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James: How’s the floor wiping going?

Me: Don’t even ask.

James: Let me help. What are you holding?

Me: It’s my first decent hand. A pair of kings.

James: Nice. If you win you can take me out for dinner

Me: Who said we were playing for money?

James: Who would play without it?

Me: Why not? It’s so much fun

James: I can think of much better ways to have fun….

Even with good hands, and help from James, I keep losing. I’m starting to think he’s is bad luck, because he’s definitely not helping. I sigh and sit back when Sasha, of all people, knocks me out of the game. She gives me an apologetic grin, which reads sorry, not sorry.

Me: I blame you for this.

James: I can’t believe you’re blaming me because you’re shit at poker.

Me: Hey, I could kick your ass.

James: I bet you said the same thing to your asshole stepbrother?

I frown and shove my phone back into my pocket.

“So, the rules are, the first person has to perform an act for the current stakes leader,” Cameron informs me. I glance at his big stack and shake my head.

“And how many games has this rule being implemented in?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s not important when it became a rule, just that it is one.”

“Then why wasn’t it a rule last week when you were the first one out?” Lewis asks. “Or the time before that when you were also out first? And, ironically, the time before that, when, wait for it, you were out first again,” Lewis chuckles and looks around the table. “Is anyone else sensing a pattern here?”

“Interesting,” I muse. I grin at Cameron, who shakes his head and laughs. “The truth is finally coming out,” I continue, turning to Lewis. “When Cameron here, invited me to play tonight, he insinuated that you would be happy not to be the first out for once.”

“Oh, really,” Lewis raises his eyebrows at his friend. “So that’s how you score the ladies, by putting me, your wheelchair bound friend, down?” He shakes his head. “Is there no limit to how far you’ll go?”

“Oh, shut up. There was no scoring going on,” Cameron mutters.

I laugh, loving the fact that he’s embarrassed.

“So, you don't find Darcy attractive, then?” Lewis asks.

He narrows his eyes at Cameron.

“I didn't say that,” Cameron replies, while looking at me.

My heart races.

“If you’re not going to say it, then I will,” Mack pipes up. He turns to me. “Darcy, my brother thinks you’re hot, and I’m pretty sure he wants to fuck you.” He pauses thoughtfully for a moment. “Or should that be our brother? Because after next week, he’ll technically be your—”

“Enough,” Cam cuts in., looking like he’s fighting a battle between looking annoyed and amused. He glares at Mack, who shrugs innocently.

“Well said, Mack,” Lewis chuckles. “This wedding will definitely make things interesting if you two hook up.” He narrows his eyes at Cam and then at me. “If you haven’t hooked up already…”

“You’re quite the troublemaker,” I say to Lewis through narrowed eyes. “And here I was thinking you were the quiet and sensible one.”

“Quiet?” Cam shakes his head. “You obviously don’t know him very well. Just don’t get him started on his impersonations.”

“Why not? I do a pretty good x rated impression of your daddy getting his dick sucked,” Lewis retorts, raising his eyebrows at Cam. “Wanna see?”

“Have you been hiding in his closet again?” Cameron asks with a grin. “And no. I don’t particularly want to see that.”

Mack shudders. “Really, Lewis? Underage kid sitting right here.”

Lewis laughs and then starts moaning in a high-pitched voice.

“Oh God. Please stop,” I say with a snort, covering my face with my hands. “I’ll pay you to stop.”

“That’s what she said,” Lewis cracks. “Oh yeah, right there, that’s the spot—"

“Lewis,” Cam begins, looking past him uneasily.

“Oh God, Darcy’s Mom, you know just how to satisfy—"

“Lewis, is it?”

Lewis’ eyes widen while the rest of us struggle not to laugh. Mom stands in the doorway, frowning at Lewis, who looks too horrified to turn around. He curses to himself, and then slowly turns around, a fake smile plastered on his lips.

“Hi. Darcy’s Mom?” he guesses. She nods. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what?” she asks.

I groan, feeling sorry for Lewis, because Mom is totally messing with him right now. I know she’s messing with the poor guy.

“You didn’t mean to offend me, or mock one of the most respected judges in the country?” Mom clarifies.

Lewis lowers his gaze and mumbles an apology. Mom nods, satisfied. I see the glint in her eyes and I know there’s more coming.

“Oh, and Lewis?”

He looks up.

She smirks at him. “His voice goes so much higher than that.”

She walks off and Lewis leans back in his chair. He breathes out.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “I’m gonna quit while I’m behind, I think. Thanks for the game, but I should be getting home.”

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