Page 30 of All Bets Are Off

“I’m actually seriously intelligent, you know? But junior year was . . . Hard.” I release a small breath and quickly gather myself before I continue, because even now, tears still prickle the corners of my eyes whenever I think of her. “My grandma passed away last summer. We were really close, and I got into nursing school to be just like her. When classes started again, I told myself I could handle it, but all of a sudden I couldn’t concentrate at all. I felt numb all the time and it took a lot of my energy to even show up for my classes every day, let alone absorb any of the material. I kept trying to dig myself out of that hole, but I fell behind and there wasn’t enough time to catch up before finals. I just needed a little bit of help to see out the year without failing, and my plan was to reset over this summer and then give it my all until graduation. Grandma was always so proud of me following in her footsteps and I couldn’t bear the idea of letting her down. So I heard about this guy, Michael, who could get his hands on the exam answers, and I thought I’d be able to pay him no problem.”

Jameson’s features soften, and instead of watching me with an amused spark in his eyes, he now looks at me with gentler, kinder eyes. “And why haven’t you paid him?”

I sit forward and interlock my hands together on my lap, staring at the remaining peanut butter cup on the table. “Because I’m a college student who hasn’t learned much financial literacy yet, and now I owe this scary dude a couple grand, and he keeps threatening me. That’s why I tried to steal your watch. I’m scared I’m going to lose my damn kneecaps, okay?”

Jameson snorts and says smugly, “You’d have lost your damn mind at the pawn shop when they valued my watch. It’s worth a lot more than two grand, Evelyn.”

“See! You’re super rich!” I groan, throwing myself back onto the couch again, this time on my side, facing him. I bat my eyelashes cutely at him and sweeten my voice. “Don’t you want to save a poor college student from a life of crime? Think of it like sponsorship.”

“No, I’m not the charitable type,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, then flashes me a wicked grin. He mirrors me, shifting onto his side and gazing at me from the other end of the couch. “Can’t you just ask your parents for a bigger allowance?”

“No,” I say abruptly, like it’s the most abhorrent suggestion possible. “Addy’s never had to ask our parents for more. Theo’s never had to ask for more. I don’t want to be the one who can’t make it on my own. I’m going to pay Michael back and I’m going to graduate and I’m going to be that nurse who’s so amazing with her patients that people remember her for years and years,” I state with determination.

“That really the truth?” Jameson asks, a softer edge to his voice now that makes it even huskier. “You’re really not some con artist?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Do I look like a con artist?”

“You look exactly like a con artist. Beautiful, sharp-tongued, good kisser . . .” Jameson’s gaze dips to my lips. Is he also replaying our kiss in his head right now? “You’d make any man fall for your tricks.”

“Oh, well . . . Thanks,” I say, glancing away. Lying here on the couch like this in the dark with such strong eye contact feels too intense all of a sudden, and I immediately sit upright. “There, I told you the truth. Can I please get my bracelet back now? It matches the bracelet my grandma got a few months before she passed. We all got matching ones—Addy and Theo and me . . . It’s not actually worth much financially, but it’s worth a lot to me.” I smile hopefully.

It’s too easy, the way he stands from the couch and moves across the suite toward the security deposit box, and my heart pounds in my chest as I watch with bated breath. I don’t believe for a second he’s really retrieving my bracelet until his tall frame is towering over me and slipping the dainty chain into the palm of my hand.

“Memories are important,” he says quietly as he closes my fist around the bracelet.

My lips part in surprise. Jameson turns away from me, heading toward the mini fridge now. I can’t help but stare in fascination at the contracting muscles in his back as he bends down and reaches into the fridge for bottled water. I gulp, then uncurl my closed fist and glance down at my bracelet in my hand. The chain is snapped, of course, but it can be fixed. The main thing is that I have it back in my possession, safe and sound, and my chest relaxes with the relief of it all.

“Thank you, Jameson,” I say with complete sincerity.

Something has changed in his demeanor, but I can’t put my finger on what. He’s very quiet all of a sudden and can’t quite look at me at me anymore. He tries to give me a smile as he approaches, but it doesn’t fully stretch over his mouth. He hands me one of the bottles, then sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, fiddling with the cap of his.

“If we’re being truthful, can I be honest with you, too?” he asks apprehensively, lifting his gaze to mine. It is the first time all night I have seen even a hint of vulnerability from him, so it catches me completely off-guard and I have no idea what he could possibly be about to tell me.

I side-eye him. “Honest with me about what?”

“Earlier,” he says, “when I told you I was here for a work conference? That was a lie.”

“Are you the con artist?” I gasp playfully, holding my bracelet protectively to my chest.

Jameson’s expression doesn’t change, not one bit, and I realize too late that he is trying to actually tell me something serious.

“Sorry,” I apologize, tilting my chin up toward him. “Why are you really here in Vegas?”

“To get my mind off things,” he murmurs, and he allows a beat of silence to follow his words as he takes a swig of water and releases a heavy breath, “because this morning, I was back home in Texas, attending my grandfather’s funeral.”

My brows lift in surprise. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. He stares down at the floor now, lower lip between his teeth. If he was anyone else, I’d reach out to touch his hand, to comfort him in some way. Maybe even hug him. But I don’t know him, so the most I can do is offer my sympathies.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, and it sounds as awkward as it feels on my lips. “Were you close with him?”

“When I was a kid, yeah. Once I fucked off to Atlanta, not as much.” Jameson shrugs, but there are cracks forming in his voice. He fidgets with the bottle of water in his hand, his head still bowed. “After the service wrapped up this morning, I found an old gambling chip in my wallet from my last trip out here with him, so on a whim I flew here instead of back home. Gramps was a Vegas veteran. Typical old-school guy, loved a slot machine and a cigar, you know? We’d come out here to Vegas together every year to catch up, so I guess I just wanted to feel close to him. When I met you in the casino, I didn’t want to admit I was just some loner drowning my sorrows.”

I squeeze my fingers a little tighter around my bracelet in my palm. Even now, a year later, the way my heart splintered into pieces the day I lost my grandma is a feeling I’ll never forget. I wouldn’t wish such pain upon my worst enemy. Despite Jameson’s steady composure, I can sense his anguish in the small tremor of his hands, the shake of his voice, the glazed-over look in his green eyes. Maybe that’s why he handed back my bracelet so easily—because memories are important.

“Well, now I feel like the worst person in the world,” I say, pressing a hand over my face and probably smearing mascara everywhere. “I was trying to rob someone who’s grieving. Sorry, again, for like the tenth time.”

I feel Jameson’s hand on mine as he pulls it away from my face, and his gaze has lifted from the floor to focus on me now instead. “Actually, I kind of needed the distraction, so thanks,” he says with a small smile.

“You’re . . . welcome?”