Fifty-Two Pickup: Aces (Jessica Rogers Book 1) Page 3

  I looked at her. I could tell the type. An eager beaver, social climber, with a fake designer purse. She was wearing shoes that could be worn appropriately in two places: the bedroom and a Halloween party.

  Did I mention that Halloween was my favorite holiday? Others don’t come close. I blame my mother.

  “I know, Kirk,” she continued. “But you’re always so contentious and such a man of integrity and hard work, I assumed you’d want to know. I saw you walk in here and I just knew it was a sign. Maybe I could call you later?”

  “Tomorrow, Gloria. At the office. If you’ll excuse me?”

  She looked offended. A bright girl would make a self-effacing joke and abruptly exit, stage left. But, she wasn’t a smart one. “I just thought you’d like to know. It’s not like the building is on fire. I’ll talk to Mr. Wilson tomorrow. Excuse me.”

  We watched her walk away. Pulling me closer, he whispered, “Sorry about that.”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry about it. You handled it well.”

  “Office politics.” He shook his head.

  “God, I’m so happy I don’t have to deal with that shit.”

  “Tell me more about your poker. It sounds fascinating.”

  We talked for three hours.

  AT ELEVEN HE ASKED FOR THE TAB.

  I placed my card out; nobody buys me drinks on a first date. Dutch always.

  He smirked at me but didn’t argue. More points scored.

  “I’ve got an early meeting. Walk me out to the lobby?”

  I stood and took his arm. The lobby was mostly empty, but we weren’t alone.

  “I enjoyed meeting you, Jessica. When’s your tournament start?”

  “Saturday. Cards in the air at four.”

  “You guys have such colorful language.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “I’d like to learn more. Dinner Friday?”

  “Perfect,” I said, maybe a bit too quickly...hell...I didn’t want to appear desperate.

  “I’ll pick you up here, at six, if that works?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned in and kissed me. As far as first kisses go, this one ranked up there with the time little Jimmy Baldwin kissed me in the third grade. No, Jimmy didn’t taste like whiskey, nor did he open his mouth, I don’t mean that. I mean the way I felt. The butterflies and the anticipation. The newness.

  Kirk placed his hand under my chin and gently lifted my jaw to meet his mouth, he moved closer and placed his other hand between my shoulder blades. I felt like an ice skater.

  I brought my hand to his face and caressed his stubble. It felt strong, manly, and rugged. I could feel his bulge swelling, he leaned deeper, and I moved against him. I wanted to grab his ass, but we were still in public.

  And this was still a first date. Fuck. No fuck. I don’t fuck on first dates. It’s a golden rule of mine. I started thinking about why I should break my own rules.

  We’d been talking online for three or four weeks.

  I felt I knew him already.

  He was stunningly handsome (and beautiful, too. In a man’s man sort of way).

  I was hot, wet, and my nipples were stiff.

  Keep in mind; we were still kissing while these thoughts were running through my head. I pulled away and spoke.

  “I want — ”

  “Don’t worry. I remember your rules. I’m not even going to ask. Could you please stand in front of me? For a minute? Let me cool down?”

  “Of course.” I was about to ask him to my room. But cooler minds prevailed. I don’t know what the stigma is. Well, it’s not a stigma, it’s a rule. I do it to protect my heart. It’s hard enough to evaluate a man’s character. Once decent (or especially fantastic) sex is involved, well, it’s easy to make bad decisions. Case in point: the pilot.

  We stood in silence for a time. It was nice. I was cooling down. He was cooling down. The other dozen people that had walked through the lobby in the last five minutes had no idea, hopefully, how we’d both been worked up like a steam kettle left on a flame. I’m sure it’s business as usual for the front desk. The guy working there hadn’t even looked up. I don’t mind public displays of affection, but there are limits. Unless you’re Brad Pitt or Russell Brand. In that case, knock yourselves out (and sell popcorn).

  Kirk gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Good night. I’ll see you Friday.” Then he winked at me and walked away.

  Damn fucking sexy. Another point scored.

  I’m so gonna fuck that man on Friday.

  Damn.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vampires. Honestly, they're like children sometimes.

  ~ Richelle Mead

  If you ever buy a new car, don't let them do a four square. Never negotiate anything based upon payments.

  ~ Jessica

  ON THURSDAY EVENING I had a coffee date with a new suitor. Suitor. What a stupid fucking word. I swear never to use it again. A man was coming to check me out and I was going to check him out.

  Honestly, I was thinking about a couple of other things: I had big dinner plans the next night (Friday) with Kirk, and thinking about where that was going got my juices flowing. My temperature rose a degree imaging him in bed. The day after that (Saturday), was my tournament at the Foxwoods Casino.

  Dead money Red Sox Losers!

  If you're from Boston, no offense. See me at the tables. I know you watched Rounders. Bring it. Prepare to be fleeced.

  My date was an insurance salesman. I guess that's not exactly accurate, he owned the firm and managed a team of salespeople, but it all boils down to sales. And the man was good; I'll hand him that.

  Really good.

  I'd never dated a Korean and he was considerably shorter than my ideal partner. But, as I said, the guy was an amazing salesman. He'd convinced me to give him a chance.

  "It's only coffee, right?" he said.

  Money back guarantee!

  He was interesting and charismatic. We'd talked online for a couple of months before I told him I'd be in Hartford. Min-Woo Hahn, who went by the nickname Mickey, had come to America as a five-year old with his parents over thirty-four years ago. Yes, he was almost forty. Forty is my cut-off, so technically he was under the wire. I honestly couldn't reject him online for being close to my cut-off.

  Secret: I'd probably go high as forty-two with the right guy, I mean, what is age anyway? But, that said, being sexy is important to me.

  What Min-Woo lacked in height and muscle, he made up for in humor, salesmanship, and an amazing story of working his way out of poverty and minority status into becoming a major business owner. He had fat stacks of his own. I knew he was thoughtful, considerate, and wanted to start a family.

  I figured it couldn't hurt to see the flop. That's a poker term, btw, it means to see the first three cards, even when you have a shitty looking hand. You might flop trips or a full house. Even a crappy two pair, like sevens and fours, dominates a guy with pocket Aces when the flop has no ace. It happens often enough.

  That's poker.

  And that's dating too if you're willing to be patient and work at it. At least, that's the plan.

  MICKEY WAS EASY TO SPOT. He had a new haircut. Sweet. Dressed in a conservative suit and tie (this was an insurance town, so it's kind of like a weird uniform I think) he walked towards me. I couldn't tell for sure, but I guessed he wore lifts, it's in the gait.

  He shook my hand. "Hi Jessica," he said. He stared at me a moment too long before looking at the ground. Apparently, the online bravado had a life of its own.

  "Shall we get a table in the bar?" I asked.

  "That sounds like a great idea." He started walking towards the bar, and I followed him.

  We engaged in decent and fascinating conversation for the first hour or so, and I think he took my interest the wrong way.

  "I'd like to take you up to our family retreat this weekend. Can you be ready early Saturday morning, or better, I can pick you up tomorrow evening?" he asked as if
my agreement was a foregone conclusion. ‘Assume the sale,’ standard salesmanship 101.

  "Ummmm. Look, I have plans tomorrow. And Saturday. I did tell you I was coming specifically for the tournament."

  "Sure. Yes. I understand. But, what is a tournament compared to finding romance?"

  "Well, you might have a point. But I'm playing Saturday. And, tomorrow, I have other plans."

  "Plans can change, yes?"

  "Sure, but in this case, they're pretty solid plans." I imagined Kirk's arms around me. I wondered if the glow on me and the pheromones I must have been putting in the air were sending Mickey with the wrong impression. I needed to shut him down politely.

  "How about lunch, tomorrow? You could then reconsider your options. There's a good Korean barbecue downtown; you did say you wanted to expand your horizons? Experience new things? Stretch your comfort zone?"

  I did say those things, in one way or another. "Look, Mickey -- "

  He cut me off.

  "How about this," he said. "I'll just put it in my Google Calendar." He got out his smart phone and started typing. "I'll put you in for a noon luncheon. I'll be here at eleven-thirty to pick you up. You can always cancel. You have to eat. I have to eat. If you need to cancel, no worries, I have to get lunch anyway. I drive right by here. It won't affect your plans tomorrow night, and it won't interrupt your poker game. Does that sound fair?"

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  The first person to speak loses.

  Fuck!

  He was good, I'll give him that.

  KOREAN BARBECUE is pretty damn good, I’ll have to admit.

  "You like the Kalbi beef?" he asked.

  "Yes. I love the flavors of Korean food."

  "I'm glad you came. I knew you'd like this place. It's a hole in the wall. Off the beaten track. You know the thing about small eateries like this?"

  "What's that?"

  "I'll give you an example. I was providing insurance for a guy that owned a fancy sit-down restaurant. It had good reviews, a full staff, cooks, waiters, hostesses, dishwashers, parking valets, the whole nine yards. Then he went through a particularly nasty divorce. The business ended up bankrupt. Restaurants are typically about the highest risk businesses out there. People are fickle and bad reviews can kill you.

  "So this guy, a few years later, he's rebuilding his life. He opens a smaller place like this. A few tables, but mostly a take-out business. In a great downtown location, lots of walk-ins, and take-out orders during lunch. He made more money with the little unspectacular place than he ever did with the big fancy place. Looks can be deceiving."

  "That's an interesting story. I think the same thing is true in poker a lot of the time. Situations involving big pocket pairs, aces, kings, queens, people get too involved, too invested, and Bam! -- next thing they know, it's to the rail. Funny, a long time ago, a jack and a ten were considered the best starting hand in Texas Hold'em."

  "So you see my point?"

  "Yeah. I get it."

  "So, about tonight?"

  "I have plans."

  "No chance of getting you to change your mind? I made reservations at a five-star restaurant. It's not easy to get a table last minute, but I know -- "

  "Look. Stop for a moment. I've told you I have plans. You're making me feel a bit weirded out here."

  "Sorry. Sorry. I just... I think you're a beautiful woman. Smart, intelligent. Fun. I could see us working out into something amazing. The American Dream. I'd train you in the business if you want, you're good with numbers. Or you could have children, a family. I have more than enough to take care of a family."

  "Look, Mickey. You're a decent guy. I like you. But that's not going to happen. I have plans the rest of the weekend, and then I fly back to Los Angeles."

  I picked at my food and hoped he'd get the hint and drop the topic. I looked outside. I excused myself to use the restroom. He seemed quiet when I got back. Deep in thought.

  "I'd better get back. I can grab a cab. Thank you for lunch,” I said.

  He stood. "No, please. I'll drop you off. Just let me get the tab."

  "No, honestly. I'll be fine." I didn't give him a chance to speak again by using a simple weapon. My breasts. I leaned into him, allowed my breasts to press into his shoulder. I spoke directly into his ear. "I'll be fine grabbing a cab. No argument. Thank you very much for lunch."

  I can be a good salesmen, too. Damn it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.

  ~ Stephen King

  Lack of affection, companionship, and sex, can drive a man to toss away his dignity, like bankrupt poker players who follow up big losses by borrowing money to re-buy.

  ~ Jessica

  KIRK TEXT MESSAGED me Friday evening and asked if he should come up.

  I texted back: No, I'll be in the lobby in 5.

  I wanted him in my bed, don't get me wrong, but first, dinner. Store up some strength. Foreplay, anticipation, it's all part of the game. I double checked my makeup. I don't wear much, but what I've got on, I like to be perfect. I'm a good looking woman, and I don't need a man to tell me this. Okay, truth be told, my dad was telling me I was beautiful since I was a kid and his words stuck with me.

  I think -- no, I know -- if you think you're beautiful, if you act beautiful, you're beautiful.

  When you're playing poker with a bunch of degenerate hyenas, and trust me, they will pick every last bit of flesh off your bones; you must be confident. It's the same idea. Power Poker. Power Beauty.

  Substitute your own brand of shit here: for instance, if you garden, fucking garden the shit out of those tomatoes.

  And learn to give fantastic blow jobs. Trust me on this. It goes a long way.

  I took the elevator down to the lobby. Two old guys flirted with me. I flirted back. Make a stranger happy every day.

  Kirk was wearing slacks, a sweater, and a sports coat. Dark blues and grays. His eyes sparkled. I almost told him to get in the elevator.

  He smiled and approached me. "You look positively stunning," he said as he kissed my cheek.

  I touched his face as he kissed me, no stubble tonight, smooth as a newborn's butt. I wanted the kissing to continue, but I reminded myself that if I didn't eat, my blood sugar would do weird shit. I'd be bitchy, which isn't an attractive feature on a dinner date. "Let's eat," I said. Romantic, I know.

  "Car's right out front, I had them hold it. I'm taking you downtown, but I was wondering: Chophouse for a steak? Or there's a barbecue smokehouse that's killer, but messy. What's your first thought?"

  "Yeah, I'm all foodie. Let's go for the barbecue. Messy will be a preview of later."

  "Damn."

  Yeah, I'm shameless. Look, men have it tough, because, yeah, we girls are hard to figure out. So, if I know I'm going to fuck a guy later that night, I just tell him. Not tell him, tell him, but you know, beat around the bush. If you get my drift. It takes the pressure off the guy, and there's a bonus for you: you get a better look at the real man when's he not performing to get laid. Which, frankly, can be deceiving. I've had a few enjoyable dates--total gentlemen, fun, thoughtful, kind--then we fuck and it's 'Doctor Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.’

  Kirk put his arm out, I took it, and we walked away from the elevators.

  "Jessica," someone shouted. "Miss Jessica." I recognized the voice.

  MICKEY HAHN APPROACHED. He had a huge bouquet of flowers. Roses.

  What the hell?

  "Miss Jessica," he said. He was out of breath. "I wanted to catch you before you left for your business tonight."

  "Ummm." I was kind of speechless.

  "Please, excuse me," he said. He was looking at Kirk. Actually, he was looking down on Kirk--figuratively--because he was a good foot shorter than him. He managed to wedge himself between us, and after turning his back to Kirk, he smiled at me.


  "Flowers. For the most beautiful woman in Connecticut. I know you have business to attend to, but I was hoping we could grab a drink, or chat before you left the hotel. You impressed upon me yesterday. I know you have that poker thing going on, but isn't there a chance for a bigger thing?" He held out the flowers.

  I hate scenes. I hate other people's drama. I was embarrassed for Kirk, who was, at least at this point, being a good sport. "Micky, I have a date. Micky, this is Kirk Lucas. Kirk, Micky Hahn."

  They shook hands. God, we aren't cavemen anymore, but sometimes I feel like men just want to see blood. The conflict gets them in the mood and makes them feel like conquering heroes--but there wasn't going to be any blood tonight. I needed to figure out a plan of action.

  "Mickey. I appreciate your compliments, but I cannot accept the flowers. I have to insist that you respect my privacy. Showing up unannounced is huge boundary breaker for me. I hope you understand. Good night."

  I put my hand back into Kirk's arm, and he pulled me close. We walked off. I did feel bad. I used poor judgment going to lunch yesterday, and now it was bleeding into today. Shit.

  KIRK WAS SILENT as we pulled out of the hotel entranceway.

  I wanted to give him a few moments to process, so I kept quiet. He had a BMW sedan, with nice leather seats. I don't recall the model--sorry, I'm not much of a car girl--although I do drive a Lexus. I'm not saying I don't appreciate performance and luxury; I just don't go gaga over cars.

  Kirk turned on the sound system, and soft pop filled the car.

  After five minutes he turned the music way down.

  "What was that all about? I mean, if you don't mind me asking?"

  "Sorry. Sorry. Bad judgment on my part."

  "That guy seriously thought he could just show up?"

  "I don't know. I don't get it. Online, he's a nice guy. Very polite. I would never have suspected. I'm sorry you had to be involved."