Maggie doesn’t say things like that lightly.
Layla’s eyes soften. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”
So had Maggie. So had Mom.
Something shifts in my chest. I don’t like it. I don’t like that she said it so simply. Like it wasn’t a big thing. Like wanting a family was normal.
A smile creeps onto my face before I can stop it, faint but real. Maybe this girl needs a family. She needs to know what it feels like when people give a damn. Even if she’s only here for six months. And I don’t trust myself not to give her one.
Once dinner dies down, we all migrate into the living room. Maggie and Layla are a few beers in now—laughing, loose, moving like the night belongs to them. Maggie spins Layla around, showing her how to two-step right there on the rug. They’re definitely tipsy.
“Y’all ready for some Texas Hold ’Em?” Dad calls out.
“Hell yeah,” Maggie says.
“I’m down,” Layla adds.
Yeah, right. Like she knows how to play poker.
“What’s the buy-in?” Layla asks. “Ten or twenty?”
“Twenty,” Dad answers.
Layla looks up at me with a smirk. “You playin’, Scrooge? Or is this too much fun for you?”
I smirk back and drop into the chair across from her.
Oh, she’s goin’ down. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m the best in this family.
“You’re in for a ride, city girl,” I tell her. “This ain’t Seattle.”
“Bring it, cowboy.”
Woah, that made it jump in my jeans. Something shifts low in my gut at that. I don’t know why, but I feel it immediately and I don’t like that I do. Now that she’s sitting right across from me, it’s harder not to notice her. She knows I’m looking at her.
Dark brown hair, shoulder-length, a little wavy. Tiny freckles scattered across her nose. Lips small but soft-looking. She’s curvy—bigger than what most men go for—but I like that. I like something real. Something warm. What the hell am I thinking? Must be the beer.
We’ve been playing for over an hour. I’ve got the biggest pot, but Layla’s right behind me. Who knew she’d be this good?She shrugs it off, says poker was about the only thing they had to do back in the orphanage.
Now it’s down to just the two of us. Fourth hand. I toss in ten dollars. Layla matches it without blinking.
“What’re you doin’, city girl?”
“Matching you, cowboy.”
The flop hits.
King of spades. Nine of hearts. Seven of clubs.
Hell yeah.
I throw in another ten.
I’ve got two kings in my hand—hearts and clubs. Three of a kind. She might have a king too, but I still beat her. I add five more. The room’s alive now—everyone leaning in. Maggie cheering Layla on. Luke backing me. Dad and Nancy both tense as hell.
Layla raises ten.
No fucking way she’s got the ace.
