't cool."

He shrugged. "Happens all the time. A mechanic who's got color or he doesn't hits a high stakes game, they don't know my reputation or they do and think they can best me, I take their money, they get pissed."

"So, is he going to block you from sitting another game?"

"I'm not gonna be sittin' another game."

I stared at him, thrown.

Then I asked, "What? Why not? You just won nearly half a million dollars."

His eyes held mine and he explained, "Lexie, that shit sucks you in. You don't control it, it controls you. I just spent five years essentially in chains. I don't need to be chained to somethin' else."

I felt my breath start sticking in my throat because he meant this. He had no intention of getting sucked in in order to live large doing something that wasn't exactly illegal (though I wasn't sure about that) but still was slightly dubious and definitely unpredictable, testing Lady Luck who was unforgiving and living a life that wasn't under his control.

I liked this. A lot.

Too much.

Ty went on, "I sat that game for a reason. That money's got a purpose. That money finances the business I need to see to. I got a life to restart, that money will help me restart it. Now I got the money, don't need to sit another game."

In other words, it wasn't about bling, great shoes and one hour tailoring of expensive suits.

Tonight had a purpose, he'd seen to it and he was moving on.

Yes, I liked this. A lot. I liked it even though any business that required nearly half a million dollars was dubious too.

"Well, I'm glad you got what you needed, Ty," I said quietly and he stared at me, face expressionless but, again, it felt like he was reading me then he jerked up his chin.

Then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

I moved to the unit and dropped my earrings on it, took off my necklace and put it there too then struggled with my bracelet and managed to unclasp it and laid it with the others.

Then I went to my bag which had exploded on the floor at the end of the luggage shelf. I dug in, got my drawstring shorts and the little, tight tee I wore to bed and moved to the bathroom. I secured my hair in a messy bunch on top of my head, changed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, moisturized and walked out carrying my dress and shoes. I hung the dress, dumped the shoes and saw Ty in bed, back to headboard, sheet up to his waist, chest and defined abs on display, eyes on the TV and they didn't come to me even as I moved about the room.

Even though I hadn't been in the bathroom very long, the air in the room seemed about ten degrees cooler than when I went in and the AC was audibly pumping. Therefore, I wasted no time in moving around the bed and sliding under the covers beside him. Last night, after a huge meal and almost a bottle of champagne to myself, I fell asleep watching TV and slept on the covers. Tonight, sliding into bed beside him felt strange. And part of this strange had to do with wondering what he was wearing under the sheet.

I sucked it up, rolled to my side facing Ty, up on an elbow in the pillow, knees curled and pointed my eyes down my body to the TV.

"Put your jewelry in the safe," Ty muttered and my gaze slid to the unit then back to the TV.

"Thanks," I whispered back then I noted softly, "You mentioned something about when a mechanic hits a high stakes game. Obviously, you've played before."

To my comment, his response was, "Give and take?"

My gaze moved from the TV up his large frame to his beautiful eyes that were on me.

"Sure," I whispered.

"I played, yeah. Not often but I did it. My Dad drank his paycheck so growin' up, wasn't used to havin' a lot but found I'm a man who likes nice shit. You like it; you find a way to get it. I discovered I got talent at a table, I found the way."

Okay, suffice it to say, this I didn't like. Ronnie liked nice shit too and he found a way to get it. And I was seeing I should have noticed this about Ty earlier. Firstly, he wore jeans and tees well but he wasn't a stranger to nice suits and expensive cufflinks. Secondly, that morning when I saw his shades, I knew he didn't pick them off a tall, upright, plastic rack displaying a hundred other pairs of five dollar sunglasses. They cost some cake and he wore them with jeans, a tee and boots like he was used to wearing two hundred and fifty dollar sunglasses. Thirdly, practically the first thing he did when he hit Vegas after getting released from prison was go shopping and drop tens of thousands of dollars. The bags on the desk he still hadn't emptied weren't just bling and shades.

Therefore, I remarked, "I noticed you don't have an aversion to shopping."

"Also don't got an aversion to work or gettin' my hands dirty," he returned.

"What?"

"I like nice shit but I don't mind workin' for it and as much as I like it, not gonna fuck myself in order to get it."

"So..." I hesitated then went for it, "you playing poker didn't have anything to do with you being wrongly imprisoned?"

His eyes held mine.

Then he said quietly, "Didn't say that."

There it was. Shit.

"That's why you won't play anymore after tonight," I whispered, disappointed that he'd semi-lied.

"No," he replied. "The men who marked me to go down needed a fall guy. I took money from one at a table; he got pissed about it so I got his attention and became his fall guy."

"So you playing poker had something to do with you being wrongly imprisoned," I stated.

"No," he repeated. "I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time getting the wrong kind of attention. Someone else won that night, it woulda been him. I accidentally brushed him as I walked by him buyin' a beer at a bar, he didn't take kindly to that, that woulda bought me the same shit. They didn't care who they targeted they just needed someone to target. It didn't have to do with poker. It had to do with them needin' a fall guy. I got in their sights, that's who I became."

At his explanation, the fact he gave it to me and the fact that it proved he hadn't lied earlier, I felt my breathing steady and hadn't realized it had become slightly labored.

Then I went for it again. "How did that happen, um... exactly?"

He shook his head. "Done givin'. Now I take."

Well, at least I got something.

He continued, "You asked, you got. Now I ask."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Told me you don't got a Mom or a Dad. No grandparents. You got any people?"

I shook my head.

"None?" he pushed.

I kept shaking my head but affirmed, "None."

"How can you have no people?"

"I do. Ronnie's family."

"They aren't your people."

"Yes, Ty, they are."

He held my eyes.

Then he asked, "They raise you?"

"Kind of."

"Not an answer, Lexie."

I blew out a sigh.

Then I pulled my knees to my belly, wrapped my arm around them and told him my story.

Or parts of it.

"My Mom and Dad died when I was young. Long story. My Dad's parents died when he was sixteen. Car crash. My Gran died when I was six and Granddad when I was thirteen. My Dad had a sister but by the time Granddad died, well... let's just say, I was a handful and she didn't want any part of that so she didn't take any part of it. Obviously, because of that, although she lives in Dallas, I don't see her and when I say that, I mean ever. Life was shit for me, Granddad wasn't all that great, I was thirteen, acting out and just needed someone to give a shit. She didn't. I got put into a home for girls then was farmed out into foster care. Foster care took me to a new school, I met Bessie, Ronnie's sister, we became BFFs something, by the way, we still are. They lived in what could be considered one step up from the Projects and that was a small step but, trust me, no matter how fucked up that was, their home was better than foster care. So I spent a lot of time there. My foster carers still got paid so they didn't give a shit where I spent my time and ate my meals. Ronnie's Dad took off, whereabouts still unknown so he grew up watching his Mom struggle to put food on the table and spending most of his time avoiding local boys who were trying to recruit him into a gang. He was also the man of the family. He took that seriously but, obviously, didn't do it smart. As far as he was concerned, there were two ways to take care of his women. One, the NBA. Two, what he ended up doing. Problem with that was, Ella wanted not one thing to do with money earned the way he earned it. This caused dissension. I was the link that kept this dissension from going into meltdown. Ella never took any of Ronnie's money but at least I managed to keep him in the family fold. And I was definitely part of the family fold and would have been even if I ended things with Ronnie. We broke it off, I would have got his family, not him and when he died none of that changed so, seeing as that's the way and the fact that they were the only real family I knew, they're my people."

When I quit talking, Ty just stared at me and said not a word.

So I asked, "Are we done with give and take?"

"Yeah," he answered but his eyes didn't move back to the TV and the way he was staring at me, as normal, impassive but yet I still felt the intensity of his stare, my eyes didn't move either.

This also made me prompt, "What?"

"I don't get it," he replied.

I felt my brows draw together and I repeated, "What?"

He looked to the TV muttering, "Nothin'."

"Ty," I called and he didn't look at me but still I repeated, "What?" He continued not to look at me so I asked, "What don't you get?"

Then his eyes sliced to me and he proceeded without hesitation to rock my world.

"You're part-goof all class. Never walked in a room, any room, with a woman on my arm, any woman, who's got your looks, your style, the kinda beauty you got and the light that shines from you. So I don't get it. I don't get how a woman leads a life full of shit and comes out of it bein' part-goof and all class. That shit's impossible but there you fuckin' are. Part-goof, all class."

I felt my breath coming fast but managed to whisper, "I'm not part-goof."

"You're right. I was bein' nice. You're a total goof."

"Am not."

"Babe, you call me 'hubby'," he pointed out but my breath came faster because he called me "babe" again.

"You are my hubby."

"No one says hubby," he told me.

"I do," I told him.

"All right, I'll rephrase. No one but a goof says hubby."

"Is that written in stone somewhere?"

"It should be."

"So, you don't like it."

At that, his body twisted minutely in my direction, his chin dipped down a half a centimeter, his eyes locked with mine and I quit breathing.

And his voice was a very low rumble when he stated, "I didn't say I didn't like it."

"Okay," I breathed.

"I like it." He kept rumbling.

"Okay," I repeated breathily.

"You're still a fuckin' goof."

I kept silent.

"And I like that too," he finished, readjusted microscopically and his eyes slid to the TV.

I decided my best course of action at that juncture was to point my eyes at the TV too so I did. Then I struggled to regain control of my breathing. I managed this feat. Then I wondered again what he was wearing under the sheet. Then I struggled to quit wondering and also managed that but barely. Then I allowed the fact that he liked me calling him "hubby" and that I was a goof (he thought) to penetrate. Then I tried to stop myself from allowing the fact that I liked that he liked those things and I also liked all the other things he said to penetrate.

I failed at that.

Then I pulled the covers up high on my shoulder because the room was fucking freezing and I managed to fall asleep in a bed with Ty Walker.

I woke up and he was gone. This time, he left a note on his pillow that said, L.

Gym.

T.

I studied it with sleepy eyes and for some bizarre reason, memorized his slashes. And that was what his handwriting was. Dark, heavily pressed slashes. Even where there should be curves there were slashes.