The Mad British (5 page)

My jaw tightens and I throw in for the blind, tipping my head toward Tosser. "She's a firecracker, that's for sure."

"Too hard to please." He glares at me in a manner that tells me I have no bloody business being so interested in his date.

I tilt my head back, looking in the direction that Adelaide fled, and feel almost gutted when I see no sight of her. Will she leave? Or will she go back to moseying around the room, finding someone else to flirt with? I really want to be the only one she’s flirting with.

"Your turn," Wayne says, following my gaze.

I fold, finding it hard to concentrate when I can only think about wanting to strangle the git sitting next to me. "She was the one that took my money."

Wayne is silent for a couple of hands, jealousy written all over his dumb face. I let him win a couple of hands, thinking it’ll be fun to build the guy up before I knock him down. He nearly dances on the spot when he takes another pile of winnings from me.

"Did you let her? Did you think you’d get laid if you did?"

I clench my fist, resting it against the edge of the table. I glance round, this time for Travis. I’ll need my best friend to clean up this mess by the time the night is over.

"I wasn't aware she had a date," I lie, and examine my next hand. "But I also know she wouldn’t have gone back with me if I’d begged her to." I raise the bet and throw a superior look Wayne’s way, one that rivals the ones he’s been tossing toward me. “She’s too classy. . . if you know what I mean.”

"That doesn’t mean you weren't going to try." He matches my bet.

I shrug. What a prick. Just twenty minutes ago he’d been talking about finding another girl to take home for the night. I’m not going to make this easy for him.

"Maybe you should pay better attention." I lean over the table as the dealer flips our cards.

"What’s the bloody point when it's not getting me anywhere." He curses when the dealer reveals I’ve hit twenty-one.

"You just never know when the cards will turn." I reach out to draw my pile of chips in; thankful I’ve never broken the bad habit of counting cards.

He scowls, and much to my dismay—just as I start to enjoy picking at him—he remains quiet for the next six or seven hands.

"Well, well, well," comes a voice behind us. "The boys club still going at it?"

I don’t bother to look in Travis' direction. "What's wrong, mate? Not found anyone to hold your interest long enough?" I don’t raise Wayne’s bet. There’s no thrill in taking his money fast. I want it to be slow and painful.

"Jesus, the birds in here tonight are tough," Travis goes on, sliding into the seat next to me. "Ice queens."

"Tell me about it," Wayne agrees, his face lighting up when the dealer flips our cards and he wins a hand.

I shoot Travis a look, telling him to drop the subject. I know Wayne isn’t referring to any of Travis' women as ice queens. No, the prick’s talking about Adelaide, and that doesn’t sit right with me.

At all.

"My friend here doesn’t get it." Travis ignores my glare. "You know, I'm just trying to have a good time, buy a lady a drink, maybe take a walk back to my room. . . But hey, is there anything wrong with that?"

"Not at all. They think we should just bend over and give them the world," Wayne says, staring at his cards for a second.

I smack my hand against the table. I’m ready to take my money and get the hell away from Tosser before he pushes my buttons more than he already has.

"Travis O’Neil doesn’t bend over for nobody." He pulls up the collar of his shirt. "Except maybe for a really hot dominatrix.” I shake my head, covering my face in my hands. “Hey, all I'm giving a bird is a free ride and a free drink if she's nice."

Why the hell am I friends with Travis? Oh yeah. . . because he always sends me the best Cuban cigars.

"No chick comes with a free ride," Wayne continues, raising the bet again. He pauses when he realises he’s nearly out of chips. "
Shit
." He moves in his seat to slip some money from his back pocket and holds it across to Travis. "Think you can get me some chips, pal?"

My friend stares down at Wayne’s hand. "This a joke?" Travis looks like he wants to ask me: Who the hell is this little shit?

"You work here." Wayne shakes his money at Travis. "And you got them for my friend—"

"For
your
friend?" Travis looks at me. "
You’re
friends with this guy?"

I want to point out to my friend that
he’s
the one trading bedside manners with Tosser, but instead I just look down at my cards, enjoying the show.

Travis smacks Wayne’s hand away. "I don't work here,
pal
." Tosser backs away in his seat. "And I got
my
friend here chips because his knickers were in a twist. Some bird took all his money and he’s pissed because he wanted to get horizontal with her."

I groan, leaning against the table on my elbows, my head in my palms. I’ll admit, sex has crossed my mind plenty of times tonight, but sleeping with Adelaide, just for the sake of scoring, was never on the table for me.

If I was Wayne, and some guy had said that about my date, about Adelaide, I would have beaten the crap out of them by now. But he just sits there. Does nothing.

"Did that happen to you?" Travis asks Wayne, trying to make some grand point.

"No. . . it didn’t," Wayne replies in a small voice, his eyes shifting to me. I drop my hands from my face and clear my throat, tugging at the collar of my shirt. Sitting back, I take another long drink of bourbon.

This is turning out to be a very bad night.

"Why the long faces, folks?" Travis slaps me on the shoulder and says to me, "Between me and
your
pal here, we can find you a hot piece of cake."

Wayne grunts, his eyes turning to slits. "No, he only wants one girl." He shrugs. "Too bad you can't have her."

"Hey now," Travis says, motioning at the empty space in front of Wayne where his chips are. "Don't go getting too big for your britches because it's not like your broke arse is picking anyone up." Travis stops and glances at me, briefly aware of my irritation. "Then again, having money doesn’t get you anywhere."

"I have money," Wayne mutters, still staring me down. "And unlike your friend here, I'm sure I won't be going home alone tonight."

I feel the vein in my neck pulse, and run a hand over my pile of poker chips. Usually such a towering win would allow me to walk away feeling as if I have the upper hand, but tonight I’m definitely losing what matters.

"It seems like you've ended up the winner after all," I say, holding up my hands in gracious defeat. I reach for my glass, knocking it back, just as an idea bombards my mind.

It’s something I have to credit Travis with later, so maybe I won’t smack him. My experiences with Travis and his god-awful influence will be the only excuse I’ll have for the next sentence that comes out of my mouth. "Or maybe you can put your money where your mouth is, William." I lower my empty glass to the table. When Wayne gives no reply, I decide he needs further encouragement. "I'm willing to go double—triple." I shift in my seat to pull out a large wad of notes.

Wayne eyes me suspiciously, shifting between Travis and me. "For. . . ?"

"I think you know what for," I say, tossing more money down on the table.

I almost hate myself for how sleazy I sound, literally turning Adelaide into a wager. But it’s bait that a man like Wayne will bite.

Adelaide’s a classy intelligent woman. I don’t know why she’s still putting up with this prick. Maybe she’s had her heart broken and wants to forget about it. No way in hell am I letting this guy take advantage, if that’s the case.

"Bloody hell, if you're not gonna take the bet," Travis cuts in, staring down at the pile of money on the table. "I sure as hell will."

"Shut up." I hold my hand out at Travis, then turn my head to Wayne. "What’d you say? Feeling like a winner tonight?"

"His statistics will show that's a negative," Travis quips, shoving my hand away from him.

Wayne shifts in his seat, drooling over the money on the table. He is foaming from the mouth. I’m bloody sure he’s stalling only to appear a better man than I am.

"What if I lose?" Wayne asks, chewing his lip.

"He breaks your kneecaps because from the look on your face, you don't have the money to cover it," Travis says, folding his arms. "And he just loves breaking kneecaps."

"Travis, shut the hell up." My attention remains on Wayne. "Nothing happens. You get up and walk away. . . " Tosser isn’t buying it. "And," I press, "you send Adelaide in my direction."

"Adelaide?" Travis asks, glancing between us. "You're making a—what is that?" He pauses to count the chips and money in his head. "You're making a fifty thousand pounds wager on a piece of—" He stops again, looking at Wayne with a grin. "Wait. You're her date?" he asks Wayne, who nods in response. Travis laughs softly, then breaks into snickers.

"Travis,
I’ll
break your kneecaps," I warn.

"
What
? She’s the one who came with
this
guy." Travis shakes his head, still snickering.

“Is this for real or are you two fucking with me?” Wayne asks. “An excuse to break my kneecaps, perhaps.”

I hold my hands up. "By no means," I reply. "I’m just asking if you want to raise the stakes a little bit. You came here to win money. I came here for—" I pause, trying to remind myself not to grimace when I say it. "I came here to get high-class pussy. So I say we help each other out. . . Either choice you make, you walk away a winner.”

I make sure to keep my eyes on his. “Leave now and go back to your high maintenance date," I continue with a shrug. "Or play a game and win fifty thousand pounds and lose your date for. . ." I look at my friend. “What do you think, Travis? For a couple of hours?”

Travis is clearly confused by what I’m doing, which I know works to my benefit. Both men are thinking I only want to steal her away for a quick shag, and hey, maybe I do—not a quick one—but I know it won’t come to that. I simply want the satisfaction of knowing she’s walked out those doors on anyone's arms but Wayne’s.

"Or you can lose fifty thousand pounds and go back to your date." I gesture toward the table. "It's up to you."

Wayne remains suspicious of us both, but it doesn’t take long for his answer. "Deal." He licks his lips like the cat that got the cream. I keep my attention on the table, my hands gripping the edge of it.

We’re both silent when our cards come out. Wayne is dealt a jack of spades upright, and I’m dealt a queen of hearts. And something about the queen of hearts makes me feel like the cards are on my side. My other card is a three of diamonds, definitely not bad, but not good either. Wayne motions for a hit. I do the same. We both pass the second time. Leaning back in our chairs, we fold our arms, waiting impatiently on the dealer to flip our cards.

One man curses loudly and the other grins, maybe even laughs a little.

One is a tosser.

And the other is a lucky bastard.

“YOU DID WHAT?” I feel anger swell in my chest as I stand across from William in the coatroom.

"Look, I made a mistake—"

“A mistake?” I laugh incredulously. “A mistake, William, is putting your trousers the wrong way round. Not: Oops, I tripped over and accidently sold you.” I shove against his shoulder. "What kind of arsehole are you?"

"It's just a couple of hours, babe. . ." He half shrugs, acting like he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

"I don’t know why I’m so surprised, you’ve been a prick all evening.
"
I lift my fingers and rub my temples, massaging them to try and ease the throbbing in my skull
.
Pacing back and forth in the coatroom, my body trembles with fury.

I’m not sure what to do; part of me wants to laugh it off, while the other just wants to sit down and cry. This is the first date I’ve had in nearly two freaking years. And my date has wagered me in a game of blackjack.

And lost.

This is the worst Valentine’s Day ever.

"Baby. . . what am I supposed to do?" He stumbles over to me and places a hand on his chest.

He’s drunk.

"What are you supposed to do?" My fists are balled up so tightly they go white with rage. "You’re not supposed to bet your date in a hand of blackjack.” I try to steady my breathing. “You know what? Screw this, and screw you. Screw all of you. I’m done. I’m going home."

I shove past him, but he catches me by the hand and hurls me back against him. "You can't just walk away," he spits.

“I think I can," I shoot back. Jerking my arm, his grip squeezes harder. “Get off of me or I’ll scream.” I stomp my four-inch heel into his shoe and push him away. He doubles over and curses. "I think I’ll find James and let him know exactly what I think about the little proposition you gave him."

"Sweetheart, I didn’t give him the proposition."

I really don’t like where this conversation is heading. "What?"

"
He
made the proposition." When I stare blankly to the side, giving little reaction, he takes it a step further. "It was all his idea to wager you. Not mine."

I rub my wrist, sore from William’s grip. "As if that makes a difference," I hiss. "You bastard."

No matter how badly I’m treated, I never drop to their level. Walk away and be better than them. But there are times that, where I should let go, where I should switch off all emotions and feelings just to protect myself from getting hurt, that I can’t do it. I can’t walk away.

I had waited so long to go on a date with another man. And this is how I’m treated.

Enough is enough.

"How much was I worth?"

I bite inside my cheek, feeling my heart pound against my ribcage. I’m angry with William, but I abhor James. Because any man can be beaten when you know how to count cards and stay a few steps ahead of them. James Hatter knew he could beat my date.

I’ll kill him.

William is a prick, but James is King Prick. Ruler of them all.

Had this been any other circumstance, maybe I would have enjoyed the attention from a drop-dead gorgeous hunk going this far to get me alone. But I’m pretty sure James only has one thing on his mind when he gets me alone tonight—
if
he gets me alone. At this point, I can’t think of a single reason to hold up my date’s end of the bargain.

"How. Much. Money. Was this about?" My hands shake as I clutch the curves of my hips.

He scowls, bending over to wipe at this shoe as if I had tarnished it in someway by stepping on it. "Does it matter?"

"No I guess not," I respond. "Because you lost, right?"

"Baby," William murmurs, his eyes pleading with me to do this for him. “I’ll make it up to you.”

"This is completely insane." I jerk my hand toward him. "You’re not even my boyfriend. We’ve only just met, for God’s sakes. You honestly expect me—"

"I don't expect you to do anything, but you’re the one who was throwing yourself at him when you were on a date with me after I paid for every—"

"What the hell? I was just talking to him. That doesn’t mean I had any intentions of going to bed with him."

"Fine, don't do it. Who knows what he and his friend will do to me." He holds his hands up, shrugging the entire idea off. “I’ll probably end up in hospital, thanks to you.”

"You bastard," I seethe, not capable of believing how he is pushing this off on me. "Don't make bets and promises you can't keep. You have to pay in the end." I shove past him, the blood in my veins boiling, and rush from the room.

"Hey there, watch—" The voice stops mid-sentence as I ran smack into someone. "Actually you can run into me anytime."

I stiffen before I look up, not needing to see his face. "
You
." I tip my head back.

"Me," Lassie replies. You would think I’d given him a treat what with the way he’s smirking. "So you know who I am, huh?"

"Yes.” I smooth my hands over the front of my dress. “Unfortunately.”

I glower at him when his eyes dip, travelling over the length of my body. My next statement forces his gaze back to where they ought to be. “You’re James Hatter’s dog.”

"I’m his what?" He doesn’t react the way I expect him to, how a normal person should react to such an insult. Instead, he glows with amusement. And for some reason, it pushes me over the edge.

Am I one big joke to men?

"I’ve to go, but if you're here to collect from William, he's in the coatroom practicing his famous last words." I quickly step round him. “Punch him in the face, compliments from me.”

"I’m here to collect," Lassie calls after me. "But not him. Just you."

I halt mid-step, whirling round on my heels to face him. "So not only does James Hatter bargain women in poker games, but he sends his dog to collect them." I shake my head. "Listen closely, Lassie, you can run along and tell him I'm not playing his game."

He nods, almost obediently. “At least you’ve named me.” He stands tall like a proud dog. “Must mean you like me.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m not coming with you.”

"That's fine, but it'll be your little boy toy that pays the price."

Like I care.

But I do want to know one thing.

I open my eyes. "Why?" I wrap my arms across my chest like a blanket. "Why does it matter when there is a slew of women in there who will happily pull down their knickers for James?"

He shrugs as if it makes no sense to him either. "Hatter likes you, though I can't imagine why with that attitude."

"He talked to me for all of two seconds."

"You know within a half second if you want to sleep with a chick," he replies. "According to you, he’s had four times that, so he knows."

I raise a hand and dig my fingers against my forehead. This has to be a test of exuberance. Surely, someone is playing an incredibly hilarious prank on me. It isn’t Valentine’s Day. It’s April Fools’ Day. And soon, I'll see the punch line.

When I speak next, I form my words slowly. "Do you understand what is wrong with betting a woman in a game of poker?" I cradle my face in my hands.

"Did you happen to see your date?" Lassie quips, moving toward me.

My jaw slacks as I tip my head to the side and look up at him.

His green eyes soften immediately and he almost looks sorry. "You like him," he says, making a face. He shakes his head as if he doesn’t believe it. "Do you really like that Oompa Loompa back there?"

I laugh at his dig toward William’s stature and red face, shrugging half-heartedly. "Does it matter?"

"Sure it does," he replies. "Look, I can call in a couple of favours and get him taken care of. I know a man in Costa Rica—that’s where I live. I’m only here to visit my bestie for a weekend."

I try to fight back a smile, but can’t. "But I'm sure there's a catch, right?"

"Like going back to Hatter’s room," he offers, rocking back and forth on his feet.

Blood rushes to my head, and my ears pulse with the sudden flood of anger.

The stupid wager.

I don’t care how charming, attractive, or enticing James Hatter is—the simple fact that he had made a wager to get me back to his room is wrong in every possible way, especially considering he had made it with my date.

Sure, I had flirted with James, shook my booty a little, but that doesn’t mean he can strip me naked and take me however he wants it.

Rat bastard.

I shift my hardened eyes back to Lassie who is waiting for my response. A clicking noise breaks the loud rush in my ears.

Is Lassie tapping his foot at me?

I could scream.

I am
fed up
with men hurting me. And I’m fed up that money is always the catalyst of that immeasurable pain eating away inside.

Maybe I should visit I’m-so-gonna-knee-you-in-the-balls-rat-bastard James Hatter.

"Fine." I force a tight-lipped smile his way. "I'll go back to his room, Lassie."

He pulls a face. “What’s with all this dog shit?”

“Exactly what I was about to ask.” I hold up my hands before he can reply. "Just take me to him.” I’m either absolutely crazy or hell-bent on having someone understand why I’m so pissed off. ”I have a few choice words to say to your master."

It’s time to give James Hatter exactly what he wants.