Ah, strip dice.
He hadn’t played it in months. He slid his arm further under his cloak. And he wouldn’t be playing tonight. Though watching, aye, that could be a pleasure if they rounded up a few more players to—
He froze half-way to the table. He hadn’t seen her, her slight form blocked from view by Smee. The blonde braid was unmistakable, but the look on her face—pink cheeks, slightly glassy eyes—that was the look of his nightmares.
And, if he were honest, his very best dreams.
Tink looked just like she had the night they met, except she still wore his shirt.Bloody hell.He ran his hand down his face.
Hook slid into an empty chair and leaned over the table. “What are you fools doing?”
“Dice,” Smee replied at length, barely audible over the racket behind him. Tipsy faces blinked at him, even Tink.
Thank all the gods it wasn’t only his crew occupying the large room. Plenty of others crowded at tables and near the bar, making just as much racket. The game alone wouldn’t draw much attention. It was one of the reasons he liked the Gilded Pearl. People didn’t ask questions—it was the inn’s one unspoken rule. But if Tink rolled poorly and someone saw her wings, that rumor would never stay quiet. They’d be running for the forest before dawn. Not to mention they’d need to avoid port, maybe even the cove, until the rumors calmed.
“And you let ourguestplay?” He didn’t bother to keep the edge out of his voice.
“She wanted to,” Smee said with a shrug.
“I’m right here,” Tink snapped.
“And you should know better.”
Tink shrugged. “I’m winning. Are you joining us or not?”
Everyone looked at him.Terrible, bloody idea.“You know I’m not.” Even here, flashing his hook about was too much of a risk.
Davies dumped the two die onto the table, and their game resumed as if Hook didn’t exist. He rolled a five, letting him pick someone to lose a piece of clothing. If Davies picked Tink… His hook dug into the table.
“Smee.”
“Me again?” But his first mate’s grin showed he wasn’t annoyed. Far from it. Smee had half undone his belt before Davies named him.
Another roll and Sage gained a piece of clothing.
Tink took the dice and shook them in the wooden cup before spilling them onto the table.
A three. If she dropped that cloak…
“What was that about winning?” Sage cackled.
Tink stuck out her tongue and stood, swaying in the process. She thumped one booted foot on the chair, unlacing it to the whoops and hollers of the table and a few other patrons nearby.
Hook couldn’t pull his gaze away, couldn’t see anything but Tink fumbling with the laces before sliding one tall boot off her foot, then the other. She stumbled into Smee as the second one pulled free. Not for the first time that day, he loathed his first mate. It should have been him she relied on to steady herself. Her hands sprawled across Smee’s bare chest.
“Whoa there.” Sage gave a pointed look at the table. He’d gouged a deep groove with his hook.
He needed more ale for this. The ones from earlier weren’t doing their job. He was too tense. Too…everything.
“Sure ya don’t wanna roll?” someone said as the dice made their way to him.
He waved them off and aimed for the bar on the opposite side of the room. Women stared at him unabashedly as he waited for his drink, coy smiles shot his way, winks, unspoken promises. Gods, he’d loved it once, having his pick, luring them in like fish to bait. And he always hooked his prey. But every damn woman looked the same to him now. He saw only one face no matter who he looked at.
Titania said it wasn’t a curse. She couldn’t lie, but she had to be wrong.
Ale had never tasted so good as he tipped back the mug, gulping half of it in one swig.
A brunette slid up next to him. “Hey there, stranger.”
