He looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head. “Why would I quit something I enjoy?”
Because it’s destroying you.
“Because you’re in denial about the hold it has on you.” He was right earlier, I am desperate. Desperate to find a way to help him. “But if you prove me wrong and stop, I’ll make it worth your while.”
That gets his attention. “Make it worth my while how?”
I’m not really sure but I’m on the verge of inheriting more money than I’ll ever be able to spend in a lifetime.
“I’ll give you anything you want.”
Disbelief washes over his face, almost like he can’t believe the words I just blurted out.
That makes two of us.
“Let me get this straight. You’re trying to persuade me to stop gambling by propositioning me with a bet.”
Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. However, when he puts it that way, I’m positive this idea isn’t just stupid, it’s morally wrong.
But if it doesn’t work and he can’t abstain, he’ll no longer be able to deny he has a problem.
And if by some small chance it does work…maybe it will show him that he doesn’t need to gamble and there are healthy outlets he can utilize instead.
As crazy as it sounds, I can’t seem to find a downside.
“It’s a little unorthodox,” I admit. “But what have you got to lose?”
“How long?”
The fact he’s even thinking about taking me up on this is unexpected, but a step in the right direction.
I mull over his question. A few weeks is too little time, and a year might be too overwhelming and make him pump the brakes.
“For the rest of our marriage.”
Before my brain can calculate how much time we have left, Preston grumbles, “Nine months, three weeks, and two days.”
Science should really study that brain of his. “Sounds about right.” I hold up a finger. “But if you slip up once, the deal’s off.”
“But if I succeed…” He moves closer, his stare turning molten as he slowly drags his gaze up and down my body before settling on my face. “You’ll give me anything I want?”
I don’t even realize he’s cornering me until it’s too late.
I figured Preston would want more money, an expensive sports car, maybe a time-share on an exotic island somewhere…but it’s clear by the way he’s looking at me like a starved man who’s just stumbled upon his favorite meal, I was wrong.
Very wrong.
Rough hands curl around my hips and my knees nearly buckle when he runs his nose along the length of my throat, inhaling me. “Answer me, Bishop.”
Nerves flutter in my belly when his teeth clamp down on my skin, sucking and biting so hard I know he’ll leave a mark.
But I don’t care. Because I’d do anything in the world for him.
Even that.
“Anything,” I squeak out as a mixture of apprehension and heat swallow me…
And the doorbell rings.
Juan agreed to come over and help me set up for the party because he’s way better at that stuff than I am. As usual, he’s Mr. freaking punctual.
“Juan’s here.”
Preston makes no move to unhinge himself from me, though. The hand on my hip glides to my cheek, lighting every nerve ending I have along the way. His mouth hovers over mine, his bottom lip ever so slightly brushing my top one.
“Deal.”
Chapter 22
Preston
“Am I interrupting something?” Juan asks, his gaze resting on Kit’s flushed cheeks.
“Yes.”
“No,” Kit says at the same time, ushering him inside. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”
Juan looks like he wants to say something else, but his eyes widen as he looks around. “Holy shit. You weren’t kidding. Your parents were loaded.”
I clear my throat, issuing a silent warning because I know every time someone brings up Kit’s parents it pours salt in the gaping wound.
Kit gestures for him to follow her, and Juan lets out a loud squeal when we enter the kitchen. “Oh my God. I love this kitchen.” Before Kit can say a word, he pulls out a notebook. “But as much as I’d like to fawn over this beautiful house some more, we have a lot of work to do.”
He rattles off a list a mile long and I can tell Kit’s overwhelmed as fuck by the time he’s done.
Which is why I don’t bitch when I end up getting tasked with shit.
As much as I can’t stand my dumbass brother and want to throw a brick at his fat head, tonight’s a big night for him.
I also know how important it is for Kit to make everything perfect for them, because that’s what she does when she cares about you.
She supports, she accepts…
She sacrifices.
I pace back and forth in my room, my mind—hell, my palms—itching with the urge to play poker.
But I can’t for the next nine months, three weeks, and two days.
What the motherfucking fuck was I thinking?
Running my hand along my scalp, I groan. Every drop of blood pumping through my veins is begging me for another hit.
I can smell the cigarettes and cigars burning, see the colorful bright lights, hear the slot machines…feel the felt table as I push my chips forward and flip over my cards.
I have to get out of here.
I pick up my phone, hoping Becca’s feeling generous tonight and will let me see Jameson.
We ended up getting into a huge fight due to her lying about making up hours, and the state her apartment was in before I cleaned it, which led to her banning me from seeing him for two whole fucking weeks. Fortunately, Charlotte took mercy on me and let me come over a few times while Becca was out with her new boyfriend.
She picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
Tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise when I hear the slur in her voice, along with all the commotion in the background. “Where are you?”
“Out.”
My fingers tighten around the phone. “Yeah, no shit. Is Jam—”
“Who are you talking to?” a deep voice bellows in the background.
Something about his tone rubs me the wrong way. God help him if he ever talks to Jameson like that, because I will remove whatever teeth he has with a rusty pair of pliers and make him eat them one by fucking one.
“Tell that boyfriend of yours to mind his business before I rearrange his face.”
“Relax, baby face.” I’m about to remind her I’m not her fucking baby face, but then she says, “It’s Jameson’s father.”
I freeze as my worst nightmare comes barreling into me full force.
I always knew there was a chance he might come back into the picture, but I didn’t think Becca would start dating him.
Then again, she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.
It’s a struggle to breathe as visions of Jameson hanging out with a man who abandoned him—a man who isn’t me—zip through my head.
On some level I realize it’s selfish of me to not want this for him because every kid deserves to have a family, but fuck if it doesn’t send a bolt of jealousy—and concern—blazing through me.