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“When have I ever led you astray?” She pulls into a parking spot across the street from a squat concrete building.
“Gee, I don’t know,” I tell her as we exit her car. “How about last weekend when you took me to a buffet brunch with ‘bottomless’ mimosas?”
“Not my fault you took the bottomless mimosas thing as a challenge and got us kicked out,” she chides.
“It’s false advertising! Don’t say bottomless if there is a bottom,” I point out.
Taylor snorts a laugh. “I’m making no promises other than this is Ace’s Wild Boxing Club.” We cross the street, and I follow her down an alley and to the backdoor of the building. She presses the call button, and an attractive man who’s gotta be a fitness trainer answers the door. “Hey, Taylor.”
“Hey, Russell. This is Kat.”
“Kat,” he says, extending his hand and we shake. “Thanks for coming this evening.”
“Thanks for the invite,” I say as we follow him inside.
“Ladies, why don’t you stash your bags in the locker room, and I’ll lead you downstairs to our party space.”
“Sounds good,” Taylor says, and I follow her into the ladies room. “Isn’t Russell nice to look at?” she comments, stashing her bag in a locker and grabbing the key.
“Fitness guy? So not my type,” I warn her before she starts trying to play matchmaker.
“Dominic?” She brings up my ex.
“Prison push-ups don’t count.” I place my bag inside the locker next to Taylor’s, likewise grabbing the key. “Who designs a dress without pockets?” I grumble, placing the small key inside my bra.
“A man with so many pockets he takes them for granted,” Taylor muses, likewise sticking her key in her bra. “Probably the same man who designed sports bras with removable cups that get rolled up in the wash.”
“Burrito boobs are the worst,” I agree.
We step into the hallway, joining Russell. Have to agree with Taylor; the man is nice to look at. I’m not into fitness, but he can keep up the good work as far as I’m concerned. He escorts us down the hall and we reach a secured door, where he scans his hand. Seems over the top for gym security, but whatever.
We follow him downstairs to the basement that’s set up for gaming. Russell gives us the rundown, and I get to work readying my blackjack table. The bartender arrives, and he begins setting up. He’s around six feet tall, with an obvious fit build beneath his suit. Again, I’m not into fitness, but keep up the good work, gentlemen. “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, sidling up to the bar.
He flashes his pearly whites. “Even better now that you’re here.”
“How did I know you were going to be a shameless flirt?” I say, and he smiles. “Could I bother you for a water?”
“No bother, gorgeous.” He winks, handing me the water.
Dropping a dollar in his tip jar, I say, “Thanks.”
“Feel free to drop your number in there.” He flashes a flirty grin.
Shaking my head with a little laugh, I say, “I’m guessing your tip jar runneth over with numbers.” I’ve dated enough bartenders to know that’s a fact. “Thanks for the water.” I walk back to my table, stashing the bottle out of view.
The party guests begin to trickle into the basement, and two men belly up to my table. “Welcome, gentlemen. Thanks for joining me. I’m Katerina. Is this your first time?—”
“Less talking, more dealing,” a loudmouth older man on my right says as he shoves a stack of chips—one hundred dollars—into the betting circle. His buddy goes with a more conservative ten-dollar bet.
Ignoring the rude man, I begin riffling the two stacks of cards before placing them in a single stack. “Shuffle,” I call out of habit. That’s a cue for a pit boss to come over and inspect my work before I proceed with the game, but there isn’t a pit boss here.
“Deal,” the dickhead calls loudly, and his buddy snickers.
I smile politely; this isn’t my first time dealing with difficult players, nor will it be my last. Inserting the cards in the plastic shoe, I remove the burn card and proceed to deal.
Loudmouth examines his Queen and six; his buddy, a three and four.
My card is a King up, and I give my hidden card a no-peek to make sure I don’t have blackjack. Sadly, I don’t; if I did, the hand would be over. And I want this hand to be over so these douchebags move to another table. But it’s a solid nine, and the odds are in my favor.
