Total pages in book: 193
Estimated words: 184001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 920(@200wpm)___ 736(@250wpm)___ 613(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 184001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 920(@200wpm)___ 736(@250wpm)___ 613(@300wpm)
“Do you play cards?” he asks as he riffle shuffles them.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to play a round with me?”
I sigh and close the book in my hand that the chatterbox doesn’t seem to notice I’m holding. Setting it down on the table, I sit back and stare at him. He also has a book resting near his elbow as if he’s planning on staying. There’s also a bottle of gin from Thorin’s stash.
“Why would I play with you?” I ask.
“Call it an icebreaker.”
“But I like the ice. It’s kind of comforting.”
“So that’s it then?” His brows raise. “You’ve finally given up the nice act?”
“It wasn’t an act. I was genuinely being nice to you, but then you turned out to be a dick, and now I’m over it. I’ve decided we don’t need to be friends.”
“Ouch.” As if I hadn’t insulted him, he splits the deck in half and starts dealing the cards. “One round,” he pleads.
I sigh again, but I don’t leave the table like I’m itching to do. Once all the cards are dealt, he slides the gin into the center, where it’s easy for us both to reach. “What are we playing?”
“It’s called War.”
Fitting.
“We each flip one card over at the same time until one of us wins all the cards in the deck. The player with the higher card wins the hand. Whoever has the lower card has to take a drink.” Zeke taps the bottle of gin with a fingernail. “That’s where this comes in.”
“It’s barely noon,” I point out. “And you haven’t eaten.”
“Are you worried about me?”
“No.”
Zeke smiles, and it’s not exactly friendly, but it’s not unfriendly either.
It’s fucking beautiful.
My belly dips from the weight of my want when I realize he has Seth’s smile. The curve of it promises danger while drawing me in.
“Then there’s no reason we can’t play,” Zeke decides before picking up his cards. He keeps them face down and pauses to regard me. “Unless you’d rather trade truths instead?”
“Pass.”
Zeke smiles and licks his lips. And then he tips his chin toward my untouched half of the deck. “Ready?”
Wondering why he’s doing this, I slowly claim my cards and keep them face down like he does. “Ready.”
We both grab the top card in our hand and slam them down face up between us at the same time. Zeke swears when my queen of diamonds trumps his three of hearts.
I smile a little as I claim the cards while Zeke grabs the gin and takes a healthy swig before slamming it back down. “Beginner’s luck,” he says with his eyes on me.
We’re still holding each other’s gazes when we play two more cards. My seven of diamonds beats his six of spades. “You assume I’ve never played this before.”
Zeke pauses to take another drink. “The game doesn’t require any skill, princess.”
“And yet you’re losing.”
We set down two more cards, and I win again, so I grab the platter of leftover bacon and push it toward him. “You might want to eat something,” I taunt.
Zeke ignores the offer of food and sits back in his chair to study me with a drum of callused fingers on his un-played cards. “Alcohol poisoning or food poisoning… However will I choose?”
Something like anguish at the rejection lodges in my throat, but I swallow it back down. Zeke’s a grown man. If he doesn’t want to eat, he doesn’t have to, but we both know this isn’t about food.
He doesn’t have to want you either, Aurelia.
“You’re not what I expected,” I blurt anyway.
Zeke is visibly startled by the admission, but he recovers fast, with his brows pulling low and his jaw twitching from clenching his teeth so hard. “Let me guess… My brothers told you that I was weak and damaged and afraid of my own shadow. They told you I wouldn’t be able to handle your presence in the cabin.”
It’s my turn to study him and the resentment he tries and fails to hide at his own perceived weakness. “Trauma doesn’t make you weak, Ezekiel.” His green eyes are full of panic when they find mine again. “Being cruel does.”
“Please don’t call me that,” he chokes out.
“What? Cruel?”
The knot in his throat works up and down as he decides whether to offer up a weakness to evil little me. “Ezekiel.”
“Why?”
His body language screams and that’s enough of that.
Zeke swears, straightens, and throws down another card.
King of hearts.
Something tells me this game, fueled by the alcohol, was meant to loosen my tongue, not his. I set a card down too, but mine is also a king—from the diamond suit.
Never having played this game before despite my bluff, I feel my eyes widen dramatically as I look to Zeke for answers. He’s staring at the cards as if they mean something.
War, I discern when I remember the name of the game.