Ray Sinclair.
Regina’s twin brother.
Damn it. I’m hard.
Bianca’s breast grazed my upper arm when she bent over to grab her ID. That tiny touch sent a pulse of electricity through me that I haven’t felt…maybe ever.
She went ahead of me down the mirrored staircase to the main part of the club before I could thank her for getting me in. I didn’t mind it too much, because she gave me a nice view of her ass on her way down. She took off her coat as she walked, revealing an elegant white evening gown that clings to her in all the right places. If only I could follow her into her dressing room and rip it off her.
I shake the thought out of my head. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to find out what’s going on with Maddox and Alissa.
But as I pass through the green door that leads to the Aces Underground floor, I look toward the pink stage in the Hearts section, where Bianca is setting up for her first performance. The least I can do is listen to a few of her songs as thanks for sticking her neck out for me.
Problem is, there’s no place to sit in Hearts. It’s for dancing, and I haven’t danced since my Rabbit Foot days. I don’t have a partner, anyway, since my woman of choice will be on the stage.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard Bianca perform—she’s almost always been here when I’ve been Maddox’s guest. She sings a lot of jazz standards. I sometimes see a touring musical at one of the big theaters in downtown Chicago, but those are usually modern shows like Wicked or Book of Mormon. Bianca sings a lot of standards from the forties and fifties, which are nice to listen to, but not pieces I usually recognize.
I haven’t really listened to her sing when I have been here, anyway. When Maddox has brought me to Aces in the past, we’ve almost always stayed in the Spades section where he and I could ply girls with liquor, see if any of them were interested in joining us for a romantic night. Every so often we’ve gone to Diamonds, played a game of blackjack or Texas Hold’em. The only time I’ve gone to Hearts has been at the insistence of a woman I was trying to bed. And even then, we didn’t really dance, just swayed to the lilting music.
The one section of Aces that I haven’t really checked out is the Clubs section. It’s the area where patrons smoke cigars, cigarettes, hookah, and occasionally weed. I’m not much of a smoker, so it’s never been my scene. But it’s outfitted with green leather chairs, which happen to be the closest seating to the Hearts section. I take a seat.
“Cigarette, sir?”
I crane my neck around to the scraggly voice. An old man—very old, at least ninety—sporting long white hair, a crooked nose, and a battered tux with tails is holding out a silver tray with an array of cigarettes of varying brands splayed across its surface.
I hold up a hand. “Sorry, sir. I’m not much of a smoker.”
The old man cocks his head. “I’m afraid you have to be smoking if you’d like to stay in the Clubs section, sir. Aces rules.”
I raise an eyebrow. “By whose authority?”
He grins. “Rouge’s, of course.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course.”
“The rules are the same in the other sections. You can’t be in Spades without a drink, nor can you stay in Diamonds if you’re not playing or watching a game.”
“But I’m a doctor. A cardiothoracic surgeon who oversees a lot of lung transplants. Those things”—I gesture to the cigarettes—“are behind half the issues my patients face.”
The old man bows his head. “Of course, sir. Perhaps a cigar then? You need not inhale.”
I open my mouth to tell him that cigars contain the exact same cancer-causing ingredients as cigarettes when I realize something.
I’m healthy. I eat well, hit the gym five times a week. Take lots of walks.
And it’s been ages since I treated myself to a cigar. Even longer since I had a cigarette.
I rarely treat myself. I know they’re addictive, that they cause all kinds of health problems.
I can’t remember my last cigarette, but I’ll always remember my first.
That terrible day at the Dimpsey house.
That, more than the health risks, is why I so rarely smoke.
But tonight is different.
And if what this old man is saying is true, I’ll have to smoke something if I want to sit here and listen to Bianca’s set.
