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“Dane,” I say, not looking up as I lace up my skates.
“Just couldn’t say no to more money, huh?” He sets down his bag and keeps talking. “Even though you’re washed up with a bum leg. Can’t wait to cover for you out on the ice.”
“You worry about your shit and I’ll worry about mine,” I say as I slide on my skate guards and stand up.
I skated a lot during rehab, so it’s not that I’m nervous about being able to skate when I get out there.
But will it be the same? That’s the big question. Does the fire to win still burn inside me, and when my leg gets put to the test during games, will it pass?
My trainer wanted me to rehab for another month before returning to hockey, but I’m not missing the preseason. I’m the natural fit for captain of this new expansion team, a first line forward who has already won two championships and the highest paid man here. I want to be a leader from day one.
And that’s today. Ignoring Dane, I make my way to the tunnel. I can smell the new fabric on the arena seats, and I can feel the possibilities here. No team has won or lost on this rink yet. A coach hasn’t lost his shit on his team in the locker room. Tears of victory and defeat have yet to be shed.
It feels almost sacred, getting to be one of the first to play here. We’ve got a chance to build something great. I set aside a few other possibilities—that we won’t gel as a team, or that the pundits are right that we’re a team made up of rebels and misfits the established teams don’t want.
I pull off my skate guards and set them on the bench, then slide myself over the wall and onto the ice. It remains to be seen if this was the best or worst decision I’ve ever made, but either way—I’m back.
Chapter Two
Gia
“You’re back,” a gray-haired man in a Hawaiian shirt says as he gives me an appreciative once-over. “You feel like losing more money?”
I put on a confident smile.
“I think I was just unlucky last night,” I say as I stack my poker chips into neat little piles in front of me. “First time in Vegas and all. It had to be nerves. I read a book on how to play poker, so I think I’ll do better tonight. And this place has really good drinks.”
I stopped a waitress on my way to the table, and she’s bringing me my usual—a club soda with lime in a cocktail glass. But Magnum PI over there will see my drink and think I’m getting loaded. He’s expecting me to lose money, like I did last night when we played Texas Hold’em at this same table.
All part of my plan.
“Is this a lucky seat?” an older man asks as he sits down next to me.
“We’ll know soon,” I say, smiling at him.
The table is up to eight players when the dealer starts play. There’s only one other woman in the game, and she’s playing with her husband. I can tell by the way they squint at their hole cards that they’re novice players.
I pretend I’m fixated on my own cards, looking at them repeatedly so it seems like I can’t remember what they are. Really, though, I’m watching the others at the table. This is the point where I’ll play conservatively and track my opponents. I’m paying attention to what they say, their tone of voice, their mannerisms and even what and how much they’re drinking.
It’s not about the cards, Gigi. Never forget that.
My father taught me to play poker when I was six, but I had started learning before then. When he’d park me in the corner of a card hall or bar with nothing to do for several hours at a time, I watched. I watched the cards, sure, but mostly, my eyes were on the people holding them.
Most players with killer hands retreat inside themselves. They don’t make eye contact or move much. They’re trying to look invisible, holding their breath as they wait to rake in the pot. And conversely, confidence is usually a sure sign of a bluff.
“Did I win?” I ask the dealer, playing dumb as the others at the table look at me expectantly, waiting for me to take the pot.
“You did,” she says in a wry tone.
Her name’s Beatrice and I’ve been at her table a few times in the five months I’ve been in Vegas playing poker full time. And while I think she knows what I’m up to, I’m pretty sure she’s more amused than anything. Magnum PI asked her if he could win an hour with her during last night’s game and I could tell from the way her eyes narrowed that she wanted to dick punch him.
