“Well, I don’t know. I just need to be… sure,” I finished lamely.
He ran a hand over his face again and growled out a frustrated sound. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. “This is taking up too much time. I just want my money and I’ll be gone. I won’t bother you any more, I promise. Although I strongly suggest that you stay away from anymore poker games. You are obviously not lucky enough to be as careless as you are with your money.”
That got my attention. “Wait.” I held up a hand like I was asking him to stop his vehicle. But then I didn’t know how to go on. Gambling? This sounded way too convenient… way too coincidental.
A man comes to my door, demanding a seven thousand dollar poker debt minutes after my crook of a roommate robbed me blind and headed off to rehab for a gambling addiction? “Okay, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but why don’t you tell me who you think I am. That might make things easier.”
A smug smirk turned his mouth and he said with confidence, “Eleanor Harris.”
That caught me off guard. Because he was right. “Um, Ellie,” I corrected before he stuck to calling me Eleanor. Ugh! Even if he were here to murder me I would make him call me Ellie.
“Fine, Ellie Harris.”
“Okay, you know my name, but you don’t know anything else about me. Like for instance, I don’t owe you any money!” I argued, still wondering how he knew my name.
“Alright, let’s see. You’re a sophomore, originally from farther up north. You transferred to La Crosse spring semester last year. You were originally at University of Wisconsin-Madison but you wanted to be close to your boyfriend who turned out to be a cheating douche bag. He broke up with you two weeks ago for another girl, and since then you’ve gone from being a straight A student with a nearly perfect attendance record to skipping all of your of classes, doing your best to fail out of school and now you’ve apparently acquired a gambling addiction with a side of pathological lying.”
“What!” I would have made a terrible reporter. “I am not a liar! And I have never gambled a day in my life! And I’m not trying to fail out of school. A girl is allowed to take a few sick days after her three-year relationship ends! How can you possibly know so much and so little about me at the same time?” This was possibly the most exasperating conversation I had ever had.
“I make it a point to know all my players, Ellie. Especially ones that come into the game waving money around like you did,” he explained patiently with that same cocky smile on his face.
I had the strongest urge to smack him. And I had never, not in my entire life, ever felt like hitting anything before!
“Clearly you have me confused with somebody else because I have no clue what you are talking about!”
“That is not going to work on me!” the anger simmered under the surface again. His eyes turned almost black with emotion.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I backtracked quickly. “I can see that. So, just for fun, how about you explain to me exactly how I came to owe you all this money and then we can figure this out together. I want you to get your money just as badly as you do. I promise, alright?”
He seemed to think that over for a minute. His face relaxed back to movie-star-stranger instead of serial-killer-hit-man. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which version I liked best.
“Alright, fine. We can do this your way. Especially if you promise you’ll help me get my money,” he said evenly and then waited for me to answer.
“Yes, I promise. I mean, I know I don’t owe you the money. But if there is any way I can assist you with it, I’d be glad to help.” What I didn’t say was that as long as I didn’t have to shoot, stab or bury somebody I would be glad to help. Really, I meant like a stern, authoritative letter I could put a stamp on and mail for him. Plus, these were mostly just empty promises until I could get him out of my apartment, lock the two deadbolts, slide the chain into place and call the police.
“About a week and a half ago, you contacted me about joining the game. I had heard your name around campus and knew that your request was entirely out of character. So I started to ask around about you and that’s when I found out you just got dumped. It made sense then, why you would want to play. Even if I didn’t think it was a good idea. I’ve been dumped before, I guess I could relate in a way.”
“You’ve been dumped?” I scoffed before I could stop myself. He was gorgeous, all testosterone and muscles, standing in the middle of my kitchen with his gray t-shirt, loose jeans and flip flops. Plus, he was more than just a little intimidating. I could hardly believe a girl found enough courage to break up with him.
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 obviously, 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 okay, 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 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!