"Okay. Whatever you say." He stood and clapped Hudson on the shoulder. "But just so you know. I think you're a dumbass."
"What?"
"You heard me." Reed grinned. "Aren’t you a little old to be playing hard to get?”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m just saying. Phone sex is an actual thing. I would know.”
He walked away before Hudson could call him out for oversharing.
On the lastnight of Selection, the rec room was more crowded than usual. Someone, probably Fernandez, had smuggled in several six-packs of beer, and everyone pretended not to notice while passing cans around like contraband. Which it was, technically, but with less than twenty-four hours left, nobody seemed to care anymore.
Hudson found half their Selection class crammed around a table playing cards. Reed, Novak, Fernandez, Pine, a few others.
And Shaw, sitting off to the side with a book like he was trying to be invisible.
"Hale!" Reed called out. "Get over here. We need another player."
Hudson grabbed a chair and dropped onto it. "What are we playing?"
"Poker. Texas hold 'em." Fernandez dealt, cards flying across the table. "No buy in. All aboutel honor."
"I'm out," Novak said immediately. "I'm terrible at poker."
"That's why we want you to play," Reed said, grinning.
Shaw turned a page of his book, not looking up. He sat in the corner chair, the one with the broken armrest that nobody ever used, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.
"Shaw!" Fernandez called out. "Stop being antisocial and get in on this."
"I'm good, thanks."
"Come on, man. Last night. You can read that boring-ass book tomorrow,” Fernandez continued.
"It's Rumi. And no."
"Rumi?" Pine leaned back in her chair. "Isn't that poetry?"
"Yes."
"You read poetry?" Fernandez seemed genuinely shocked.
"Yes. I read poetry.”
"That’s some cultured shit.” Fernandez laughed. "Sounds boring."
"Says the guy who's never read a book," Novak muttered.
Fernandez reached over and shoved the back of his head. Novak yelped. Everyone laughed.
"Shaw, seriously," Pine said. "Come play. We need someone who actually knows what they're doing. Fernandez keeps winning because the rest of us are idiots."
Shaw looked up from his book, expression skeptical.
"One hand," Reed said. "If you hate it, you can go back to your… Rumi."
Shaw stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed, closed his book, and got up. "One hand."
