Breaking Beauty: Devils Aces MC Part 7

"I should think so, Romeo."

Bryson turned to face her. "G.o.d, you're cool."

"All it takes is one Coors with you, huh?"

"No, really. I've never met another woman like you." And for a moment, he looked as if he might kiss her-urgency crossed his face just as it had in the hallway the other night, before he'd pressed her into his hotel room. But he was more reserved tonight. Romy had made all the moves herself.

"So you'll come over tomorrow, and start teaching me how you count cards?" she finally asked. Bryson continued to rub her knee.

"Okay."

"And you'll tell me all about Lefty DiMartino, and his vicious ring of ne'er do wells?"

"Will do."

"And you'll trust that I can handle the truth, because I'm a grown-up? And because I've been looking out for myself just fine all these twenty four years?"

Bryson nuzzled her neck with his head-a surprisingly childish gesture, given his manly status. But as soon as he'd done this, he slid his sungla.s.ses down from the ridge on his forehead where they'd perched throughout dinner. "Well yes, and no," he started. "Just know that a new body's gonna start looking after you now."

She couldn't see it through the opaque gla.s.s, but she guessed that his eyebrows were wiggling.

The second notable thing about their not-quite-a-first-date was the fact that Bryson didn't come in for a nightcap. Didn't even try. Rather, he bade her a sweet goodbye at the curb-all gentleman.

"I had a nice night." He said first.

"Me too."

"I would play coy, but I hope you know I'm going to call you again way before it seems socially appropriate."

"Plus there's the whole 'dismantling-a-mob-ring' stuff to consider. That will make for a lot of play dates."

"True story." And then, he seemed to hover over his next words. "Have a good night, Romy Adelaide. Be safe."

"You too, Bryson Vaughn," she replied. And yet again, when it hadn't seemed like he would dive in for the goodnight kiss-Romy took it upon herself. With steady hands, having grown acclimated to the once-frightening bike, she pushed Bryson's sungla.s.ses up over his forehead, so as to see into his eyes. Then she bent low, and kissed him fiercely. She kissed him with all the guts and gumption she wished she could have summoned in Lefty's lodge, or in Zaida's company. She kissed him the way she'd have liked to slap The Dap, the way she'd have liked to grab and hold high her diploma, the way she'd have liked to do a million things. And in response, his cracked, moist, eager lips felt like victory. Kissing Bryson Vaughn felt endlessly right.

"Good night," she said, breaking their embrace after what felt like a long while. She expected he'd come after her-kick the stand on his bike, and follow her swinging hips up the walk, through the foyer, and into the bedroom. She wished for it. That "right way" of making love which he'd spoken of in the hotel room-that felt like it was happening now. Filled with l.u.s.t, she imagined his thick member engorging in her presence, and the look on his face as he sized up her naked body. The love they could make tonight was bound to be electric, filled with all the pent-up pa.s.sion and the unabashed screams of pleasure she'd contained under the watchful gaze of a security camera.

But-ever the gentleman-Bryson Vaughn didn't come inside. He threw Romy a last meaningful look and waited for her to dim the porch light. In the foyer, she leaned against the wall and tried to quiet her pounding heart until she heard the lingering Harley start its engine, then roar away into the burning Western heat.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The next day, as soon as her early morning cla.s.s had released her back into her humble first floor apartment, Bryson's bike was humming outside her foyer once more. Only this time, he'd brought a picnic basket filled with goodies.

Of course, the "goodies" were six decks of KEM cards, an automated shuffler machine, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a mason jar filled with discarded pieces from games of Connect Four. "Practice props," Bryson called these. "Well, except for the Jack. That's just for authenticity purposes."

Romy-who hadn't been able to concentrate through this latest Statistics lab, for all the usual reasons-greeted Bryson at the door in a thin cami and jean shorts. In part, for the heat, and in another part, for the fact that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about how badly she wanted his perfect body inside of hers. They were going to practice card counting and it was going to be serious and gripping, but afterwards...as G.o.d was Romy's witness...they were going to rekindle some of that fabulous physical chemistry. Though she'd tried to take the gravity of their situation seriously to heart, Romy couldn't quell her desire any longer. She wanted to f.u.c.k his brains out, end of the world be d.a.m.ned.

Bryson entered her house cautiously, like a man who wasn't invited into many personal homes. He bent a little too low under the archways. He seemed afraid to touch surfaces. In fact, the only thing that seemed to make him at ease was Goofy, who trailed the visitor faithfully through all three rooms of the house.

"Are you a dog person?" Romy asked.

"Absof.u.c.kinlutely. I love these little suckers," Bryson said, bending low to wag her pet's ears. He scanned her sideways, from the legs up. She stood her ground.

"Show me the kitchen table. It's time we practice."

In antic.i.p.ation of his visit, Romy had cleared away all of her schoolbooks and general c.r.a.p-but Bryson had her replace the vacant seats around the table with pillows from the living room couch. These he covered with additional pairs of sungla.s.ses, which he pulled from the picnic basket. "Okay, to begin with: pretend Mr. Tartan Sectional is The Dap. He's to your right. He'll have the advantage, because he's dealt his cards first. Remember that."

"Do pillow people help you learn?" Romy asked.

"Focus," Bryson told her. Then, he unwrapped his new packs of KEM cards and fanned them expertly between his fingers. She was impressed with his shuffling technique; it rivaled many dealers she knew.

"Now, most card counting systems begin with a count of zero. You understand why, right?"

"Yes, Bryson. We cover a lot of this in basic dealer training, not to mention my cla.s.ses. Among others, there's the Hi-Lo Count and the KO count. We're trained to watch for any players who keep their eyes on the cards and rarely look up, and who don't drink or talk to anyone at the table."

"Okay, smarty pants," Bryson puffed, withdrawing a small whiteboard from his picnic basket.

"But have you heard of the Hi-Opt II?" With a felt tip marker, Bryson drew the following chart on his little board:

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