“About ten years ago,” Brent said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Not so recent then,” Nate said in a deadpan voice. “Sounds like she’s still got a hold on you.”

Brent shrugged, his way of saying yes. “College girlfriend. Haven’t seen her in years.”

“Well, I hope that changes—that is, if you want it to change.”

Hell, did he ever want that to change. But he had no clue what Shannon was up to these days beyond a few posts she made on her Facebook profile, and chances were he wouldn’t run into her again. He hadn’t heard much from her since he’d walked away that night ten years ago.

He closed out the window, shifting gears, and showing Nate his vision for the nightclub.

After they discussed the logistics, Brent gestured to the door, and the world of the casino beyond it. “You up for a round of blackjack?”

“Hell yeah. I’m a gambler these days,” Nate said. They left his office and headed to the casino floor at The Luxe.

“What is it that’s making you a gambling man?”

“This and that,” he said, as they parked themselves on stools at a nearby blackjack table, the hustle and bustle of the casino surrounding them, the slap of cards on tables, the cha-ching of money from slots, and the scent in the air of desire for bets to turn into bigger bets.

Brent didn’t press it. Whatever Nate was betting on these days was clearly private.

Nate was betting on change. He was betting on possibilities. He was betting on hopefully someday soon having the guts to tell Casey how he was really feeling.

That prospect scared the hell out of him. He had no clue how to find the courage to even begin to verbalize all that he felt for her, and how much she was changing his ideas of everything he’d ever wanted in his post-Joanna life. In a few short weeks she’d upended his priorities, and had him considering everything he’d sworn off since he’d stumbled across the emails from Joanna and her professor.

But then, that wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t only started thinking of Casey that way in recent weeks. Those notions had been forming since he had first started to get to know her. They’d simply elbowed their way to the front of the pack after he’d touched her, kissed her, held her, and experienced the magic of her coming apart in his arms. He supposed that was the power of such intimacy—it could shake a man to the core. It could change a man.

If he let it.

That was the big if.

That night in London had rocked his world, and had ended their roles as teacher and student. They’d become lovers for real. They’d been together like that again and again in New York when they returned, spending nights tangled up in each other, unable to resist touching, exploring, discovering the depths of their connection. The answer? It was endless.