Page 50 of Lock ’N’ Load

He could still use a few more hours of shut-eye to make him human again. Trista’s screams had shocked him out of some seriously needed REM sleep.

He’d jumped from the bed, grabbing his gun, prepared to throw himself between her and the threat. Hell, he remembered vividly how hard his heart was pumping as he’d yanked open his door to see Sheba standing on Trista’s bed, her sleek, brown-and-black body wriggling with glee. Understanding immediately why Trista had screamed, he’d nearly passed out with relief. And then she was in his arms.

Her body was warm and curvy, her skin soft as velvet, her full breasts pushing against his chest as she’d clung to him with her arms wrapped around his neck. Only now did he fully appreciate the stupidity of holding her like that far longer than he should have. His brain kept telling him to let her go, but he couldn’t because he liked holding her too fucking much.

Shutting off the engine, he remained in the truck, sitting with his forearm draped over the wheel, struggling with his new reality. Being around her was totally screwing with his brain.

Before he’d left the house, the urge to wrench his friend’s arm from Trista’s shoulders hit him with such force he’d been taken aback. The only recourse he’d had was to bolt out of there and simmer the fuck down.

His stomach growled, and when he glanced at his watch, he understood why. It was nearly seven p.m. The guys had better have some of those strip steaks on the grill.

Grabbing the bottle from the liquor store, two large department store bags chock-full of female stuff, cat food, and kitty litter, he barely managed to tuck the police report he’d picked up from Jake under his arm. It turned out Solonik really was sloppy. With all the evidence he’d left behind, there was no way in hell that fire could have been deemed anything but arson.

He kicked the door to his truck shut, and when he was still a good ten feet from the kitchen door, a burst of laughter came from inside. Female and male laughter, and lots of it.

A spurt of jealousy blew through him. Why doesn’t she laugh like that around me?

Because you haven’t given her a reason to, moron.

And just like that, he realized he wanted her to share that part of herself with him. The part that was happy he was there with her and wanted him to know it. Was she? Damned if he knew. Frowning, he managed to open the door and was met by a series of greetings.

“Mattie!” Jaime shouted.

“’Bout time you got your ass back here.” Nick tilted a beer bottle to his lips and took a long swig. “This pixie is about to wipe us off the table.”

Matt set everything he was carrying on the floor and stared. Trista and his friends were seated around the table, playing blackjack. Each had a beer in front of them, although from the looks of hers, she hadn’t really touched it. His friends each had a couple dollars left in front of them, but Trista’s pile of cash had to be nearly a hundred bucks.

“I’m out,” Dayne said, flicking his cards across the table at Nick, who’d dealt the last round.

“Shit.” Markus smacked his cards on the table in defeat, his obsidian eyes casting a dumbfounded look in Trista’s direction.

“How does she do that?” With his big, beefy hands, Eric shoved his cards away.

“Hot damn,” Trista exclaimed with glee, grinning as she leaned forward and, using her hands as shovels, gathered the cash in with the rest of her winnings. “Now I can buy myself something pretty.”

The men laughed again at Trista’s remark, another reminder that while he’d been gone running errands, they’d all been bonding and having a blast in his absence.

“You coulda warned us, Matt.” Kade got up for another bottle of beer. “She’s a ringer.”

“I think she’s counting cards,” Nick said.

Trista gasped. “I was not counting cards. At least, I don’t think so. Come to think of it, I don’t really know what card counting is. It’s illegal, isn’t it?” Wide-eyed, she looked to each man at the table, then to Matt.

“Then how’d you do it?” Matt asked, filling a glass with ice water.

“Well,” she said, arranging her cash into neat stacks. “After they taught me the basics, I approached the game analytically. It seemed logical to start keeping track of the cards being played in order to estimate the chances of hitting it big later. I’m good at memorizing things. I almost have a photographic memory.”

“And?” Matt prodded, then took a long gulp of water. Curiosity was eating at him. He really did want to hear how she’d managed to beat six of the best card sharks he’d ever played with.

“And,” she continued, scrunching her face as if she was only now realizing the tactics she’d employed to whip their butts. “I keep a running tally in my head of all the high and low cards. That way I can bet more with less risk, thereby minimizing my losses when I’ve been dealt an unfavorable hand.”

Matt nearly snorted the water he’d been drinking. “That’s exactly what card counting is.”

“Oh, no.” Her frown deepened, and her face fell. “I’m so sorry. I’ve heard of card counting, of course, but since I don’t gamble, I guess I never really knew what it entailed. You should take this back.” She looked to each of his friends and began handing them cash from her winnings pile. “I swear I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Not one man accepted the money she held out to them.

“Keep it.” Nick crossed his arms, his thick biceps and forearms rippling with muscle. “You earned it fair and square, and you need it right now more than any of us.”