Jamie’s blush brightens another two shades. God, he’s fun.
“C’mon,” I say, letting him off the hook for now. “Where else do you want to spend our… Monopoly money?”
“Blackjack?” he offers, starting to get excited.
“Sure.” I lead him over to a table with two other players, and he hovers over my shoulder. I trade chips for a hand.
“Can you count cards?” he whispers in my ear, though it’sloud enough for the dealer to raise an eyebrow at us.
“We don’t discuss that in polite company,” I say, and the dealer cracks a smile. “And we won’t be here long enough for me to.”
I can tell the dealer wants to whisper to Jamie that I’m on the watch list, but she remains discreet as she flips over the next card.
It only takes a few rounds for Jamie to get into it, and I let him make the calls.
“You’re very conservative,” I say with a laugh as he declares his intention to stand on a jack and a seven.
He chews his lip. I could watch that for hours. “But the odds are against us. I think.” He glances over at the hands of the other two players, who both hit and both went over twenty-one, meaning they’re out of the round. It’s just us and the dealer left.
I catch the dealer’s eye, and she waits for our final decision.
“How would it make youfeelto hit anyway?”
“Terrified,” he mutters.
“Good,” I say, and I nod to the dealer.
She turns over another card.
Jamie’s close enough for me to hear his heart accelerate as he holds his breath.
A three joins our row of cards, bringing us to twenty total. Not twenty one, but not a bust.
With a starting hand of a nine and a seven, the dealer turns over a king for a total of twenty six.
Jamie grips my arm. “We… we did it! We won!”
“I’ve heard it’s good to quit while you’re ahead,” the dealer says, a reminder that I’m approaching my hand limit.
“Yes,” Jamie says with an effusive nod. “Definitely.”
I let him hold the chips.
“I kinda thought you’d be more of a poker type than acard-counting type,” Jamie says.
I press a finger to my lips in reminder, mostly because I like the way Jamie winces and squirms. I’m not actually concerned—this casino wouldn’t dream of kicking me out.
“Who says I’m not a poker type?” I say.
“Are you?”
“Under normal circumstances, if I wanted to make millions off of intellectually challenged men who underestimate me, I’d work my day job.”
Jamie almost spits out a mouthful of his cocktail.
“But…” I continue. “I never turn down an excuse to show off. This way.”
#
