Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(42)

CHAPTER ELEVEN


IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO HEAR what Jason and the other men are saying while they film, but I enjoy watching him and the other five players. Even without vocals, they’re an interesting mix. One in a suit. One in sweats. Four in jeans. My gaze lingers on Cowboy and I really don’t know why. But I also get the impression he rubs Jason the wrong way, though I’m not quite sure why on that point either, especially since he laughs and interacts with everyone in the group.

“Hi.”

At the greeting, I turn to find a pretty blond woman, around her early thirties, wearing a low-cut emerald-green tank, standing next to me. “Hi.”

“Did I see you with Jason?”

“Yes,” I confirm cautiously, dread filling me with the fear that claws are about to come out. “I’m his guest.”

She holds out her hand. “I’m Mandy. I’m Ricky D’s sister.”

I shake her hand. “I’m Skye, and I’m sorry. I don’t know Ricky D.”

She points at a tall man in jeans with tattooed arms standing next to Jason. “He’s one of the players.” She laughs. “You don’t know poker, so you definitely aren’t a groupie.”

“Oh, I am,” I say. “Even of the chocolate variety, I will find it, admire it, and on a rough day, I might even lick it.”

She laughs. “The question is, then, is Red Bull your chocolate?”

“Chocolate is sacred and secret, as is Red Bull.”

She laughs harder while an announcement is made regarding the tournament. “Time for the play,” she says, once it’s over. “Where are you sitting?” I show her my badge. “Oh, good,” she replies. “You’re in the family section. I’m right by you. We can chat.”

I’m not certain how I feel about that, but I don’t seem to have a choice. In a matter of minutes the tables are filled with players, though play has not begun, the waitresses are working the floor, and Mandy and I are seated in the front row, side by side. I’m also pleased to find that Jason is at a table so close that I’m almost certain will allow me to watch his hands unfold. And much to my pleasure, he knows the minute I’m in his line of sight, his gaze meeting mine, and then flicking to Mandy.

A waitress stops beside him, and he winks at me before turning his attention to her, and I laugh when I realize he’s ordered a Red Bull. As if on cue, Mandy grabs my arm. “Do you know how the cycles work?”

“Not really,” I say, and she proceeds to explain the tournament format while I’m randomly accosted by people who have somehow connected me to Jason, and want to nose around about who I am. After all kinds of dodged questions about myself, I’m also rewarded with stories about Jason and his “legendary play,” as more than one person has called it. Soon, though, the inevitable happens and Mandy decides to push for gossip herself.

“So . . .” she says. “Everyone is dying to know about you, and they will ask me questions at the break. What do you want me to say about you and Jason?”

She’s good. Playing it like she’s going to get cornered and she’s on my side. “Just call me a groupie.”

She sighs. “Okay, fine. You don’t want to talk, but no one will buy that. Not when he’s never had a female guest who wasn’t his mother in all the years he’s been playing.”

No woman? Ever? I’ve heard this before, but up until now the magnitude of that reality hasn’t quite hit me. I’m officially curious about the details of Jason’s love life, but I don’t even think about asking Mandy. I’ll just ask Jason. “Poker seems to rule his world,” I reply.

“And winning,” she says. “The man is a beast at the tables.”

There’s another announcement and the play begins, and thankfully Mandy is as absorbed as I am in the games, grabbing my arm at one point to motion to the table two down from Jason. “It’s down to my brother and that bastard Nick Crier.”

“Why is Nick a bastard?” I note that Nick is wearing sunglasses with a hoodie pulled over his head, as many players do to hide their reactions to the hands.

“Because he wins. And look at the way he covers himself to hide his reactions.”

“If he’s a bastard, what does that make Jason?”

“A bigger bastard,” she says, still squeezing my arm, her voice so intense that it takes me aback, but then she immediately looks at me and says, “Sorry. At the table and away from the table are two different worlds.” She seems to realize she’s holding me and lets go. “And sorry again. It’s just that you’re my enemy right now by default.” She motions to Jason. “He’s winning, of course. It’s down to him and Flex Rex.”

“Is that the guy in the suit playing Jason?”

“Yes, and he’s good.”

“Is his name Rex or . . . ?”

“Raymond. Flex is about how flexible he is under pressure, and Rex is about what a monster he is.”

“Oookay,” I say, and before I even get the word out, she’s clapping, pushing to her feet, and standing at the barrier.

There’s an announcement and Jason’s image is flashed on a big screen, along with Flex Rex’s, which sends a surge of adrenaline through me, and a rush of nerves with it. I stand and step between Mandy and another woman at the barrier. Right now, though, nothing seems to be happening, at least not for Jason, who is talking to a waitress.