Page 132 of Hearts Storm

Holding my cards close to my chin, I shoot an evil grin across the table at Logan. “If I win, you both have to take one of my pole-dancing classes.”

A round of choked up laughter comes from the peanut gallery.

“Actually...” I smirk, glancing at the other guys gathered around the table . “...you’ll all take a class. Together.”

Alan, Taylor, Dave, and Kurtis all start complaining at once.

“Aww, come on!”

“What the fuck?”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Do we have to?” Dave whines.

“If they take the bet.” I shrug, shooting Logan another feral grin.

Every one of them turns to glare daggers at Logan and Brex.

Raising both hands in defense, Brex points a finger. “Don’t look at us. It was her idea.”

Lips twitching, Logan pins me with a dark stare, promising retribution.

“Alright. Bet.”

A chorus of grumbles echo from around the table, instantly cutting off when Logan narrows his eyes at them across the table, clearing his throat.

“So it’s been decided,” Taylor mutter-sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We have no say in this?”

“Should’ve quit while we were ahead,” Kurtis grumbles, tossing his cards down on the table.

“Hey, now. Don’t get all bent out of shape quite yet,” I quip, fanning my cards to hide my smile, biting back a laugh.

“Why’s that?” Alan scoffs suspiciously.

Alan, sweet guy that he is, has eased off flirting with me now that he’s spending more time with Melody, the bartender from The Brew he met at the gala.

“Because I still need to win.”

I glance down at my cards. I’ve got an ace, king, pair of queens, and a jack. I glance up, keeping my expression as unreadable as I can manage. Which, admittedly, is not my strong suit. I’ve lost count of how many times Sasha has told me my resting poker face is the worst she’s ever seen.

Across the table, Logan studies me over the top of his cards, smirk tugging at one corner of his sexy mouth.

He definitely has a tell.

Over the course of the game, I’ve watched and studied every hand until I finally figured out his left eye twitches whenever he’s bluffing. Just like it does when he’s frustrated.

It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but once I see it, I can’t unsee it.

Brex, on the other hand, is wearing the same cocky grin he always has. Which means he’s got shit, or he’s about to clean house. Knowing him, it could be either one.

“I open,” Logan rasps, keeping eye contact as he knocks over a stack of chips into the pot.

“Call,” Brex says, dropping his chips into the pile, matching Logan’s bet.

I toss my chips in. “Call.”

The pile of chips keeps growing as Logan raises again, calm settling over his features. I study his face for any hint of a tell, but this round, he’s a brick wall. No twitch. Nadda. Just a pair of green eyes boring into me from across the table.