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“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lincoln says with an almost feral grin.
I wonder if these guys are any good, or if they know how good I am. Well, guess we’re all about to find out.
We all end up at a table with two other guys and the steely-eyed girl from last time. Within the first round, I start to get the lay of the land. The kings of Linwood came here together, and they seem to function as a group in pretty much everything, but they’re definitely n
ot all playing at the same level.
Dax and Chase are pretty much equally bad, which makes sense—they’re both too impulsive and expressive, too reckless and easy to read. Lincoln is decent, with a good poker face but iffy strategy. River, though? He’s good. I guess that makes sense. He’s the quietest and most observant of the guys, the most likely to be slightly apart from everyone else, watching, taking things in.
I lose the first hand on purpose, even though I know it’s too late to try to convince anyone I don’t know what I’m doing. But even if they know they’re playing a skilled opponent, winning bolsters people’s confidence. And confidence makes them stupid.
Sure enough, River smirks in satisfaction as he reveals two pair and rakes in the pot.
We play a few more rounds, and between counting cards and learning people’s tells, I’m doing well. I’m up at least a thousand, but I want to double that.
I get my chance in the next round, with pocket aces and an ace on the flop.
Dax drops out almost immediately, which is a smart call because I’m pretty sure he’s got a shit hand. Chase hangs on for a little while longer, then folds too. I’ve got four of a kind, and I don’t think River’s got much, if my math is right. He’s looking down and to the side like he has every time he’s had a bad hand before, and the corners of his lips are pinched.
The steely-eyed girl, Monica, folds next, and Lincoln calls once then follows her. Finally, it’s just me and River left, and the pot has gotten big.
I have him. I know I do.
“All in.” I push my remaining chips to the middle of the table.
He narrows his thoughtful gray-blue eyes at me. But instead of just calling, he reaches into the front pocket of his dark-wash jeans and pulls out a quarter.
“What, are you going to raise me twenty-five cents?” I ask sardonically.
“No.” He smiles at me, and it looks like he’s actually having fun. I can relate to that; I am too. Because I’m about to take all his money. “This is a marker. Worth one favor. Anytime. Anywhere. No questions asked.”
“And you think that’s worth more than twenty-five cents?” I arch a brow, and he chuckles.
“Depends on the favor, I guess. But, yeah. You accept?”
I shrug. I just really want this fucking pile of chips. If it comes with a spare quarter and the promise of a random favor, so be it. “Sure.”
“Okay, then. Call and raise.”
Haha. This fucker. Fine.
I glance around the table. “Anybody got a quarter?”
Dax grins, reaching into his pocket. “For you, Pool Girl? Anything.”
He hands it to me, and I flip it onto the pile. Shit. That’s a lot of money. I’ll have to deposit it in a couple batches just in case mom checks her balance and gets suspicious.
“All right. What you got?” River’s gray-blue eyes spark with interest as he looks at me.
He’s dressed in a dark, long-sleeved tee that hugs his muscled frame without being obnoxiously tight, and his brown hair is styled in spiky peaks as always. He looks utterly relaxed, and I almost feel bad I’m about to ruin that for him.
Almost.
I turn over my hand, revealing my four of a kind.
His gaze tracks down to the cards laid out on the table, and his body goes still for a second. He blinks and nods slowly, then lets out a deep breath and places his cards down one by one.
A jack. A queen. A king. An ace. And a ten.
