His Toy: A Bad Boy Romance

2. Frost

FrostI was seeing red again. Just like in the bad old days, when I'd been in the ring. And, just like in those days, I was flat broke because of some poor choices.

Figured I could take my bankroll down to the tables and pick up the rest of the money I needed to pay off my loan shark, Tambor. Should've stuck to my game, blackjack, but I didn't want to waste the time heading up to Vegas, when there was a perfectly good one down here at the roadhouse.

Now, the money I was going to use to pay off Tambor was gone, sitting in front of Samuels. Damn, stupid luck.

I could feel all their eyes on me as I towered over them, the vein in my forehead probably sticking out an inch from my skull.

But, goddammit, how could I have lost on three of a kind? There was no way. I knew they'd rigged the game somehow, like they'd known what was coming at the river card.

But now I could see all their eyes on me. And their buddies' eyes, too. My nostrils flared and my eyes went wide as I glared at each one in turn.

“Frost,” Samuels said as he leaned forward, still raking in his winnings from the pile, “either buy in, or shut the f**k up. We didn't cheat you or nothing. It's just sometimes the cards ain't in your favor, that's all. Lady Luck ain't with you, buddy. She's going steady with me tonight.”

“Yeah, Frost,” Alex Gomez added in as he lit his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, adjusting his crossed leg beneath the table. “Either put up or get the f**k out. We still got cards to play here. Besides, you can call us cheats all you want. Everyone up here knows we play a clean game every night, and they'll back us up on that.”

They'd back them up. I knew exactly what that meant. I threw one punch over them cheating me, true or not, and I’d get fifty guys on my ass, all at the same time. Sure, I was good, but that good? s**t, no one was that good. Not even Mike Tyson could take them odds.

But still, I raised my fist and pulled it back. If I was going to go down and have nothing to show for it when Tambor came knocking for his money, I might as well have a concussion and some bloody fists to show him.

“I thought I told you not to play cards here anymore, handsome?” a woman's sweet, melodic voice asked from right next to me. Before I could react, I felt her hand on the small of my back, along with her warmth as she pressed into me and touched my raised arm. She smelled sweet and beautiful, her perfume pushing through the smell of stale beer and cigarettes that filled the air.

“The f**k?” I asked, looking down and seeing the most beautiful light blue, almond-shaped eyes, and the darkest red hair to ever fall around a face like a halo. Damn, she was gorgeous. Beautiful, even. The kind of woman guys wrote poetry about, the kind they launched ships of war over.

“And,” she added in a low and husky voice, “I thought we agreed you'd stop kicking so many guy's asses. You promised me you'd stop beating people up in these bars a while ago, didn't you?”

I was speechless. I just looked down into those beautiful eyes of hers and nodded. “Yep,” I agreed like I was in a dream. “Guess I did.”

I fell into those smirking eyes of hers that seemed to hide something immense and bottomless. “Now come on and buy me a drink before we go home.”

I broke our gaze and looked back to the guys. They were all looking back and forth at each other, wondering if they were still going to have to fight me. “This ain't over,” I growled to Samuels.

“Table's always open, Frost,” he said as he idly shuffled the cards, cutting them over and over without even paying attention to what he was doing. “You know that. Come back when you got your bank a bit fatter, and we'll try not to swindle you outta too much of it.”

The other men chuckled, but I noticed Gomez let go a sigh of relief as the sweet little thing beside me grabbed my arm and pulled me away, back to the bar.

“Lose it all?” she asked knowingly as she walked beside me to the counter. “Lady Luck's fickle.”

I just grimaced and shook my head. But when I looked her up and down in her beautiful white dress, at all the leg she was showing, and all the creamy white cleavage spilling out of her top, I couldn't help but agree. “Yep,” I said. “She sure is.”

I got the bartender's attention. “Another beer, Rick. Another whatever she's having, too.”

“Thought you were tapped?” she asked with a smirk.

I was, more or less. After my time at the table, I had less than fifty bucks to my name. I glanced down at her beside me. “I am,” I admitted. “Have enough for a couple drinks, at least. Rather spend it on two drinks right now than anything else in the world.”

Laughing, she pressed into my side, sending a little thrill through my body.

I'd never been a slouch when it came to the ladies. Never had a problem picking them up anywhere I went, even if it was to the grocery store or the gas station or a fancy bar. More than six feet of pure muscle, and a handsome enough face I'd managed to keep from getting completely obliterated in the ring, helped with that.

But still, I'd never seen a woman this beautiful, or this out of place. She was like a rose in a briar patch here, a bouquet of flowers someone placed in the landfill. She was big city eleven, on a scale of one to ten.

Rick came back with our drinks. I passed her her Cape Cod, and she slid her empty away. Beer in hand, I turned to her and leaned against the bar. I could feel the eyes on us, on her, furtive glances from about half the men. Probably wondering just what in the hell she was doing with some down-on-his-luck guy like me.

“What's your name?” I asked after I sucked down a mouthful of beer.

“Michelle.”

“Pretty,” I said. “Frost. Frost Taylor.”

She looked up at me through her eyelashes as she took a sip off her drink. Right then, that straw was one of the luckiest damn straws to have ever been in that dive. “Tough name for a tough guy,” she replied.

“Can't be that tough,” I growled. “One pretty girl was enough to put me out of the fight.”

She smirked. “Well, Frost. I was wondering. You seem like a nice enough guy, and I did do you a favor back there.” She trailed off, took another sip of her drink, then batted those long lashes of hers at me again.

I laughed. “Lemme guess. You need a lift outta here, don't you? Your boyfriend leave you or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “Long story, but not my boyfriend. I didn't exactly know where we were going, and my ride's already gone.”

“Yep, you do look a little overdressed.” I took another hit off my beer, draining off the last half of it. From the way those guys were looking, this woman might get me into another fight by the end of the night, but this time for completely different reasons. I knew if I even tried to take a piss, I was going to come back to a crowd of assholes trying to chat her up. She was just that kind of woman, wearing that kind of dress, while she was in this kind of shithole bar. “Sure,” I said. “I can give you a ride.”

Now, whether or not the car would make it, that was another story. But I didn't say it. I figured I could keep pushing my luck on this one as far as it would take me.

She smiled again around her straw as she sucked down another good piece of her drink. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“You know,” I said, just before taking another drink of beer, “I don't think I've ever have actually heard anyone say chivalry is dead, just people saying folks do.”

She laughed. “No, I guess I haven't, either.”

We put our half-empty drinks back on the bar and I tossed some cash to Rick. He gave me a nod as he gathered it up. Together, we headed out through the boisterous crowd, the lowlifes parting before us like the sea.

Michelle had been right. Lady Luck was fickle as all f*****g hell. But, just then, I felt like she was smiling down on me.