“No.”

Chance watched her closely as she responded. He’d waded into slightly treacherous waters on this date by telling her what he did for a living and then pressing her about her life choices, but he wanted to see how she would react. There wasn’t a heck of a lot on the line yet. Worst case scenario, she’d decide she wanted nothing more to do with him. Best case scenario, he’d awaken something inside of her she didn’t even realize existed.

He’d hit the bullseye. Beneath that neat and orderly exterior there was a woman wanting to get a little chaotic, and probably not just for the weekend.

That complicated things.

“So you mentioned there was a long story behind your name,” she said changing the subject.

Chance chuckled, taking the hint. “I may have exaggerated the ‘long’ part, but there is a story. Suffice it to say, my dad had a sense of humor.”

Juliet looked at him quizzically. “Chance isn’t so bad. Unusual, but it’s actually kind of slick.”

“I lucked out, I suppose,” he said shrugging and finishing off a spoonful of ice cream before continuing. “My brother Chip, on the other hand….”

“A brother. So, what, did your dad have a thing for the letters C and H?” She asked, giving a small laugh.

“No, he had a thing for poker,” Chance confessed, watching Juliet closely.

Chance could have told her that working on an oil rig was merely a temporary detour from his actual “career” as a poker player. That would have opened a Pandora’s box that he wasn’t at all interested in tainting this weekend with.

All the same, it didn’t hurt to feel her out on the subject.

Her physical reaction unfurled as expected. An embarrassed but sympathetic grimace, no doubt assuming Chance and his brother were some unfortunate victims of a troubled household with a father who had a gambling addiction.

“He was actually pretty good at it,” he said before the cement could dry on any conclusions she had drawn. “It’s how he made a living.”

Now her expression was a mixture of disbelief and interest. “He made a living? Playing poker?”

Chance shrugged, taking another bite of his ice cream.

“No one does that,” she protested, laughing. “How can anyone make a living at a game of chance?”

Now it was Chance’s turn to laugh. “Well, if you consider it a game of chance, then no, you will most certainly not be making a living at it.”

“How is it not a game of chance? I mean yes, you can somewhat work the odds in your favor, but—”

“There’s your problem right there,” he said, pointing his plastic spoon her way with a grin. “It’s a poor poker player who focuses on the odds.”

“So what does a rich poker player focus on?”

“People.”

“People?”

“People.”

“Ah, so like, bluffing, and tells, and whatnot?”

“Among other things,” he replied vaguely.

“Sounds like your dad isn’t the only one who had a thing for poker,” she suggested.

He didn’t need to read her signals to catch the question in that statement. She was prodding him.

Fair enough.

“I used to play a bit myself.” It was a muddled truth, and Chance felt a bit guilty posing it as such, but the last thing he wanted to do was complicate things with her this early on.

Instead, he chose to focus on the positives.

“The house I was raised in, down in Galveston, was won by my daddy in a poker game.”

Juliet’s mouth fell open in surprise. “No it wasn’t!”

“No lie,” he replied, laughing. “And it’s a beaut. A huge, pale blue Victorian. And he owned it free and clear.”

“Huh,” she said, looking off to ponder that.

“So you could say it was an unconventional childhood, beginning with our names. But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.”

That lie came easily enough, mostly as a defense mechanism these days. It was true that his childhood had been unconventional. Not too many kids he went to school with could claim they’d been given a $1000 poker chip for Christmas or once sat on the lap of one of New Orleans’ most notorious gangsters. And no, he wouldn’t have traded it for the world, if it hadn’t ended with his dad getting killed when Chance was only fourteen years old.

Thankfully, Juliet wasn’t as well-trained at reading body language and non-verbal signals as he was. He let his temperature cool a bit, and felt his muscles relax. By the time Juliet turned her head back to face him, he was the same Chance she had sat down for ice cream with.

“You said he made a living at it, as in past tense. Does he still play?”

And there it was.

“No,” Chance said, vaguely. Then he looked over at Juliet. Those inquisitive, intelligent eyes of hers probed. He decided to tell her the truth. “He was murdered after a game when some asshole took issue with losing to him. The bastard caught up with him later that night and took his wallet, watch, even his lucky ring and left him in a damn alley like a pile of trash.”

He could feel himself losing control as the story fell from his lips. There were very few topics that could physically affect Chance. His dad was right there at the top of that list.

“Oh Chance, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up—”

“It’s not your fault. Besides, it was over twenty years ago, so you could say I’ve adjusted to his loss.” He gave her a wry smile. Her eyes stared at him, reading way more than he wanted her to. He looked away before going on. “The funny thing is, the guy who killed him ended up getting killed by a mugger before the cops could even catch him. Best damn case of karma if ever there was one. He was even wearing his watch, if you can believe that. I just wish they’d found the rest of my dad’s stuff. The wallet was obviously cleaned out and tossed somewhere, but that ring….”

He caught himself sinking again. Time to change the topic.

“So is there a story behind the name Juliet?” he asked, mostly in a teasing way, trying to send a flow of something cool and calming through his veins.

She stared at him a moment longer then gave him a small smile. “Actually, yes, sort of,” she said, to his surprise.

“Ooh, well since I told you mine, it’s only fair…,” he probed.

“Not nearly as interesting as yours. Just boring intellectualism.”

“One man’s boredom is another man’s respite from the norm,” he said loftily.

She gave him an assessing look. “That’s oddly profound.”

“This onion has many layers, sweetheart,” he said dipping his spoon for another scoop of ice cream.

She laughed, then brought it back down a notch giving him a tilted glance, biting her bottom lip. “You know what, Chance? I think I really like you.”

“You know what, Juliet? I’ve liked you since the moment I first saw you.”

Pleased embarrassment: Lips pressed together in suppressed delight; eyelids cast downward; a slightly reddish hue to that bronze skin. All very good signs.

“So, the story of your name?” he prodded.

“Ah, yes,” she said, perking up. “Well, it can really be only one thing right? I mean, how many famous Juliets throughout history do you know of?”

It took him a moment before he got the correct reference. “So your parents have a thing for Shakespeare?”

Juliet looked thoughtful for a moment. “My mother mostly. She’s a literature professor. My dad is a chemistry professor, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he goes on and on about everything but chemistry. Honestly, I think mostly my parents just wanted names that wouldn’t red flag our resumes as adults.”

Chance laughed. “Well, on that count, you definitely have me beat.”

Juliet gave a soft smile. “Maybe in terms of names,” she said raising an eyebrow at him. “In other ways you definitely have me beat.”

Chance raised his eyebrows, ceding the point to her. “Speaking of which, what do you do?”

“I’m a professor at Rice University. I teach statistics. I’m on sabbatical this upcoming semester though. I’m supposed to be writing a paper that may turn into a book.”

“What’s it about?”

“Do you really want me to bore you with it?”

“Try me.”

“Weather patterns and the bee population. It’ll probably be used mostly as a guide for insurance companies and the agricultural industry, trying to predict what the effect on farming will be. I probably should have gone with something sexier or flashier like my dad suggested, but at least this one will be cited often enough. Can’t mess around when it comes to tenure.”

“Playing it safe, right?”

She squinted her eyes at him as though searching for the taunt there. “What? Are you like my dad? You think maybe I should have picked politics or crime or sex? Maybe become the Cornell West of statistics?”

“I’m not sayin’ anything at all.”

Juliet backed down, realizing she was projecting. “At least I found a profession that fits with the way my mind works.”

“Do you like it?”

She blinked as though the idea had never occurred to her. “Well…yes? I suppose. It just makes sense doesn’t it? How many people fit so perfectly into their chosen professions?”

“That wasn’t a yes.”

“Most people don’t love what they do, Chance.”

He thought about his old profession playing poker. Did he love it? He certainly missed it, and was definitely good at it.

“At any rate, I think I’m the only one of my sisters who got the short end of the stick when it came to names.”

“Juliet is nice,” he responded, perfectly fine with the circle back around to calmer waters.

“Well, they got Beatrice and Viola.”

Chance winced. “Sounds like you actually got the long end of the stick there. Juliet is by far the best out of three.”

“Until you realize how the tale ends,” she pointed out, then gave a dramatic sigh, placing the back of her hand against her head. “I’m the only tragedy in the family.”

“I suppose that depends on your thoughts about true love,” Chance said.

He wasn’t surprised to see Juliet’s hand fall into her lap, where it fiddled with the other. Her eyes drifted downward and to the left. Her mouth pursed into a twist to the side. The up and down of her chest quickened ever so slightly.

Careful there, cowboy.

He was doing himself no favors here. Juliet was a fine woman, but he had no business trying to make this a permanent thing. This morning, his intent had been a nice little diversion for the weekend, someone to think back on during his time back at the rig, maybe even visit occasionally when he had his two weeks off in the future.

Now, she was skipping leaps and bounds straight into the territory of “something special.” He just couldn’t help himself. Each moment with her kept drawing him further and further in.

On the other hand, was that so terrible? Maybe he deserved something special. He thought about the rig and everything that had led up to him working on it. He’d put in enough time, paid enough dues, done enough atoning for his “sins.” Maybe it was time to open himself up to something good.

He gave Juliet an assessing look, wondering how she would feel about him if she knew everything about him.

“What do you say we get outta here?”

She looked up at him with bright-eyed anticipation, those lips parting ever so slightly, and that chest most definitely increasing its pace.

“Okay.”