Her arms drew him against her.
He smelled honeysuckle, and his hands found their familiar places.
"Mmm," she said, "I'll bet you're hungry."
"You win."
Jacky stepped back. "Good. I'm going to show off. I've been practicing
my crab cakes."
"Yumm."
"I thought we'd eat home, relax, maybe go out later . . . I'll give
you the Bay Tour tomorrow."
"Finest kind," Oliver said. "Nice house. That T-shirt isn't going to
make you any friends."
"Just because I'm living in Maryland, doesn't mean I'm a traitor," she
said, leading him into the kitchen. "How was Atlantic City?"
"Weird. I won. It wasn't what I was expecting." Jacky took the crab
cake mix from the refrigerator. She turned on a burner under a Dutch
oven half full of oil. "I thought I might get into a big deal
all-or-nothing scene, a go-down-in-flames kind of thing. I brought all
my money." He told her about the pit boss and the icy focus that had
come over him and taken control. "I didn't even drink," he said. "It
was tiring, but I won."
"Very good," she said. She flicked drops of water into the oil. The
drops sizzled and danced. "You're safe now. There's a nice Sauvignon
Blanc in the refrigerator.
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