Lucian's POV
My eyelid twitched unexpectedly.
I turned toward the poker table just in time to watch Ryan try to multitask with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel.
His phone was awkwardly wedged between his shoulder and ear, and he was attempting to toss down a card with the kind of confidence that screamed I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing.
He slapped down a seven of clubs.
Bad move, apparently, because the second he saw it, his eyes went wide and he muttered a very colorful “Shitballs.”
Clearly, he'd just lost a significant hand and maybe—judging by the volume spike on the other end of the call—a chunk of his dignity.
“Babe, chill! I was listening,” he said into the phone, now holding it properly. “I swear. No, I didn't say 'shitballs' at you. That was for the game. Pr
