“What doesn’t look right?” I asked, frowning at the enchiladas. They looked perfect. I was pretty darn proud of my first attempt, considering my normal cooking disasters. I could barely make a grilled cheese without burning it.
“I mean, where’s the rest of it?” he asked.
“Rest of what?”
“Rice, beans, salad, chips. The rest of the meal.”
Shit. He was right. I hadn’t even thought about what should go with the enchiladas. They did look odd sitting on a plate all by themselves. I laughed. “Well, at least she’ll have part of a meal.”
His eyes went to my lips, and it took my laugh and my breath away. I got up and grabbed a bag of tortilla chips from the pantry, returning with them. “Here, you big baby.”
He scooped out a bunch, placing them on his plate before digging into the enchiladas. “Hey, these are pretty good,” he said after he’d swallowed his first bite. I’d watched every move. His fingers on the fork. The chew. The swallow. The Adam’s apple moving up and down. How could he possibly make something as mundane as eating look sexy?
I took a bite, and I felt him watching me just like I’d watched him. He was right, though; they were pretty good. I poured myself another glass of whiskey. He hadn’t touched his yet.
“How many of those have you had?” he asked.
“Don’t let taking care of Hannah go to your head. You aren’t a dad, and you most certainly aren’t mine.”
“Thank God,” he said, and it was loaded with double meanings. “I just wanted to know if I was going to have to clean up puke or not.”
“Hardly. I hold my liquor pretty well.”
“That’s what every drunk ever has said,” he replied, his lips doing that damn quirking at the corners again. Infuriating. He was gorgeous, sexy, and maddening. And now, on top of all that, I knew he was smarter than he ever let on, which made it even more impossible to ignore the signals my body was receiving from him.
“I could still beat your ass at poker,” I said without really thinking about it.
“I’m sure you could,” he said with a straight face, but I wasn’t sure if he was saying it sarcastically or literally.
“Do I need to prove it?” I asked, and he raised his eyes to mine, those poison darts sinking into my skin.
“I feel like you being drunk would be the only way I’d have a chance at beating you if you’re as good as Mac.”
“Ha. I’m better than Mac,” I told him, which was the truth. My brother had way too many tells—especially if Georgie was around. Then, his tells were even more pronounced with the distraction she caused him.
“Challenge accepted,” Nash smirked at me.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t stay in the same vicinity with his sexy eyes and sexy skin and sexy smell. God, maybe I was drunk if I was thinking about his smells. Something earthy and spicy all at the same time. I should just pack my bag and leave. There was plenty to do at home as Mom got ready to hold Mac and Georgie’s wedding in the backyard the following week.
“I don’t believe Tristan has poker chips,” I said as a way of getting out of it.
He shook the bag of tortilla chips. “We have these. They’ll work.”
Our eyes met again for the hundredth time. I’d laid down the half-ass challenge, but he was calling me on it. Was it a bluff? Would I walk away? It went against my grain to back down—something I’d let myself forget off and on this year. Something Bee and others thought I’d done by walking away from Washington, especially when I’d left without another job and with no reason to leave other than I couldn’t stand to stay.
“Fine, but when I’ve taken them all away, don’t complain about having to find something else to snack on.” I hadn’t meant it sexually, but the look he shot me went straight through me, all the way down to that very place that would love to be his snack.
I took my plate and piled it with the chips.
“Make sure it’s fair, Dani.”
My name rolled off his tongue and made my entire body quiver. Stupid body. “You’re the one who cheats, not me,” I told him, referring to the time he and Darren had beaten Mac when they were all on the USS George Washington.
He laughed again. He’d laughed and smiled and grinned more in the few minutes he’d been in the kitchen than I’d seen him do in a long time.
“Mac deserved it,” Nash said. “He was such an egomaniac, promising no one else would win if he was playing. He needed someone to take him down a peg or two.”
“Says the Navy SEAL,” I tossed back. “SEAL and egomaniac are synonymous.”
He didn’t respond because he knew it was true. I made sure our chip counts were as close to even as possible when using tortilla chips instead of poker chips. While I was divvying them up, Nash poured more whiskey into both our glasses.
“To keep things really fair, I think we need to redefine the rules of engagement. Like you drinking two for every one of mine,” he said.
I shook my head. “Absolutely not. We’re not at war. This is poker. Plus, you outweigh me by a good ton or so. Regardless of how good I am at holding my liquor, you’ll be better. If I drink, you drink.”
Our eyes met, and he took a sip of the amber liquid. I shuffled the deck one-handed, and he watched the cards. When his eyes hit mine again, it was my turn to smirk at his surprise.
“Last chance to back out,” I said, and damn if my voice didn’t get all throaty like I was talking
