Chapter 1: Rolling for a Favor
The basement air was thick with the smell of old beer and pine-scented cleaner trying to fail at its job. Elena’s elbow jostled the rickety table, making the half-empty bottle of whiskey shiver. Neon from the ancient pinball machine in the corner threw jagged, green light across Uncle Marcus’s grinning face.
“Roll a seven, kid, or you’re buying the next round,” he said, his voice a warm rumble. He leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning in protest. His salt-and-pepper beard made his smile look even whiter.
Elena shook the dice in her cupped hands, feeling the worn edges dig into her palms. She blew on them for luck, a silly habit from childhood, and let them fly. They clattered across the Monopoly board, hopping over Baltic Avenue and knocking the top hat token sideways. A six.
“No!” she groaned, her shoulders slumping dramatically. Her chestnut hair fell over her shoulder, brushing the board. She looked up, her hazel eyes wide and pleading, first at Uncle Julian, who was shuffling the Chance cards with lazy fingers. “Jules. Come on. Be a saint. Call it a seven.”
She reached out, her fingers brushing the tattooed vines that curled around his wrist. He stilled, his green eyes flicking from her hand to her face.
“A saint?” he echoed, a slow smirk spreading. “In this den of thieves?”
“She could unbutton her shirt for you,” Leo chimed in from her left, not looking up from his phone. His tone was light, conversational, as if suggesting a better mortgage deal. “One button per point. That’s a bargain.”
Marcus chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Or maybe a lap dance is in order. To improve the… karma.”
Elena felt a flush creep up her neck, but it was mixed with a giddy thrill. This was their game, had been for years—the teasing, the outlandish bribes. It never meant anything. She played along, leaning closer to Julian, letting her cleavage press against the table’s edge. “Please? Just this once?”
Julian studied her face, his photographer’s gaze missing nothing. He set the cards down. “Alright,” he said, his voice quiet. “But you’ll sit on my lap. Right here. Until your next roll.”
The rec room went subtly quiet. The thunk-thunk of the pinball next door seemed louder. Leo put his phone down. Marcus’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.
Elena’s smile faltered for a second, a butterfly of something new fluttering in her stomach. This was a new rule. She recovered with a laugh, a little too high. “Deal.”
She pushed back her chair, the legs scraping harshly against the linoleum. She felt the weight of three pairs of eyes on her as she took the two steps to Julian’s side. His jeans were faded and soft. She turned, hesitating for a heartbeat, then lowered herself onto his thighs. He was solid, warm. His hands came up to rest lightly on her hips, his thumbs just brushing the fabric of her shorts. She was intensely aware of the pressure of him beneath her, the way her own generous backside settled against the denim.
“Don’t crush me, Ellie,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair.
She managed a shaky laugh. “You’ll survive.”
The dice felt heavier now. She shook them, the sound absurdly loud in the hushed room. She could feel the heat of Julian’s body through their clothes, the slight shift of his muscles as he breathed. She rolled.
A five.
A collective, mock-groan went up from Marcus and Leo. Julian’s hands squeezed her hips once, gently. “Off you go, kid. Bad luck.”
As she stood, the absence of his warmth was startling. She stumbled back to her own chair, her legs feeling unsteady.
“My turn to broker a deal,” Marcus announced, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler. He slid it across the table toward her. “Drink that. All of it. I’ll give you two hundred Monopoly dollars and a get-out-of-jail-free card for real.”
Elena snatched up the glass, the liquor burning a welcome path down her throat. She slammed the empty glass down. “Done.”
“Ah, but the house is amending the rules,” Marcus said, his brown eyes twinkling. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “The cash and the card are yours. But the ‘free’ part has a condition.”
Leo was grinning now, a predator’s smile. Julian watched, silent, his arms crossed over his chest.
“What condition?” Elena asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“A kiss,” Marcus said. “On the cheek. Right here.” He pointed to a spot just beside his mouth.
Her heart was a drum solo against her ribs. This, too, was new. A cheek kiss was nothing, but the way he said it, in this charged, silent room, made it everything. She stood again, the whiskey buzzing in her head. She walked around the table, the sticky floor pulling at her soles. She bent down, her long hair falling like a curtain between them and the others. She pressed her lips quickly, softly, to the rough skin of his cheek. She caught the scent of his cologne, clean and spicy.
She started to pull away, but his hand came up, large and warm, and cupped the back of her head, holding her there for a second longer. A full, steady second. Then he released her.
“Fair is fair,” he said, his voice a little thicker.
Elena floated back to her seat. Her lips tingled.
“Well, if we’re just giving points away for petty cash and pecks,” Leo said, standing up. He stretched, his lean frame blocking the flickering neon light for a moment. He walked to the shelf, grabbed a fresh deck of cards still in its cellophane, and tossed it onto the board. “I’ll raise you. That deck, unopened. Worth, what, two bucks? I’ll give you five hundred game dollars for it.”
“What do you want for it?” Elena asked. Her mouth was dry.
Leo’s mischievous gaze traveled over her, from her hair to the strained buttons of her shirt. “For you to unbutton it. One button. For the deck.”
The air vanished from the room. Elena’s breath hitched. She looked from Leo’s playful grin to Marcus’s calm, expectant face, to Julian’s inscrutable watchfulness. The old, familiar thrill was still there, the silly game, but it was submerged now in a deep, hot current of something else. Something that made her skin feel too tight and her core clench with a strange, sweet ache.
She had never been with a man. The concepts were just ideas, scenes from movies. But this, this was real. The heat in the room, the weight of their attention, the concrete, escalating trade of favors. She found she wasn’t scared. She was fascinated. Aroused.
Her fingers, which felt oddly detached, went to the top button of her blouse. It was small, mother-of-pearl. The pop of it coming undone was the loudest sound in the world.
A slice of her skin was revealed, the shadowed swell of her breast. Leo let out a low, appreciative whistle that wasn’t entirely joking.
“The deck is yours,” he said, his voice husky.
Julian moved then, so smoothly it made her jump. He reached beside his chair and lifted his professional camera, the lens glinting in the low light. He didn’t look through the viewfinder. He just pointed it at the table, a quiet click breaking the silence.
“New house rule,” Julian said, his tone casual, as if announcing the time. “I document the proceedings. For posterity.” His eyes met Elena’s over the camera body. “Keep playing.”
Elena’s next roll was a shaky-handed affair. The dice seemed to move in slow motion. They landed on Park Place. A ten.
Marcus was already smiling. “I believe,” he said, swirling the whiskey in his glass, “that we can work with that.”