Card Sharks Read Online Free PDF Page A

laugh. “What suntanning incident? I don’t remember a suntanning incident.”
    â€œI don’t remember which summer it was, but I’m pretty sure it involved me discovering the usefulness of the telephoto lens,” he said with a cocky grin. “Don’t worry. Neither of you is somewhere on the cover of an L.A. Girls Gone Crazy video.”
    â€œThere’s comfort.” Bijoux socked him in the arm. “You sleazeball!”
    He pretended to defend himself from her attack, shielding himself and laughing. “I was a teenager. I was—”
    â€œDisgusting and wrong.”
    â€œI was disgusting and wrong,” he agreed gleefully, not looking the least bit sorry. “And unfortunately for me—or perhaps lucky for my reputation—none of you girls turned over. But at that age, the sight of an unclasped bikini top, even if it was just the back, was photo-worthy.”
    â€œMen,” Bijoux said, exaggerating the syllable.
    â€œYou know, I’m thinking of anchoring in L.A. for a while. We really should all get together. Maybe do that poker party.”
    â€œOh! Well . . .” She looked at Peter and thought about him for Marianne. And then she thought about the possibility that he might know some of those rich, eligible men to invite. And besides, he was practically family in that neighborhood-holiday-cocktail-party sort of way. “That sounds great.”
    â€œPerfect.” He stood up and gave her his arm. “Well, then. Roulette? Craps? What’s it going to be?”
    Bijoux took his arm and he led her toward the gaming tables. “Which game has the best odds of winning?” she asked. “There’s nothing I hate more than running out of cash.”

chapter three
    9:56 A . M .
    â€œH ey, Marianne. It’s Donny. Wanna fuck?”
    Marianne snorted and held the phone down with her chin while she rummaged through her desk for a blue pencil. “Maybe some other time.”
    â€œI thought you liked it when I talked dirty.”
    She shook her head. “You’re missing context, tone, and delivery.”
    â€œWhat’s a fuck buddy if you don’t fuck?”
    â€œA buddy.” Marianne found what she was looking for and stuck the pencil into the electric sharpener.
    â€œHow about a back massage? I could give you a back massage.”
    â€œThere’s no such thing as a back massage. It’s not-so-clever man code for ‘if I get you to take your shirt off, we’re only approximately three garments away from having sex.’ ”
    There was silence on the other end of the line as apparently Donny had to think about that one. “What idiot gave you the secret decoder?” Then, “Did you meet someone again whom you plan to sleep with, so you can’t sleep with me untilyou realize that that relationship is likewise doomed and decide that you might as well be sleeping with me again?”
    He meant to be funny but Marianne didn’t miss the catch in his voice. “Um, no. How about we meet for lunch?”
    â€œGreat! If it’s getting stale, I could bring something new to—”
    â€œI literally meant that I’d like to have lunch with you. As friends. There was no sexual innuendo there.”
    â€œFriends,” he grumbled. “Friends, friends, friends. Friends with benefits, and I’m not getting any benefits . . . but I’ll have lunch with you anyway. I have something for you.”
    â€œStop buying me things,” Marianne said. “It’s too sweet and it makes me sad.”
    â€œI like buying you things. It makes me happy.”
    Marianne studied the perfect point of her pencil and sighed. “Noon, Humboldt Bar and Grill?”
    â€œGreat. Later.” Click .
    11:56 A . M .
    Donny Fazzuli looked much better than his name implied. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive-tinged skin that tanned to perfection. He wore loose Italian