“I’m Ace Wells.”
She nods, like my name isn’t weird, and I frown. “What, you’re not gonna ask me if that’s my actual name?”
One thin shoulder lifts to her ear before she drops it again. “I’m not one to question anyone’s name. Have you ever met another Naima?”
“I see your point.”
A silence passes between us, one that isn’t uncomfortable. The guys on the seats in front of us let out a chorus of cheers and groans as the University of South Carolina makes a big play on the screen. Naima’s gaze lands on the television, before she glances over her shoulder. She takes a long swig of her beer, killing the bottle.
Gesturing toward the poker tables on the other side of the room, she sends me a wry smile. “So, obviously I’m keeping you from something.” She rises to her feet, before I can argue. “You sure as hell aren’t here to chat it up with me. So, have fun and all that. I gotta get back to…Noah.”
The lackluster tone in her voice makes me smile. It makes me so happy it’s not even reasonable. “I’m not—”
But she walks away then, whirling and sauntering toward the poker table where her friend now sits on her boyfriend’s lap. She leaves me with nothing but her name and a whiff of her perfume…or maybe it’s her shampoo? It’s spicy and sweet…like cherry and vanilla.
A rare and beautiful combination, exactly like her.
Standing, I take up a point against the wall beside Borg, just watching her for a minute. She grabs another beer, and then heads to the poker table where Jaxon and Noah are most likely losing all their inherited money to the house.
To me.
My eyes follow the path she blazes as she traipses to the table and stands beside Noah. He barely glances at her before focusing back on his game. I can almost hear her bored sigh.
Borg nods toward her. “She on the menu for you tonight?”
Shaking my head slowly, I don’t remove my eyes from Naima. “Nah. She’s not like that.”
Borg snorts in disbelief. “First of all, that don’t sound like you. Second of all, she’s here with that dude over there.”
A grin curls my lips upward. “Yeah, but look at her. She look like she’s into him?”
Borg takes another look, and I know exactly what he’s going to see. At the same time, Naima’s eyes lock with mine. The heat sizzles between us like fire spread by gasoline. It’s palpable; its tension stretched taut.
Borg chuckles. “Oh. Yeah…gotcha. Go get her, boss.”
But now isn’t the time. She cocks her head to one side, studying me. For the second time tonight I’m under the impression that she sees way more than I’ve ever allowed anyone to glimpse. I’m not sure what she views, but a small quirk of her lips tells me she doesn’t hate it.
The night wears on. Usually, a night at the Ring flies by because I’m busy while I’m there. I’m watching, waiting for some rich guy to screw up so I can toss him out. It’s too much fun to ever feel like work.
But tonight?
The hours drag until midnight rolls around and the last craps game slowly wraps up. The game bets were cashed out over an hour ago as the televised sporting events ended, and as my luck would have it, Jaxon and Noah’s game is the last table standing. Naima and the cute blond took over as Queens of the Couch an hour ago, both kicking off their shoes and lounging like they own the place.
Naima and I keep locking eyes, but I haven’t made a move. My security team has relaxed a little, taking up casual stances against the wall, waiting for the last game to end so they can call it a night.
At some point in the evening, a wild-eyed Suit jumped up from the couch and bought into the game of craps. He’s gonna owe me at the end of the night, but that ain’t my problem. The desperation in his eyes says he’s confident he’ll win it all back at the craps table.
I say he’s got a gambling problem. And this will be the last night he sets foot in the Ring.
The G-Ring isn’t for his type. This is all supposed to be fun. Rich, college-aged dudes losing money their daddies will never know is gone. And just looking at the Suit tells me that every single bet he makes means more to him than a game.
I let my gaze shift from the Suit to Naima. She’ll feel the burn of it, if the heat sliding between us all night is an indicator. Sure enough, it takes seconds before she turns her beautiful, dark gaze in my direction, locking onto my eyes.
Hers burns.
I tilt my head toward the bar, a small gesture that she’ll understand. Then, keeping my eyes on hers, I stroll in that direction.
Bending low, I grab two sodas from the fridge, my attention turning to the craps table when I stand. I noted it when she stopped drinking a couple of hours ago and so did I, knowing I have a business to run for the remainder of the night.
Her man, or at least hers for about five more minutes, Noah, is staring intently at the dice as they bounce along the felt-topped table. The air over there is thick, tension seeming to build and stretch just because of the way the Suit carries himself. All the laughter and joking from earlier in the night are gone.
Serves me just fine. Because Naima whispers something to her friend and rises from the couch. She turns, walking toward me standing just behind the bar.
And the best part of my night? Just beginning.
Seven
NAIMA
I take the soda he hands me without hesitation, my fingers curling around the cold, sweaty bottle. He’s already unscrewed the cap for me, and I
