Kristen Ashley - The Gamble

“Computer’s in the roll top,” he went on, picking up his plate and a rasher of bacon then his eyes went beyond me to the window before he took a bite.

“Max, I think –”

“You bought enough food to feed an army. You should be good for lunch.”

Oh my God. Did he think I was staying there?

“Max –”

He looked back at me. “You should go bland; make sure you’re over it. Wouldn’t be good to have anything rich in your stomach if you have a relapse.”

“Maybe we should –”

I heard a car door slam, I stopped talking and twisted on my stool to look around. Outside, parked beside the Cherokee, was one of those sporty mini-SUVs and making it sportier, it was red. Bouncing up the steps was a young woman with a mass of thick, gleaming, wavy, dark brown hair. She was wearing a baby pink, poofy vest with a sky blue thermal under it with what looked like tiny, pink polka dots on it. She had on faded jeans and they were tight . She also had on fluffy boots with big pom poms at the front that swung around as she bounced up the steps. She was pretty. Very pretty.

No, she was adorable. The epitome of a snow bunny.

And she was very, very young. Way younger than me. Way younger than what I suspected Max was.

I was thirty-six, he had to be my age, maybe older, maybe younger, but not by much either way.

She looked twelve. Though since she could drive, maybe she was sixteen.

She stopped on the porch and gave an over-exaggerated, over-cheerful wave in our direction, bouncing up on her toes. Even overdone, the wave looked adorable too, like it came natural to her, which it probably did since she was likely a cheerleader.

Good Lord.

“Becca,” Max muttered, I looked at him and he folded a piece of toast in half and said. “I’m gonna be gone awhile.” Then he took a bite out of the toast and turned toward the sink.

“I –”

“Hey!” A bright, cheerful, young , female voice called from the doorway.

I turned to look and Becca was inside, closing the door then she bounced toward the bar, her boot pom poms swinging wildly.

“Hey Becca,” Max greeted.

“Hey Max,” Becca called then she looked at me and said, still bright, still cheerful, still young, “Hey there.”

“Hello.”

“You must be Nina,” she announced and I couldn’t be sure but I think I gawped.

How did she know who I was?

Her eyes went around me. “She’s pretty,” she told who I suspected was Max since he was the only other person there then she looked back at me and her eyes fell to my chest before she declared, still bright and cheerful and also somewhat loud, “I dig that top! Where’d you get it? I gotta have one.”

“I –”

“You can shop, Bec, but it’d be a miracle you find that top,” Max told her and she looked at him when he finished, “and be able to afford it.”

I looked at Max and said, kind of snappish mainly because of the way he’d said what he’d said, “It wasn’t that expensive.”

“Since she’s gotta get on a plane and fly to England to buy it, that makes it expensive,” Max returned.

He had me there.

“ England, ” Becca breathed but she did it brightly and cheerfully.

“Um… yes,” I said to her.

“I forgot, Max told Mindy you were English.”

Mindy? Who was Mindy? And why was Max telling her about me?

“I’m not English,” I told Becca.

“I love your accent.” She kept breathing.

“I don’t really have an accent.”

“It’s so cool!” she cried, her eyes going to Max. “Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s cool,” Max agreed but he didn’t sound like he thought it was cool, he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

I was going to look at him to see if he was trying not to laugh and maybe ask what was so funny when Becca kept my attention.

“Oh my God . I’d so love to live in a different country,” Becca declared. “You are so lucky.”

Me? Lucky? England was beautiful but…

“Though, I’d wanna live somewhere where it doesn’t rain,” Becca decided.

“It does that,” I told her, “quite a bit.”

“If I lived there, how long would it take me to get an accent?” she asked.

“Um… I’m not sure,” I answered.

“I’d have to practice,” she declared.

I thought of a bright, cheerful, bouncy American cheerleader going to England and practicing an accent. Then I tried not to wince.

“I’m gonna get my boots,” Max said and I saw he was rounding the counter.

“Max,” I called but he didn’t stop.

“Be back in a sec,” he said, not even turning.

“So are all the clothes in England as cool as that top?” Becca asked me.

“Um… not exactly,” I replied then asked, “Can you hang on a second?” I had one finger pointed up then I jumped off the stool and hurried after Max who’d disappeared up the spiral staircase.

When I made it to the bedroom he was sitting on the bed tugging on a boot.

“Max –”

He cut me off. “Extra sheets in the closet.”

“Okay, but –”

He tugged on the second boot. “I don’t know how long this’ll take, make yourself at home.”

“I’m leaving,” I said quickly, his head arched back and he looked at me.

“What?”

“I’m going to Denver.”

“No you aren’t,” he replied and his answer, which was firm, unyielding and also surprising, made me blink.

“I’m not?”

“Nope,” he said as he stood and he seemed very tall and very big. He was, of course, very tall and very big in the kitchen too but the kitchen was a brightly lit open space. The loft wasn’t a brightly lit open space. It was more like a brightly lit, intimate cocoon. His very tall, very big body seemed to fill the loft, leaving very little room for me.

“But… I am.”

He walked to me and I resisted the urge to retreat mainly because the spiral staircase was behind me and I’d already spent two days sick in his house, I didn’t want to break my neck there.

He stopped a foot away from me and said, “You aren’t.”

I shook my head and asked, “Why?”

“You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest in Denver.”

“Drivin’ to Denver isn’t resting.”

“Okay, then I’ll get a hotel in town and spend the night there, drive to Denver tomorrow.”

“You aren’t doin’ that either.”

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t.”

I was beginning to get angry. I didn’t often get angry mainly because I’d made my life so that not much happened to me to get angry about. But I was definitely beginning to get angry right then.

“Why?” I asked.

“Nina, I gotta get this done, I don’t have time for this.”

He didn’t have time for this? Time for what?

“Time for what?”

“Time to spar with you.”

Now I wasn’t angry, I was confused. “We’re… sparring?”

“You’re off, you were better the other night.”

“Better at what?”

He didn’t answer me, instead he repeated, “I gotta go.”

“Max –” I started but he began to walk around me so, instinctively, my hand shot out and my fingers curled around his bicep.

He stopped but my body had frozen and my eyes had dropped to his arm.

My fingers were there, holding what felt an awful lot like steel. Niles didn’t have steely biceps. Niles had soft, fleshy biceps. One would think steely biceps didn’t feel nice but they didn’t only feel nice, they felt nice.

“Nina,” Max called and I jumped and yanked my hand away.

“I want to thank you, for being so nice about me being… sick and, um… everything, but really, I have to go.”