Page 92 of Stealing Blinds

Axel: That seems fair.

Ryker: Right? Usually, my wife’s lawyer brain would have appreciated the redirect, but in current conditions, she saw it as an accusation.

Jax: I can see that angle.

Ryker: I could not, but I rolled with it. I asked where you all were in this bizarre hypothetical.

Maddox: Way to pass the buck. So, she’s pissed at us?

Ryker: No, but I laughed when I asked.

Axel: The laughing was bad.

Ryker: So bad. She mistook my humor for me imagining other scenarios. Every goddamn person on the planet knows I’ve been obsessed with her since we were kids.

Axel: Did you remind her?

Ryker: She’s not listening, and I’m mildly freaking out about the stress on her.

“Aww,” Sylvie coos. “He seems really worried.”

I scratch my fingers up and down her spine beneath the T-shirt, understanding Ryker better than I ever have. “He is.”

She hums in thought, and I wonder if Mercy being pregnant bothers her or if finding out that Rena is expecting will. I know her miscarriage devastated her. I have no idea how to approach that.

“He needs to answer the original question,” she finally says, “so she feels like it was a rational concern in the first place. I don’t know Mercy that well, but from what I’ve seen, I’m guessing she’s probably upset, aware she’s overreacting, and defensive because she’s still irritated.”

That’s insightful, so I seize the opportunity to get a glimpse of how Sylvie would like things handled. “How should he answer it?”

She smirks and slants her head. “How would you answer it?”

This feels like a trap, but I go with my gut. “Nothing would keep me from getting to you. I’d plow through the women and the walls and any other force between us.”

Her breath catches, and she nods. “Tell him to say that.”

Maybe I’ll be better at this relationship stuff than I thought.

As I’m texting Ryker that response, Sylvie burrows into my chest.

“So, this is how you all solve your issues. You troubleshoot together, and half of you only take it mildly seriously?” There’s humor laced through it, but she pretty much summed us up.

“Yep. So, if I ever get it wrong, it’s probably their fault.”

CASH

My phone buzzes as I lay down a set of kings and discard the five of clubs. Sylvie needs the ace of diamonds, which I have, so her lashes flutter with her frustration.

We’re playing rummy in one of Axel’s arbitration meeting rooms, where the real La Lune Noire backroom deals take place. But it’s not arbitration day, and I wanted uninterrupted time alone with my girl. Axel didn’t get the memo, and he does not take kindly to being ignored. Unfortunately for him, I’m fully focused on Sylvie, even if the unknown cause of his incessant interruption is gnawing at me.

“You’re not gonna answer that?” She sips her soda, eyeing me over the rim and reading my anxiety.

This is the negative of dating another con. She misses very little and tries to hide as much as I do.

She’s also full of surprises. She picks up half the discard pile to get a ten of spades that she must’ve been fretting over for the last several rounds and proceeds to lay down several runs. Impressive.

The goal of rummy is to get rid of all your cards by forming melds—three or four of a kind or runs of the same suit. If you want something from the discard pile, you have to pick up all the cards in front of it. Timing is everything, and per usual, Sylvie’s instincts are flawless.

“Not while we’re playing.” I scoop some guacamole onto a chip and pop it into my mouth to illustrate my leisurely disposition.