Bet in the Dark Page 2

  He seemed to find this more amusing than anything and actually broke into an eye-twinkling grin. Yes, his eyes twinkled. I was so shocked by the expression I had to look away. He was more dangerously good looking than ever and a strange heat lit a fire in my belly. So I cleared my throat and pretended that never happened.

  “Sure, I’ve been dumped,” his smile turned wicked and I suddenly felt like he was laughing at an inside joke. “So I know what it’s like to do something reckless after the heartache.”

  I snorted. “There wasn’t that much heartache. Trust me. You were right when you called him a cheating…. uh, you know.”

  “Douche bag?” he questioned.

  “Yes, that,” I blushed a deep red. I wasn’t a missionary. But Ok, sometimes curse words made me uncomfortable. Which was kind of surprising since I grew up with three brothers that basically existed with “R” ratings attached to them: strong language, violent behavior and sexual content.

  He actually let out a soft chuckle at that. I was becoming unending entertainment for this guy and I was suddenly hit with a flash of irritation. He didn’t know me!

  Although… he kind of did know me. Or at least a lot of random facts about me and it was definitely weirding me out.

  “Anyway, when you proved you had the buy-in, I decided to give you a chance. I mean, who was I to judge your methods of coping, am I right?” he asked and actually waited for my agreement.

  “I guess so,” but an ugly foreboding feeling started to unfurl inside my chest and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

  “In fact, if you remember, I even advised you to hold back some since I didn’t want to see you lose everything at once.”

  “And you advised me how?” I clarified, trying to piece this together. Except I wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. Buy-in? Game? None of this was making sense.

  “Private message,” when I gave him a blank look, he continued, “online.”

  “Online,” I repeated.

  “Yes, online. But you didn’t listen to me. And then you got in way over your head, lost and now you owe me seven thousand dollars.” He finished arrogantly and I almost expected him to bow.

  “I lost in a game of….” I prompted slowly, so afraid of the answer my hands had started to tremble.

  “Five-Card-Stud.” When I continued to just stare at him, he finally added. “Poker. Online poker.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I winced. Suddenly the puzzle was pieced together and in front of me. I was going to be sick. I was going to be really sick. I reeled in a circle, desperately searching for a place to sit down, but all of my furniture was gone. Another wave of clarity rippled through me and my stomach actually lurched this time. I took off for the kitchen sink and gripped the stainless steel basin. I ignored the anal retentive voice inside me screaming about germs, not because I wasn’t worried about them, but because thinking about them was making it worse. I choked on a gag and then dropped my head forward so I could breathe in and out deeply through my nose.

  “You’re not going to….? Are you going to be sick?” the guy asked from behind me. He didn’t sound concerned, just really grossed out.

  I waved an aggravated hand behind me, hoping he would get the hint and just leave. He didn’t, or if he did he ignored it and instead walked over to the fridge and opened it. I heard him rummage through the practically empty appliance; my college sized budget didn’t cover much more than a value pack of Ramen Noodles. I heard the telltale sign of a pop can opening and then the fizzy bubbles of ginger ale were tickling my nose.

  He placed the can to my lips and then tilted it back before I could protest. I took a small drink and then stood up before he could force anymore down my throat. The carbonated beverage settled in my stomach and coated the nausea with something soothing.

  Ok, that felt alright.

  I took the can from his hand, my fingers accidentally brushing over his before I took possession and then sipped another soothing drink.

  “That wasn’t me,” I finally choked out, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “What?” he asked and I jumped by how close he was.

  I took a step back, opened my eyes to meet his and said slower, “That wasn’t me. I didn’t place the bet, or play the game or whatever. It was my roommate, she must have…. stolen my identity! I swear to you, not even an hour ago I found this note that said she had a gambling addiction and she was going to rehab. She owes me money too! “

  A long, very still moment of silence stretched between us before he said, “She stole your identity?”

  “Yes!” I squealed. Even I could tell how high pitched and annoying that was, but I couldn’t help it! “And my furniture,” I said with further emphasis.

  “I was actually wondering about that,” he said pensively.

  “So you see? It’s not me that owes you seven thousand dollars, it’s her.”

  “But she’s gone? To rehab? With all of your furniture?” His phrases sounded like questions, but they didn’t feel like them. It felt more like he was trying the words out, rolling them around on his tongue and deciding whether or not I was lying.

  “Yes!” I answered anyway, hoping he would believe me.

  “You can see why your version of what happened is hard to believe,” he sighed and if I didn’t know better, or if maybe I wouldn’t have slapped my hands over my eyes, I would have been able to assure myself there wasn’t a hint of amusement in his voice, or the sound of him smiling. Those things were all products of my delusional imagination…..

  “Yes, I could see why, but it’s the truth,” I promised, struggling to peek from behind my fingers.

  “Regardless of what happened, your name is still signed on my contract, you still owe me my money,” he stated finally.

  “Contract?” I croaked.

  “Online document, your initials were used. Unless you have a way to prove to me that it wasn’t you who signed the document, I have to assume it was. I mean, that’s a lot of money. It’s not exactly like I can just look the other way.”

  “But it wasn’t me! I’m sure I can prove it, I just need…. time,” I pleaded, my head spinning with every kind of crazy thought to get out of this.

  His hand went up to cup his chin in thoughtful silence for a while. His eyes roved over me again, taking in every piece of me as if to weigh it on his internal truth scales and decide whether to trust me or not. Finally, after several minutes of quiet, he said, “I’m a nice guy-”

  “You’re not a nice guy. You’re a scary guy,” I confessed honestly and probably a little frantically before I could think better of it.

  A rush of laughter fell out of his mouth before he could compose himself, “You don’t even know me!”

  “You’re right! I don’t even know your name,” I pointed out, suddenly realizing that should have probably been the first thing I found out.

  “Ah,” he stewed on that for a moment and then said, “Finely Hunter.”

  I gulped. “Finely Hunter?” Ok, the online gambling thing made sense now. Because Finely Hunter, the senior track star, rumored to go through girls like Kleenex’s during flu season and ditch more classes than he attended, was also rumored to run an online on campus gambling site the university had no idea about.

  “Fin,” he smiled at me. “You can call me Fin.”

  “You are a nice guy,” I drawled.

  His grin widened to wicked trouble. “So nice, I’m not going to make you give me my money tonight.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No, I have a solution that will help both of us get what we want,” he announced confidently.

  “You do?” I asked dryly with so much less confidence at the same time I wondered what it was that he thought I wanted.

  “Just don’t forget, you promised you would help.” The hard, authoritative look returned to his eyes and a shiver of nerves climbed up my spine.

  I nodded because there was nothing left to do. I needed time to think this over, to hunt down Tar
a and strangle her until dollar bills popped out her eyeballs.

  Chapter Two

  “Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Fin smiled winningly from the doorway. He was cocky and a know it all and I just needed him to take two more steps back so I could slam the door in his face and lock it.

  “Looking forward to it,” I lied with little effort to conceal the lie. I was not looking forward to it. In fact, I was dreading it.

  How had I gotten to this place in my life?

  Fin looked down at me for a few more sEconds, those sharp eyes of his assessing me in a way I was completely uncomfortable with. Guys had checked me out before; I wasn’t immune or ignorant to that. But this was nothing like that; this was so much more intense. And I couldn’t even be certain what he was doing was actually physical. It felt like something so much more, like he could see me on this metaphysical level and read my aura or something.

  “Ok…. I’ll see you tomorrow, remember?” I pushed against the door, nudging it against the flip flop that was still in my way. “That means goodnight.”

  He laughed at my rudeness, his expression slipping from narrowed calculation to happy amusement. “You’re right,” he finally said and took a step back. “Goodnight El-“

  I didn’t wait for him to finish, I slammed the door and made quick work of the locks: first deadbolt, sEcond deadbolt, chain, handle lock, big breath.

  Holy smokes, what did I get myself into? I fell backwards against the door and then slid to the floor on my butt. I pulled my knees to my chest and then rested my forehead against them.

  I knew Tara was a bad seed. I knew it! But I wanted to believe the best of her. And I could never have imagined she would do something this shady. I mean, this was like…. criminal activity kind of bad!

  I had doubts about her the first time I met her, but I was desperate for a roommate and she seemed…. nice. So I ignored that she was twenty-five minutes late to our first meeting, that her clothes smelled like the cheapest kind of weed and that her dread-locked hair was dyed a disgustingly pale pink. I mean, if I would have taken all that into consideration that would have been profiling! And profiling was rude and judgmental and other bad things. But maybe…. probably…. roommates should always profile potential roommates; especially ones with secret addictions that have no problems serving them up on silver platters to gorgeous but extra scary bookies.

  Was Fin a bookie?

  What exactly was a bookie?

  I should call the cops. I mean, she robbed me! That was bad. And then she stole my identity!

  That was even worse.

  Ugh, my parents were going to kill me!

  Panic slid like ice through my veins, slushing the blood and raising goose bumps down the lengths of my arms. I shot to my feet and sprinted through my small apartment taking stock of everything still here.

  I ripped open my kitchen cabinets and noted the small amount of Goodwill dishes and sEcond hand pots and pans left behind. Those were her contributions to the shared living, not mine. And they definitely weren’t worth anything. The living room was empty, the TV, couch, end tables and love seat all disappeared. The only evidence remaining that there had even been furniture in that room were the indents in the carpet and the places next to the wall where the couch was that needed vacuuming. The bathroom was about half and half, the huge metal cornflower blue flower I picked up from the craft store on sale, that brought the soap dispenser and shower curtain together ascetically, was missing, but my shower curtain and the soap remained. Her bedroom was completely empty except for the remaining trash littered across her filthy floor.

  And then there was my room.

  My hand trembled as I grabbed the door handle and turned. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath and opened the door. A gush of orange blossom and ginger, my favorite Yankee Candle scent, greeted me and fortified me with enough courage to open my eyes.

  One at a time….

  I released the breath I’d been holding with a shaky laugh. My room seemed to be left alone. My bed was still perfectly made, no creases or wrinkles, my desk with my computer hadn’t been touched or removed, my closet door was open but I could see the clothes as they should be. Ok, she hadn’t stooped to this level of thievery. She left my room alone.

  At least there was that.

  If only I could pawn my own things and come up with seven thousand dollars. That would make things a little easier.

  But they weren’t worth that much money. Or even close to half that much money!

  I walked over to my bed and sank down on the edge. My life was a mess right now and it was so frustrating, but mostly embarrassing. Fin Hunter walking into the middle of it was like the final straw of sanity. I had to go to the police. And then I would have to tell my parents. And then my brothers would find out.

  And then my entire life would end.

  And after it all I would be right back where I started, living with my parents and under lock and key from my over protective brothers.

  I was not going back to that place.

  Not ever.

  I loved my family, more than words. But I was finally out on my own. Finally living life. And I couldn’t give that up.

  Granted, I had made mistakes. Transferring here after a semester at U of Madison was a huge mistake. Why I thought my high school sweetheart was going to work out for me, when I knew he was a sleazebag in high school was beyond me. Plus, that move got me right back under the watchful eye of Becket and Grayson.

  And then there was the housing fiasco where I actually asked Tara to move in with me.

  And then of course Colton cheating on me…

  Things were already bleak. Adding my parent’s anxiety and overprotective assertion into my life would just perpetuate my problems.

  I could do this. I could fix this.

  On my own.

  Fin Hunter promised what he was asking me was not that much. He needed some help and I could give it to him. I could also ignore the six week deadline he gave me to come up with the money. Six weeks left some time to figure that part out.

  Ok, no cops.

  Besides what was a couch from my Aunt Grace anyway? Or a matching set of end tables and suede recliner from my Grandpa Benton after he went to the nursing home? I didn’t even want to think about the fifty-two inch flat screen from Lennox for my housewarming present.

  He was going to be so mad at me.

  Maybe I could replace it before he got back from China?

  Probably I could.

  And come up with seven thousand dollars. No problem.

  Well, some problems…. but where there was a will, there was a way and I had a will.

  A stubborn, determined, freaking pissed off will.

  If nothing else.

  I stood back up and brushed invisible dirt from my jeans. I assessed my room that was mostly more hand me downs and a matching Ikea desk and bookshelf from my mom for my last birthday. With a long sigh, I left my bedroom and trudged back to the empty living room. I couldn’t remember if the tiny dining table from my Uncle Fritz was gone or not.

  Yep, it was.

  Shoot.

  When my large family descended this year for any of Beckett’s games or Gray’s graduation they were going to want to see their passed down, expensive, occasionally antique, furniture on display.

  What was I going to tell them?

  I stood at the island that separated the living room from tiny kitchen and worked on my breathing.

  I would think about that later too. Right now, I needed to eat some dinner, go to bed and get ready to face tomorrow.

  Tomorrow…. when my deal with Fin Hunter started.

  ----

  The next morning, I slammed my hand down on my alarm as soon as the first sounds started coming through. I shot up into sitting, breathing rapidly.

  I shoved my wild, bed-head hair out of my face and mumbled out loud, “That was close.”

  Not that I would fall trap to anything Kelly Clarkson ever sang ag
ain. But what if Christina Aguilera would have come on? Or heaven forbid…. Beyonce?

  No more false hope.

  No more empowered divas filling me up with fake who-runs-the-world-girl-power.

  Living on my own, going to school on my own…. well, mostly on my own, standing up for myself, it was all going to take work. And I was prepared to work.

  I ate a quick breakfast of cheap white bread and cheese and then faced my closet. Getting dressed suddenly felt like a crucial decision. I wasn’t super trendy, and I really wasn’t adventurous, but until yesterday I felt like I could put a decent outfit together.

  Now everything seemed dowdy and plain.

  Grrr, Fin Hunter, I was not a missionary!

  I rifled through the clothes, going back and forth, from shirt to jeans and back, hoping something cute and flirty would just magically appear.

  No such luck.

  Eventually I settled on a pair of extra slim skinny jeans that I bought a year ago and hadn’t worn yet, a yellow silky cami and a navy blue cardigan. Granted, I looked like I belonged on my dad’s sailboat and not in a romantic comedy, but I hadn’t really been going for the fall-in-love look anyway. And this was different than what I usually wore.

  My entire neck was exposed. That was something new.

  Oh no, I did dress like a missionary!

  I was twenty years old and had the wardrobe of a spinster.

  I face palmed and then felt ridiculous because I was starting to have conversations with myself. I ran a hand through my somewhere between wavy and curly chestnut hair and growled audibly.

  It didn’t matter what I wore, as long as I was happy with it. As long as I was happy with how I looked, nothing else mattered.

  Fin Hunter spent twenty minutes with me and already managed to get inside my head. Gah! That was so frustrating.

  Still, I resisted the urge to grab a scarf on the way out the door. I grabbed my backpack, shoved the correct books into it and made my way down the three flights of stairs and across the street to the University of La Crosse’s campus.

  UW-LA sprawled out before me- a series of tall red, brick buildings nestled into spring green grass and budding trees. The landscape was surprisingly flat considering the town itself laid beneath tall, rocky cliffs. The bluffs rose up from the banks of the Mississippi river and tumbled high and rough for miles. In the winter they would ice over with thick, human-sized icicles. Now in the spring, they were taking their time melting since the weather wasn’t quite considered warm yet. They dripped from the bottoms of the cliffs in huge streams of water, leaving the side of the interstate perpetually soggy and slick.