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“Please have a seat,” he said, amending his original monosyllabic grunt.
The chairs were bolted in place, so it was impossible for him to pull out the seat for her, but he put on quite a display of angling the seat towards himself.
Sam spun it back in her own direction, not wanting to give this guy a free show, and hopped up onto the leather seat. Her thighs stuck to the cool material, making her all too aware of how high up the dress had gone. She adjusted it in front to keep things PG-13 then turned towards the dealer.
The group was still mid-hand, meaning she was forced to wait a round. Ethan had suggested she might want to use any available opportunity to scout her enemies for weaknesses, so Sam kept an eye on each of the three men she’d be playing against. Two of them were stereotypical businessmen—balding, a little paunchy, wearing expensive suits. But the third was how she imagined a card shark to look. He was young and wore a pair of sunglasses, even though the light inside was quite low.
She bit her thumbnail and watched the three of them play. They barely glanced at their cards, just peeking at the corners and leaving them flat on the table, throwing their chips in and waiting for the dealer to draw the river card.
After upping their bets once, the guy next to her folded, and the two remaining players showed their hands. Creepy-sunglasses guy won, though he apparently took no pleasure in it.
“Bets,” the dealer instructed.
A small screen next to the table announced a small blind of two hundred and fifty dollars, meaning she’d need to put in at least five hundred if she planned to play her hand. All the tables on the floor had similar screens, only their small blinds were five or ten dollars.
Sam unclasped her bag and withdrew one five-hundred-dollar chip—a month’s mortgage payment—and placed it in front of her. She’d start as cheaply as she could, at least until she had a feel for it, then she’d bet more vigorously once she got the hang of how these guys played.
Cards were dealt, and Sam snuck a glimpse of hers as she’d seen the men do, then stared at the dealer’s hand. She had a pair of queens. The dealer’s flop was a ten, a seven and queen, giving her a pretty decent three of a kind. It wasn’t out of the question for one of the other men to have the other queen, so she wasn’t counting on a four of a kind. Sam wasn’t sure what the odds of that were, but she was guessing low. The dealer flipped a four, and Sam bit the inside of her cheek. She fought the urge to show signs of nervousness or uncertainty, and threw back her shoulders, giving the whole table a bored look.
One guy folded, the other raised. Sunglasses called.
Sam was going to have to up the ante, literally, if she wanted to stay in the game. She pulled out another chip and threw it on the stack, trying to give the oh hell, it’s just money impression. Meanwhile she was practically shitting herself with anxiety.
She’d thrown in half her money on one hand.
The dealer flipped the river to show a queen of clubs, and Sam let out an internal shriek of joy, struggling to maintain her outward façade of calm. Four of a kind. She’d won. Unless Sunglasses or Baldy Number Two had the most stellar, brilliant, amazing hands in the world—and she couldn’t see anything trumping her four of a kind—she’d won the round.
Sunglasses gave a small smile of defeat, handing over his unturned cards. Baldy flipped his own, a pair of tens. Three of a kind. Not bad, but it wasn’t enough to beat her. Sam turned hers over, displaying her twin queens to match the ladies in the dealer’s hand, and the men all nodded with approval, accepting her victory silently.
Once the money was stacked
and ordered neatly in front of her, Sam was looking at nearly seven thousand dollars in chips.
She’d almost done it in a single hand.
Added to the thousand still in her purse, all she needed to do was win two thousand more and she could walk away. Two thousand couldn’t be all that hard.
Except her next hand was a flop. And the next two after that, putting her deeper into the hole again with each turn. When a pair of eights looked promising she upped her bet, only to lose to a three of a kind from Sunglasses.
With each new round her stack of winnings grew smaller and smaller, and the elation of her beginner’s luck started to peter off. Once again she was left wondering if she wasn’t making a huge mistake, and hoped like hell she wasn’t about to ruin Ethan’s life.
Back down to five thousand dollars, Sam knew she had to be smart. There wasn’t room for stupid plays anymore. Every dollar had to count. She waved away a cocktail waitress who refilled her companions’ whiskeys, and waited for the next hand to be dealt.
Please God, I know it’s not traditional to pray about gambling since I’m pretty sure it’s a sin, but I hardly think this is the first time you’ve heard a request like this. I don’t ask for much, I don’t even talk to you much, but if you could see fit to give me an amazing hand, I’d be truly grateful to you. Amen.
The dealer passed her two cards, and she kept them face down, afraid to check as he turned over his own hand. When she finally did peel up the corner to assess the damage, she damn near choked on her tongue trying to keep her reaction quiet.
With the flop, she had two pair, tens over sixes.
It was no royal flush, but it was a damn fine hand.
She looked from her cards to the men around her, none of whom showed any response whatsoever. But Sunglasses folded first, and he’d been a tough bugger the whole time, so his hand must have been awful. The Baldy Twins hemmed and hawed, then the guy next to her decided to ruin her life.
“I’m in,” he announced, shoving a huge stack of chips to the center of the table.
Sam gawked at the pile. She had enough to match the bet, sure, but if she did, she’d be putting all her money in on one hand.
She wasn’t sure if she was willing to make that gamble.
