Blocked (39 page)

I followed Lucia into the kitchen and watched her shoulders tense the second she saw the cake. My hand came up to cradle her neck and gently swivel her to face me. “How ’bout some euchre to take your mind off that awful match?”
And distract you from the cake.

“But I don’t know how to play.”

My eyes widened as I let go of her. “Blasphemy! You can’t go to school in the Midwest without knowing the best game ever.” I extended my palm and adopted a stern frown. “Hand in your Cougar card, right now.”

The crease between her brows eased a bit, but she still remained tense.

“C’mon. I’ll be your partner, and I never lose.”

“You sure were losing earlier tonight,” Brad said as he entered the kitchen. “Pete and I
schooled
you, son.”

I scowled at him. “Josh and I would’ve made a comeback.”

“You stopped your game early?” Lucia asked. “Why?”

“
Señor
Pussy-Whipped wanted to see your match,” supplied Brad, drawing a smile from Lucia. “Wha-
cha!”
He dipped his wrist like he was cracking a whip.

I shook my head. “You can
leave
now, Jarhead.”

“What, and miss this cake? I’ve been drooling over it all night.” He swiped his finger through the thick vanilla frosting and stuck it in his mouth.

“Hey!”

Ignoring my protest, he closed his eyes. “Mmm.” He grabbed a few plates from the cabinet and opened the drawer for a knife. When he noticed me glaring at him, he paused. “Okay if I dig in, GD?”

I grunted, then turned to Lucia. “Let’s leave him to his cake orgasm and ask China and Allie to play.” But she still hesitated, seeming appalled by the huge piece Brad cut for himself. I needed more distraction. “Are you afraid you’ll suck at euchre?”

That did it—a spark of fire blazed in her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” She bustled out of the kitchen toward the agents in the TV room.

I grinned as I trailed her.

After my quick tutorial with Lucia and Allison—China had played before—we started the game. Lucia and I were up six-five when it was my turn to deal. I hid my grimace as I looked at the hand I’d dealt myself.
Total crap
. I couldn’t give Brad more gloating ammunition, so we had to win this game. To my left, China passed, and I waited to see if Lucia would pass or instruct me to pick up the top card of the blind.

She frowned at her cards for a long moment from across the table. “Pass?”

“You don’t want to order me up?”

“Table talk’s beneath you, Dane,” China said.

She thought I’d hinted that I
wanted
the card in my crapola hand?
No way
. “I’m just making sure Lucia knows what she’s doing.”

Lucia nodded, and this time her voice was stronger. “I do want to pass.”

Allison passed too, meaning it was my decision if I wanted to call trump. I slapped the card face down on the blind. No way I wanted the responsibility of taking three tricks out of five with shit cards like these. Now China had the option of naming trump, but she passed again. I looked at Lucia, who smiled deviously. “I want to go alone. Trump is hearts.”

My mouth dropped open. “Are you
sure?”

China hissed.

“I’m not trying to table talk.” I held my hands out to try to calm China Hellbeast Halloway. “But Luz, you know that means I don’t play this hand, right? You’re on your own.”

“That is implied with the term ‘alone,’ yes.” Her eyes glimmered.

Whoa
. Her sudden confidence stoked a fire in my belly. I set my cards face down on the table and crossed my arms over my chest, grinning like an
idiota
.

China led with an ace of clubs, which Lucia promptly trumped with a ten of hearts. That put her in the lead, and she won the next three tricks. My heart pulsed with excitement as she held her last card in her hand, her eyes darting back and forth from China to Allison. If Lucia won the last trick, we earned four points and won the game. If she lost, we only earned one point.

Lucia closed her eyes, and I heard a muttered prayer in Spanish. Then she set down her king of spades. Allison frowned as she played her king of diamonds—Lucia’s card beat hers. China’s eyes narrowed before she shouted, “Shit!” Her queen of spades wasn’t good enough to beat Lucia’s king.

Lucia gasped as she looked up at me, her mouth open wide with joy.

“Hell, yeah!” I bolted out of my chair and initiated a victory dance. “We got a loner! We win ten-five, baby!” I sloped and shimmied my right shoulder, then my left, and snapped my fingers, mixing in some hip-hop moves Josh had taught me.

Lucia’s giggle drew my attention back to the table. I ignored China’s murderous scowl and grabbed Lucia’s hand, yanking her up to dance with me.

“You got a loner your first time playing?” I marveled. “You’re even better than Josh!” I jabbed my finger at the agents. “Eat that, Secret Service!”

Lucia’s cheeks flushed as she laughed at my moves. “You’re the worst winner, ever.”

“Isn’t it awesome?”

Her smile was so bright, so pretty. “I
guess
.”

I drew her to me, my hand splayed across her back, and dipped her to one side then the other. As I gazed into her eyes, I wondered if she could feel my thumping heartbeat vibrate through her body, too.

She leaned in closer.
“Feliz Cumpleaños
.”

“
Gracias
.” I cocked my head toward the cake on the counter behind us. “Let’s celebrate with a piece of cake?”

She bit her lower lip, then nodded.

“Cake for the losers, too,” I said as I winked at Allison.

China pushed Allison toward their bedroom. “C’mon. I can’t stand to be around that jerk right now.”

I laughed as they walked out. I picked up the knife. “We’ll just have a small piece, okay?”

“Okay.” Lucia’s voice trembled.

I cut a bite-sized piece and held it between us. It took her a second to realize I meant to feed it to her. “Oh!” She blinked.

“Sweets for the sweet.” I smiled at her. When she nodded, I gently tucked the cake into her mouth. A stray blob of icing got trapped in the corner of her lips, which left me no choice but to lean in and lick her mouth. Her skin was honeyed satin.

I pulled back, and she beamed at me as she chewed. When she gestured for the knife, I handed it to her. She soon held a small piece for me in her hand, and I nudged in closer for her to feed it to me. As my tongue absorbed the sugar, she brushed her finger across my lip. Then she licked the icing from her finger, her lips molding and sucking it clean, her gaze fixated on me.

Christ
.

I captured her face in my hands and kissed the hell out of her.
Best birthday ever
. We grinned at each other between kisses. “You taste delicious, Luz.”

Chapter 23

“’
BOUT
T
IME
Y
OU
G
OT
H
ERE
.” The next afternoon Dane reached for my hand and guided me up the steps into the private jet for our flight to the presidential debate in Florida. I was still reeling from yesterday’s roller coaster: the awful loss to Bridgetown, followed by a fantastic evening with Dane, and I barely had space in my brain for what lay ahead of us. Thankfully I remembered to stoop to enter the small space.

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, but you know how Coach is.” Still warm from practice and my hurried shower, I peeled off my jacket.

Dane laughed as he read my T-shirt:

Your Mom Called…You Left Your Game at Home

He sat and patted the seat next to him. We’d stopped hiding our feelings for each other from the agents, but it would be a different situation tonight with our families at the debate.

Allison and China sat in the row behind us, and I glanced at Frank ahead of me as I slid across the aisle from Dane. Although he leaned in by the cockpit, conferring with the pilot, he still had time to offer us a stern frown. His obvious disapproval of my relationship with Dane vexed me.

“Did Coach ask you about the match on election night?” Dane asked.

I winced. We were supposed to have beaten Bridgetown, thus earning a bye in the first round of the conference tournament. But our loss meant we had to play on November eighth—the same night my family expected me to be in Texas, waiting to find out if my dad would become leader of the free world. “Not yet. He was too mad about last night’s match to worry about future games.”

Dane reached across the aisle for my hand, and his touch felt warm and solid. “Have you decided what you’ll do?”

“No.” Either my team or my family would hate me that night. Considering my team was beginning to feel like a family, there was no doubt I’d have to let down people close to my heart. I swallowed the ball of stress climbing up my throat as his thumb stroked my palm. “In happier news, Nina’s setting me again.”

He let go of my hand as his mouth quirked. “Glad she got her head out of her ass.”

“I guess Coach reamed her for last night.”

“Hmm.” Dane bent forward to rummage in his backpack.

I studied him. I was touched that he’d come to my match on his birthday, but he hadn’t said much about our horrible loss. He was probably too busy gloating about our euchre win.

Brad lumbered into the plane and pulled the door shut behind him. He clapped his hands as he adopted a deep arena announcer’s voice. “Let’s get ready to rumbbbuuuuuuuuuulllllle!”

“It’s a debate, not a monster truck rally,” Dane said.

Brad’s seat jostled as he collapsed into it. “The election
rides
on tonight, ladies and gentlemen.”

I chewed on my lip as I glanced at Dane.

“I hope it’s not boring,” he continued. “At least the moderator’s a hottie.”

Dane scooted forward in his seat. “But I thought Molly Martins was a hopelessly biased liberal. You’re attracted to her, Marine?”

“Hey.” Brad shrugged as he looked at us over his shoulder. “Gettin’ it on across the aisle seems to work for
you
two.”

Dane grinned as he settled back in his seat—he seemed to like that answer. I started squirming, however. The odds of my family—my
father
—finding out about Dane and me appeared to increase by the second.

“Seatbelts on,” Frank growled before sitting across from Brad.

As the plane taxied to the runway, I watched Dane slide his iPad out of his backpack.

“Playing a game?”

He grumbled, “Reading for class.”

“Oh.” My frown matched his. “I should read, too.” I sighed as I opened my ebook for English class. I was behind in reading
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
, mostly because Dane was horribly distracting when we’d tried to study together the past week. He brought the same intensity to studying that he exhibited in volleyball and politics, and I hadn’t been able to stop staring at his furrowed brow as he read and typed. I’d been mesmerized watching his huge brain sucking in information like a sleek, stealthy vacuum.

I read a few paragraphs once we were airborne and felt heaviness in my chest at Henrietta’s sad story. She was a Black woman with cancer, and scientists had basically stolen her cells for research and medical advancements. The hospitals and research centers should have compensated her family after her death, but instead her family struggled with poverty.

As I thought about it, helping the poor was bound to be a topic at the debate tonight. My dad believed the best way to lift up the poor was to increase opportunity for all by improving the economy.
That sounds right to me, but how will it play to the debate audience?