Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(19)

I decided I’d take my steak knife and saw off the stems later.

I walked back into the bedroom to see Ty on the bed, eyes aimed at the TV which was on but muted, no sound at all, baseball game. He had not taken off his shirt and a wide (but not wide enough) expanse of his chest, abs and tats were on display. His feet were bare. His long, muscled legs stretched out. Ankles crossed. His back was to the headboard, one arm lifted, hand behind his head.

That big beautiful body reclined in bed, the big man energy that normally flowed from him turned low but not turned off, his gorgeous eyes on the game, his fantastic features no less fantastic at rest, I wondered, what the f**k?

Why go to a pimp for a woman when you looked like that? When you could take the elevator downstairs and find at least a couple dozen women on the floor playing slots who would jump at the chance to pretend to be your wife and you wouldn’t have to give up fifty grand or a secondary fortune in diamonds.

“Uh… Ty –” I started but as I spoke there came a knock on the door.

He angled off the bed and I moved across the room. A waiter came in with a tray on which was a silver bucket, a bottle of champagne draped in a crisp linen napkin, two glasses on the sides. He put it on the table by the window.

“Would you like me to open it?” he asked, tipping his head back to look at Walker.

Walker shook his head.

The waiter grinned a knowing grin, smiled at me and headed back to the door, Walker following him. Walker came back alone and went right to the champagne. He opened it with a practiced hand and poured a glass, handing it to me, another one for him.

“To connubial bliss,” I toasted as a joke, lifting my glass but his eyes cut to me.

Nope, no sense of humor.

He put the glass to his lips and threw back half the contents while I watched his corded throat working like I was watching a master at a canvas.

Then he dropped his chin and hand, grabbed the bottle, refilled and moved back to the bed, resuming his position but without the hand behind his head.

I took a sip of my champagne and walked to the side of the bed.

“Um… Ty,” I called and his eyes went from the game to me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yep,” he answered but I knew this meant I could ask but that didn’t mean he’d answer.

I took in a breath. Then I went for it.

“I don’t want to point out the obvious but… you’re hot.”

He stared at me but didn’t speak. I didn’t either.

Finally, he asked, “Is that a question?”

I shook my head and explained, “What I mean is, why Shift? You could –”

He cut me off. “Five years ago, yeah. Now, no.”

“What’s that mean?”

His eyes went back to the game.

End of subject.

I took a sip of champagne and my eyes drifted to the game. Then they drifted back to him and I tried again.

“Ty,” I called and he looked back at me but said nothing. So I continued, “I’m supposed to play your wife. That’s gonna be hard, I don’t know shit about you.”

He stared at me again then said, “Give and take.”

“What?”

“Give and take,” he repeated. “You give, I take. Then I give and you take.”

“You mean, I tell you about me, you tell me about you?”

He didn’t answer but held my eyes so I took that as a yes.

I could do this. I had nothing to hide.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“You pick what you wanna share. I pick what I wanna share.”

Totally doable.

I nodded to him to indicate that, took a sip of champagne then put a knee to the bed and moved in, sitting on a hip and leaning into a hand, knees bent, legs to my side.

“You know Ronnie Rodriguez?” I asked.

Again his eyes held mine for a moment before he answered, “Name’s familiar.”

I nodded again. He watched baseball. He was a man. It was a long time ago but these two things told me Ronnie’s name would be familiar.

“Basketball. Indiana University. Full scholarship.”

I stopped talking when he jerked up his chin and stated, “Scholarship yanked. Brother was juicin’, sellin’ juice to teammates and pimpin’ his basketball groupies to his fraternity brothers.”

Yep. That was Ronnie. Stupid. Or stupid when he wasn’t with me and he wasn’t. I was in Texas, he was in Indiana making f**ked up decisions. He needed steroids like he needed a hole in the head. Hoop dreams. Shit life. Projects. Desperate. Wanted a life where all that was a faded memory. Wanted his Mom and sisters seen to, his girl dripping gold. Wanted to make sure it happened and wanted insurance. Scholarship yanked and since he was dealing and pimping and ended up doing time for both, he was banned. He was destined for the NBA. Everyone said it. He wasn’t even going to get his degree. He was going to go for it the minute he was eligible. Then he f**ked it up.

“We started seeing each other when I was fifteen and stayed together until four years ago and it was over when he took seven bullets from a rival dealer who wanted Ronnie’s turf. His Mom and I chose closed casket seeing as two of those bullets he took to the face,” I shared.

Walker had no response to me sharing this shocking and tragic news of a talented man who lost it all in a hideous way. Then again, Walker had walked out of a penitentiary the day before. He’d probably heard it all.