Heather shifted in her seat. “She’s going up to Blackhawk with Morty.”
Jase stared at her. His mouth dropped open. “For fuck’s sakes.”
“She’s a grown woman.” Heather smoothed her palms over the tablecloth.
“And she’s going gambling with the boyfriend who has already squeezed half a mil from her?” Jase confirmed.
Well, when he put it like that…
“You wanna go to Blackhawk and chaperone?” Heather asked. “We can go together.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
Yeah. That.
“What time are we leaving?” he asked.
12
Chapter Twelve
The thing about Blackhawk was it wasn’t too far outside of Denver. Only an hour from town. Yet, it seemed like a million miles away with all the casinos built up against the side of the mountain, catering to the cottontops. It was a far cry from their urban neighborhood in Cherry Creek.
Babushka and Morty had insisted on driving alone in Morty’s Cadillac. Jase had reluctantly agreed, following behind them with Heather in Babushka’s Buick. Heather’s large overnight bag wouldn’t exactly fit on his Ducati, and her new van was still weeks away from being ready.
Now they were in the casino, and Heather trailed an incredibly grouchy Jase as he weaved through the blackjack tables. The lights on the machines flashed and the buzz of the blackjack tournament lingered.
Still, the vein in Jase’s neck pulsed. And he was doing the deep-breathing thing she’d learned didn’t take him to his happy place.
He glanced around the casino floor once more, the little lines between his eyebrows more prominent than usual.
They’d misplaced Babushka and Morty by the slot machines when Heather had insisted on grabbing a burger from the little café by the craps tables. Misplacing his grandmother was her fault, but darn it all, she’d been starving.
“They just wanted some space, that’s all.” Heather ran her hand over his arm. Her phone dinged. She glanced to it.
At theater. Long movie. Enjoy your time with Jason.
Heather held the message up to Jase. “Your grandmother went to the movies.”
“Thank fuck.” He let out a long breath.
“Jase.” Heather gripped the sides of his shoulders. “You need to relax, or this weekend will cause you to pop an aneurism.” She had an idea. “C’mon. We’re hitting the penny slots. My treat.”
“You’re taking me gambling?” He didn’t look convinced that it was a good idea, but he didn’t fight her on it.
She headed toward the cashier to fill out a gambling card. “Uh-huh. But we’re doing the minimum bid. Let’s make my five dollars last the whole night.”
“It’s like five thirty,” he replied, following her.
She tugged a rugged-looking five-dollar-bill from her pocket. “Right, so let’s make this Abraham Lincoln last until at least seven.”
“Then what?” he asked, a sly smile starting to spread across his lips.
“Then I guess we’ll see where the evening takes us next.” She winked at him.
Dammit. She shouldn’t do that.
He followed her to the cashier window, made the transaction, and headed for the penny slots.
