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Why do I reach for the leg of Sally’s chair and yank her toward me like a possessive caveman, making her yelp?
able to rest my chin on her shoulder and murmur sweet nothings in hear ear about gambling like a degenerate.
she’s playing the fucking table, flirting with me to distract everyone from how terrible our hand is.
“Don’t make me say it. You know, Sunshine. You know I wanna be your guy.”
“Lucky for you”—oh God, oh God, Wyatt is slipping a hand onto my face, using his palm to angle my mouth up toward his—“I’m tight with God, and I’ll have you saying his name often. Eventually though, I’d like you to say mine instead.”
“Wait. Did you actually—” “Just come in my pants?” He grimaces. “Yes.”
If we take things any further, she’s gonna see the tattoo on my thigh—the one I got for her.
“Just sex, right?” Sally blinks. My pulse thumps. Ask me for more. Please, God, ask me for the world so I can give it to you. Instead, she nods. “Just sex. Yeah.”
“My fuckin’ name, Sally. Only my name. Say it—now.”
Smaller than my other tattoos, it’s a simple black outline of a vintage Coca-Cola bottle with the words No. 7 written underneath it in old-timey Western font. It’s a reference to the Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7 whiskey we’d put in our Coke bottles as teenagers.
I’ve been ready my whole life to be loved by you this way. “I am
“I came because I had a feeling something was up with you,” he whispers. “I came because I shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. I ain’t gonna be the reason you’re cryin’ alone in your room. That stops tonight—you hear me? I wanna take care of you, Sal, but I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me.
“Apparently, Wyatt was always talking about you bein’ his girlfriend back then.” “You didn’t!” Sally gasps. I chuckle. “I did. I hoped the rumor would get back around to you and you’d say yes, but I guess that never happened.”
One final piece of wisdom: people will make you happier than a job ever will.”













































