Page 21 of Gang of Roses: Dice

Based on her history of coming into my casino, I was puzzled.

I leaned back in my chair, deep in thought.

Maybe she moved and just now coming back.

If I didn’t have high confidence in my stroke game, Global Jamerson would’ve had me locked in somebody’s dungeon, running drills with different women until I graduated.

I was honest when I told her she was only the second woman I’d ever made that proposition to. But I had to admit she was the only woman to take the night for what it was and never doubled back.

Replaying her moans back in my head canceled out any doubt.

Before her, though...I couldn’t lie and say I moved the same. Like I told her, the shit has only happened once.

Nobody else got their debt wiped clean. They damn sure didn’t make it to my penthouse either.

I’d put them in one of the executive suites, have a massage therapist sent up, leave a gift card, and be out. There weren’t no sleepovers—at least not with me in the bed. Check-out got extended, and I exited just as fast as I came. On top of that, an NDA was signed before I even walked through the door.

Crazy thing was, I was so quick to hand G-Baby a receipt showing a zero balance, but not once did I mention signing a consent agreement or ask if she’d pull up her MyChart.

Thank God I got checked afterward.

It was reckless.

Then again... she probably did the same.

The conference room door opened again, pulling my attention away from my phone.

“Nigga, what you in here doin’? Makin’ a wish?”

This fool.

It was my best friend, Oakley. Let him tell it, he hated that white ass cracker name, so when we were grasshoppers on the court, he changed his nickname to Oats, and it stuck.

“Oats, what the hell you spittin’?”

“I’m talmbout yo’ ass sittin’ there lookin’ like you tryna steal Ray J’s last wish.”

Oats laughed as he walked over to the fully stocked mini bar.

“Fool... pour me a drink.”

“Bruh, yo’ ass done let this corporate life fool you. I ain’t on yo’ damn payroll. Get yo’ happy suit-and-tie ass up and fix it yo’self.”

There wasn’t even a point in responding. Oats talked shit to everybody.

But he was gon’ fix that drink anyway.

“And look...” he said, grabbing a bottle. “You already know I’m still gon’ do it.”

“Pointless banter if you ask me.”

I shrugged, picked up the blueprints in front of me, and admired the architectural renderings while looking over the numbers.

Oats walked over with both glasses, handed me mine, then took a seat at the large round conference table.

“Listen... you gon’ stop tryin’ to handle me.” He fussed.

I just stared at him.