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I nod, and Thatch slaps his palm on my back. “This is the part where the ladies finish up dinner and the men sit around in the cigar room, playing poker and shooting the shit.”
“Sounds very 1950s,” I tease, and he just smirks, leading us down the hall but taking a right turn and going in the opposite direction of Ava and Cassie.
“Yeah, well, when we started this tradition, we tried to help the girls get dinner ready, but if you’ve ever been stuck inside a hot kitchen with Kline’s wife freaking out over the consistency of mashed potatoes and my wife fucking up said mashed potatoes, you learn pretty quick to stay out of the way.”
The instant we step inside the cigar room, smoke coming straight from Caplin Hawkins’s cigar billows up into the air.
“Guess who finally made it?” Thatch announces as he takes a seat at the head of the poker table, where Harrison Hughes begins to deal a fresh hand.
Kline Brooks and Theo Cruz grin.
Milo Ives and Quincy Black offer a friendly wave.
Trent Turner urges me to take the empty seat beside him.
And Wes Lancaster grumbles out a hello before bitching about his hand. “Why do you always deal me shit, Hughes?”
Harrison just smirks and looks to me. “You want to play a little Texas Hold’em, Luke?”
“What’s the buy-in?”
“Today’s buy-in is courtesy of Mr. Moneybags Kline.” Cap waggles his brows and pulls his cigar out of his mouth. “So, technically, you’ll get paid to play.”
I tilt my head to the side, and Kline rolls his eyes.
“Apparently, it’s my penalty for missing the last two poker nights.”
“Aw, poor Kline…” Thatch pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “Him’s sad because him’s skipped out on two poker nights, and now him’s has to pay the price and follow the official poker night rules.”
“There’re no fucking official rules,” Kline chimes in, looking directly at me with a half-amused, half-annoyed smirk.
“Yes, there are!” Thatch bellows.
“Oh, really?” Kline retorts. “Show me. Where the fuck are these supposed rules?”
“They’re right here.” Thatch taps the side of his head.
“And that helps me, how?” Kline snaps back. “I can’t read your mind, T.”
“Pretty sure no one on the face of Planet Earth wants to read Thatcher Kelly’s mind,” Wes chimes in, and Cap is quick to agree with a grin around the cigar in his mouth.
“True that!”
Trent slides a stack of chips in front of me, and Harrison deals me into the game.
When I lift up my cards, I’m faced with two queens. Right off the bat.
“Raise $1000,” Cap slides four chips into the pile.
Well, fuck, it appears Kline had to pay quite the damn penalty.
“Call,” Milo agrees.
“Call.” Trent is in.
“Fold,” Wes grumbles. “Because Harrison keeps dealing me absolute shit.”
Kline, Harrison, Thatch, Quincy, and Theo also fold.
When it’s my turn to bet, I don’t hesitate to push all of my chips to the center. “All in.” Honestly, I don’t have a clue how much money this is, but if each chip is worth $500, it’s definitely at least ten grand.
“Oh, what the fuck?” Cap questions, narrowing his eyes toward me.
I shrug and grin.
Milo laughs and folds.
Trent flips me off and folds.
But Cap stares at me like he’s trying to see inside my brain.
“What’s it going to be, Cap?” Thatch asks, his eyes bouncing back and forth between us. “You in or you out?”
“Fucking hell,” Cap mutters and glances at his cards one more time. “Your first hand, you’re really going to go all in?”
I shrug again.
“Fine. I call.”
“Show ’em, boys!” Thatch bellows and stands up from the table.
Cap tosses down two jacks.
And I flip over my two queens.
“Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha!” Trent bursts into laughter, and Cap flips him the bird.
“Oh shit, Captain,” Thatch comments. “I think you might get your ass handed to you here.”
“Just show the flop,” Cap grumbles.
Harrison turns over the first three cards—an ace, a ten, and a four.
Then, he deals the turn—a fucking jack.
“Ha! Who’s laughing now?” Cap hops up from his chair and starts pelvic-thrusting the air.
“Slow your roll, son,” Thatch says. “We still have the river.”
Cap keeps grinning like a loon, and Harrison slowly, so slowly, lifts the final card. And when he turns it over onto the felt? A queen.
“Ha! Oh yes!” Trent laughs like a hyena. “I’m laughing now, Cap! I’m motherfucking laughing now!”
“Fuck you, Turner.” Cap flips Trent off. “And you too, Luke.”
I just grin. “Sorry, man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and takes a puff from his cigar. “You just swaggered in here and took all my money, you bastard.”
“Pretty sure you mean my money,” Kline comments with a pointed look in Cap’s direction.
Cap just smirks, puffing on his cigar some more, and Trent gets ready to deal this round, gathering all the cards back up and shuffling them.
“Hey, Luke, have you heard anything from NASA?” Milo asks, taking a sip of the amber-colored liquid in front of him.
