Then he laughs, surprised by it. A real laugh. Rhys's almost-smile appears. Briefly but just enough.
I look at him across the table. At this enormous, scarred, mostly-silent man who just made Finn laugh with four words after winning two hands without breaking a sweat. The alpha that keeps bringing me things I don't need or ask for just because it makes him feel good to take care of me.
On the couch, Drake shifts. The sound is small but I notice it.
Alex plays his turn. Four more cards. "I win."
We all turn to stare at him.
"What?" He sets his remaining cards down. All matches. "I said I win."
"How?" Finn demands.
"By playing well."
"You—" Finn stops, takes a breath. "I hate this game."
"You're just a sore loser," I say.
"I am an excellent loser. I lose with grace and dignity."
"You called Rhys a cheater three times in the last ten minutes."
"Because he was cheating."
"He wasn't," Malcolm says.
"Prove it."
"How am I supposed to prove a negative?"
I laugh. Can't help it.
They all turn to look at me.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." Finn's expression softens. "You just don't laugh enough."
The comment catches me off guard.
"I laugh plenty. You're just usually the one making me stop."
He mock gasps. "That's slander. I am delightful and you know it."
I look at Finn. Really look at him.
Messy hair that falls across his forehead, the sharp jaw. Those glasses that make his eyes look bigger and more expressive. His crooked smile with one corner higher than the other.
He's smiling at me now and my stomach does something I wasn't expecting.
I look away first. Back at my cards.
From the corner of my eye, I see Rhys watching me. Not intrusively. Just present like he's always present. Like he's cataloguing something and keeping the results to himself.
I meet his gaze. His eyes hold mine before shifting to Finn, then returning to me with deliberate attention. There's a look on his face that might be approval. Or satisfaction. Or both.
I look back at my cards.
