FORD DROPS ME OFF AT HOME, AND I TIPTOE QUIETLY—IF somewhat unsteadily—through the front door, not wanting to wake anyone.

    But I can hear chatter filtering in from the kitchen. When I drop my gaze to take off my boots, I see dirt tracked across the floor. Immediately, I know it’s from Clyde. He’s always walking around with his fucking shoes on.

    “Clyde!” I yell. “Does your upational therapist rmend sweeping as an exercise? Because you need to clean up the dirt you tracked in. I’m not your goddamn maid!”

    His raspy cackle is the first response I get. Followed by “But you’d be a good one! Being neurotically tidyes so naturally to you!”

    I toe off my shoes, pull the broom and dustpan from the front closet, and clean up the clumps of dirt he left behind. With broom and shoes properly put away, I head toward the kitchen, grumbling and shaking my head.

    I find Gwen and Clyde seated at the dining room table with ying cards and stic chips spread between them. There’s a pot ofvender I’ve never seen before pushed off to the side.

    “Raise.”

    Clyde pushes more chips into the middle, and Gwenughs, sipping at a ss of white wine. “You can’t just raise every time, Clyde.”

    The older man scoffs. “I can if I want to.”

    “It’s not a great strategy,” I say by way of announcing myself as I wander into the kitchen. Both of their heads snap in my direction—Gwen’s eyes wide, Clyde’s narrowed.

    “You’re just mad because I’m the one up ying poker with her,” Clyde says. “Plus, giving me a kidney doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do. That wasn’t in the contract.”

    My lips wobble. I’m too inebriated to keep my amusement at bay right now. “I’m not telling you what to do. Just offering a little advice.”

    Clyde rolls his eyes at me and pushes himself up with a stiff motion. “Here’s my advice. Stop being such a chickenshit and take over my hand. I’m going to bed.”

    With that, the older man punches my chest—hard—on his way past. “You kids have fun.”

    “You should stay,” I try feebly. Mostly because the prospect of being alone with Gwen is daunting and thrilling all at once. And I’m far too unencumbered right now to make good decisions.

    But Clyde is already hobbling down the hallway. “I’m sick of yourpany. You’re extremely negative, you know?” He turns and res at me over his shoulder. “Allergic to fun these days. It’s like living with Eeyore.”

    I choke back myugh. “I thought I was Oscar the Grouch!” I call back, pulling out his vacated chair to take a seat.

    “If this were really a trash can, your panties wouldn’t be so twisted over a little dust on the floor.”

    “You’re a slob, Clyde,” I volley good-naturedly.

    The only response I get is Clyde flipping me the bird without looking back, and this time Gwen wheezes augh from behind her fist.

    “I’ll sweep up the dirt.”

    I peek at her with a wink. “I already did.” Then I scoop up his cards—a two of diamonds and a three of clubs.

    “That’s what you kept raising on?” I blurt, turning back toward the hallway with a look of genuine shock on my face. “That’s arguably the worst hand in poker!”

    Clyde’s already rounded the corner into his room, but it doesn’t stop him from calling back, “You’re just lucky we weren’t ying strip poker!”

    “You’re right. I’d rather not see you naked because that’s what you’d be raising with hands like this.”

    “I’d like to see you do better! Now stop talking to me. I’m turning on my white noise machine so I don’t have to hear your stupid voice!”

    “Oh my god,” Gwen whispers. “You two are ridiculous.”

    I drop my head into my hand and smile down at the table. If I weren’t drunk, I’d be mortified.

    “Why do you even bother getting into it with him like that?”

    I snort augh and smile up at Gwen, swaying ever so slightly in my seat. “Honestly, it’s fun.”

    At first, she looks stunned, and then a grin takes over her face. “You guys are like father and son bickering over the dumbest shit. You both take each other’s bait. Every. Single. Time.”

    I shrug, another chuckle spilling from my loose lips as I check down the hallway, half expecting to see Clyde eavesdropping.

    My eyes catch on thevender as I turn back to Gwen. Pretty flowers and pretty Gwen. The color reminds me of her eyes.

    “You like? I bought it for the house. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to break any rules by talking to you in order to double-check.”

    I look up from the small purple flowers toward Gwen. “That’s not a rule.”

    She pushes the pot closer, ignoring my response. “Rub the flowers between your fingers and then smell. Nothing better than freshvender. Especially when you’re hammered.”

    I reach for a flower, running my fingers over it. “I’m not hammered.”

    “Oh-kay,” she singsongs, like she doesn’t believe me.

    When I wave my hand in front of my nose and inhale, my eyes fall shut. It does smell good. Good enough that I confess, “I’m only regr drunk. Not hammered.”

    “Drunk enough to y strip poker?” she asks, waggling her brows.

    Iugh and cast her a faux re. “Probably.”

    She throws her head back andughs, the sound rich and warm—one of the first things I noticed about her. My eyes soak in the elegant curve of her throat before she looks back at me and says, “Or go fish. Whatever floats your boat.”

    My cheek twitches. “Do you know how to y poker? Or were you just humoring him?”

    Gwen’s head tips to the side. “I understand the concept.”

    It’s a bad idea. I know it is. Sitting here, after dark, across from her. Drunk.

    But Rhys’s words are fresh in my mind. So I stay.

    With a firm nod, I reach across the table and collect the cards to shuffle. “I’m not starting off with Clyde’s shitty hand. Fresh game.”

    “Works for me,” she says matter-of-factly, as she reorganizes the chips.

    Within minutes, we’re all set up again. Me at the head of the table and her slightly down one side at a right angle to me.

    I take her in. Teeth pushed down onto her pillowy bottom lip as she gazes down at her two new cards. A loose, cropped sweatshirt draped off one shoulder. Tight fucking yoga pants that show off every goddamn curve. Fuzzy socks with little roon faces all over them.

    I’ve dreamed of this. Her. Having her here.

    “You have to ce your blind, Gwen. That means match my five.”

    Hershes flutter up to me. “Oh, whoops.” She giggles and reaches for her stack of chips, counting them meticulously before sliding them next to mine.

    I nce down at my hand. It’s good, not a throwaway. But I don’t want to womp Gwen. I could toss a couple of hands just to be nice. But not this one.

    “Bet,” I say, sliding in a few more chips.

    She stares at me, a smile dancing on her pretty mouth. Then with an innocent shrug she says, “Bet,” and matches my chips again.

    I quirk a brow at her, trying to make sense of her giddy demeanor, theny out three cards face up for the flop.

    It makes my good hand a great hand. I have a straight. ncing up at her, she’s still looking at me like the Cheshire cat.

    I know I’m just regr drunk and not hammered, but I can’t quite make sense of her expression.

    “Bet.”

    She nods, taps the table, and responds with “Call.”

    I turn the blind card, and it changes nothing for me, but her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.

    It makes me want to fold. Shovel my entire stack of chips her way and lose it all to her.

    But I don’t. I burn another card and flip the final one so that five cards areid out between us.

    “All right, let’s see ’em, Dawson.”

    Her baby blues go wide. “My cards, or…?”

    My heart stutters, and my eyes fall to her chest. She smiles and takes a deep swig of her wine, then turns her cards over, not even giving me a chance to fall all over myself with that innuendo.

    I watch her face. The flush on her cheeks. The twinkle in her eye. I may not know much, but I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with me.

    And it’s the first time I’m hit with the realization that I don’t know how many sses of wine she’s had. That I might not be the only one here who is “regr” drunk. Having a rum and Coke while still taking painkillers was a monumentally stupid decision.

    Not wanting to gawk, I drop my gaze to the table.

    Her hand is fucking terrible.

    I flip mine. “Straight.”

    “Shoot, I guess I lose,” Gwen says, smiling against the rim of her winess.

    “Gwen, that was a terrible hand. Were you taking advice from Clyde on how to—” My train of thought dies off, because Gwen has pulled off one roon sock and tossed it over her shoulder.

    My heart thuds heavily. “What are you doing?”

    “We’re ying strip poker. I lost. Had to take off an article of clothing.”

    I swallow. What I should tell her is that we aren’t ying strip poker. That was a passing joke. But I don’t know what else we’re ying for. Chips? Participation trophies?

    I eye the sock. It’s just a sock—no lines crossed. This is my chance to course correct this entire thing right here and now.

    Tell her to put it back on.

    Tell her to put it back on.

    “I don’t think you can ount for socks separately” is what I say instead.

    Her eyes light up as she slides the winess across the table carefully. “I can see the merit in that,” she says, nodding.

    Then, with one casual flick, her other sockes off. Her innocent eyesnd back on me. “Next round?”

    We y again, and I try to keep my eyes from straying to her feet, her heels pressed against the chair leg, the graceful curve of her arch on full disy.

    She loses again.

    She seems unperturbed again.

    And I find myself both eagerly awaiting her next move and dreading the implications of her removing another piece of clothing.

    Gwen, though? She seems unfazed. With a bubblyugh and a saucy wink, she yanks off her sweatshirt and sits before me wearing a white sports bra with small ck polka dots all over it.

    My mouth goes dry.

    Obviously, being attracted to her is nothing new, but seeing her body on disy is the cruelest temptation.

    “Hang on,” she says, pushing to stand. “I need more wine before the next round. I’m not teaching tomorrow, so I can enjoy myself.”

    I sit woodenly, watching her curved hips sway, the roundness of her ass on full disy through skintight leggings, her tits propped up high.

    She makes me fucking insane. That’s the only reason I could possibly be sitting here ying strip poker with the one woman in the world I shouldn’t want.

    When she returns, her eyes scan me carefully. “You doing okay over there? Sobering up a bit?”

    “That’s one way to put it,” I grumble, shifting in my chair and rearranging myself in my pants without being overly obvious.

    She justughs. She knows. And all it does is egg me on because I am a glutton for punishment.

    As she deals out the next hand, I rationalize that I’m only looking, not touching, and that’s fine.

    Gwen wins the next round, and I’m relieved that I have some more time before I have to endure watching her take off her pants.

    I ditch my socks.

    But then Gwen wins again.

    I tug off my T-shirt and pretend I can’t feel her gaze skating over my torso as we y another round. My upper body is still built and heavy from hardbor, but it’s not toned like it once was. Like Tripp’s would be.

    “Oh, dang. Would you look at that?”

    I blink out of my train of thought and stare down at her cards.

    I blink again and flip my own cards. Absolutely obliterated by her royal flush. Hearts across the board.

    Gwen is all giggles and coy winks. I thought for sure she had no hand. All her tells were—

    “Gwen, are you a fucking card shark? Did you y me?”

    Sheys a dainty hand across her cleavage in fake indignation. “Me? I would never. But also, ying poker is the only way I could get my dad to pay attention to me. So I got rather good at it.”

    I make a mental note to cuff her dad upside the head if I ever meet him.

    “But I thought—”

    “You assumed. And you know what they say about assuming.”

    “That it makes an ass out of you and me?”

    She shakes her head and leans back in her chair, arms crossed under her full breasts. “No, that you need to take your pants off and show me the goods.”

    I bark out augh now. Gwen always manages to make meugh. Head shaking as I push to stand, I resign myself to the fact that I am doing this. I don’t even feel that buzzed anymore.

    But I am a man of my word. And I lost that hand fair and square.

    Towering over her, I pop open the button of my jeans and watch her lips fall open on a sharp inhale. When I pull down my fly, she licks her lips.

    My dick hardens and I know it will be visible through my boxers. But I can’t help myself with Gwen here watching.

    Her eyes sh to mine, a little ssy. She crosses her legs and nudges her chin in my direction, urging me to get on with it.

    “You that fucking eager, Gwen?” I taunt.

    “Yeah. I am,” she breathes.

    I bite the bullet. Holding her gaze, I slide my jeans down, stepping out of them and in her direction with my cock at full mast.

    Her eyes drop, and the little moan that vibrates in her throat only makes me harder. The way she sits up straight, leaning closer, gives me ideas I shouldn’t have at all.

    Her fingers dig into her knees as she tilts her chin back up to me. “What now, Bash?”

    My blood heats and my skin sizzles. I can see her hard nipples pressing against her sports bra. I can imagine everything so easily. Stepping forward and feeding my bare cock into that pretty fucking mouth. Lifting her onto the table, fucking her so hard that those cheap stic chips fall all over the floor.

    “Next round?” I rasp.

    Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “I can’t decide if I want to keep winning or lose a few hands just to watch you work for it.”

    Fuck.

    I can feel my carefully ced tendrils of control starting to snap. Without thinking, I step close, my bare toes butting against hers as I reach forward and gently grip her chin. “Careful what you wish for, Gwen. I’ve got aundry list of ways I’d like to watch you work for it, and none of them involve poker.”

    “Fuck,” she whispers, her fingers drifting to the side of my thigh, the sharp points of her nails trailing up slowly.

    My mrs grind, and I get lost in her eyes for a beat. It would be so easy. It would be so worth it.

    “God. I really should not want you this badly,” I finally confess, all my jumbled, inebriated,plicated feelings floating to the surface. Gwen’s opposite handnds on the waistband of my boxers, eyes stilltched to mine like I hung the moon. “But look at you. You’re fucking perf—”

    “You know what I hate?” Clyde’s voice filters from down the hall, the soft thud of his slow, shuffled footsteps shocking us both into stillness. “How thirsty I am all the time now.”

    We fly into action. I scoop up my clothes and dart for the back door as Gwen scrambles for her sweatshirt.

    “I must be the most hydrated man in the world,” I hear him say right as I quietly shut the door behind myself. “Where’s Bash? And why are your socks over here?”

    My heart thuds wildly, relief and shame pounding at me as I realize how fucking close that was. I shake my head. I’m a grown-ass man sneaking around in my own home. With my son’s ex.

    It’s pathetic.

    “Oh, I tried to y strip poker with him. But I took my socks off and he got a massive boner, then acted all weird. Ran off to bed.”

    Then sheughs. A high, manic giggle.

    My jaw unhinges. Is she fucking kidding me? She’s going to pay for that one.

    Clyde scoffs. “That tracks. He would have a foot fetish. Anyway, good night for real this time. Actually, since you’re still up, can youe help me set the pillows up that way I like? I can never get them as good as you do, and I’m a little sore.”

    Her voicees out soft now. “Yeah, of course. Let’s go get you settled.”

    Through the window, I watch Gwen follow him down the hall, and I stay outside, letting the chill seep in. Letting reality seep in too.

    Eventually, I sneak back inside and dart upstairs, into the safety of my room, where I lean up against my door and try to wrap my head around what just happened.