His Paper Heart ✓

•18|His Black Card

Gray skewers a piece of his steak and drags it through the pool of juices on his plate then, he pops the forkful of meat in his mouth. His knife and fork hovers at each side of his plate as he chews thoughtfully on the steak. I glance at my mother, sitting opposite me and staring at Gray, her fingers clasped together on dinning table, like she is waiting for the praise she deserves on cooking that steak everyone says is divine. Gray leans back into his chair and nods.

"A little overdone but still edible. Maybe take it out five minutes before—" Gray starts and I shut him up by nudging him in the rib with my elbow. He clears his throat and smiles warmly at my mother. "Your steak is amazing, Mrs. Kaelin," he says. My mother's lips twitch into a wide grin, but my father's face stays immobile. He and Asher have been staring, glaring at Gray since we got home.

Despite Darlene's obnoxious chewing, an awkward silence hangs in the air. I scratch my forehead and look down at my empty bowl of soup. I am not allowed to have steak, says my mother who thinks she's a doctor with a PhD. Gray takes another bite of his meat, oblivious to the glares my overprotective father and brothers are passing his way.

"Gray is a psychic," I say. 

"Is that right?" My father asks, amused.

Gray drags his long, hard stare to me and says, "I'm not, you crazy person."

"He is too. He can read people." I waggle my eyebrows at my father. "Go on Gray, show my dad."

"He owns a Ferrari and now he's psychic? That's great," Heath says, sarcastically. "Go on Gray, read me. No wait— don't read me. Read Asher."

"I bet your bottom dollar he's a fraud." Asher snorts through his nose loudly, running his fingers through his neatly trimmed hair.

In the silent minutes in the frostbitten dinning room after Asher challenges Gray, Gray drops his fork and knife on his plate with a sardonic smirk hovering his lips, eyes narrowing at Asher as he grabs a napkin from the table. He exhales deeply, wipes an imaginary sauce off the corner of his lips and drops the cloth, tapping his fingers on the table as if steadying himself so he wouldn't be disrespectful. For some incomprehensible reason, my temperature flares and my heart rate quickens when he looks at me briefly and winks.

Why does he keep doing that?

"See, he can't do nothing." Asher shakes his head stiffly.

"Oh no?" says Gray lightly. "I should not bother telling you that betting a thousand dollars on the car race next week is quite a stupid thing to do to your father's bank account?" His throaty accent somehow heightens the sarcasm.

Asher flushes lightly and his mouth hangs open.

"What?" My father asks.

"How did you know that?" Asher growls. "Gigi—"

"I didn't tell him anything. I didn't even know."

Asher suspects Didi next but she also quickly denies her involvement.

"How did you know!" Asher repeats.

"Your nails are neatly groomed, you got a haircut. That means you've recently won or about to win something big. Something that makes you very confident. You're wearing the hoodie of your favorite car racer, Hamilton but I wouldn't have known you were a gambler if you didn't mention 'betting a bottom dollar'. Your pupils were dilated then," Gray explains.

"Whoa!" Darlene cheers. "He has magic."

"You were going to bet a thousand bucks of my money on a race!" My father roars.

"Calm down George." My mother taps the man's back gently.

"You are not using my money for that crap!"