Page 2 of Big Bold Gambler

I trail after him and my father. I’m drawn to the ease with which Maxwell talks to patrons. It’s like he knows all of them—which I suppose he might. I’ve never been good with people, and most of my friends are introverts. I’ve never been around someone that’s so undeniably charming.

“Jeannie’s been having luck on the slots.” Dad announces it with a glance back at me that says he sees right through me. “Haven’t you?”

“Well, I’ve only played one,” I say, unsure of why I’m blushing so furiously under their gazes. “Then you ran off.”

“Here.” Maxwell stops abruptly in front of a slot machine. “Let’s give it a go.”

I take that as my cue to sit down. I put my card into the reader, deciding to max the bet. Then, I start the round. My hand hovers over the stop button as I watch the brightly colored symbols spin. I let out a breath, pressing the stop button three times in quick succession, doubling my money in the process.

“I’ll be damned,” Maxwell says, putting his hand on my shoulder in the same way my dad did a few minutes ago. It feels so different though. Heat radiates from his touch through my entire being.

“It’s beginner’s luck.” My breath catches in my throat.

He hums, his grip on me getting a little tighter, his fingertips digging deliciously into my flesh. Then, as his hands slides down my arm, he says, “Maybe. You’ll have to come back again to see if it’s beginner’s luck or if you’ve got the magic touch.”

“Is that a thing?” I ask, looking up at him and getting lost in his brilliant blue eyes.

I’m hyper-aware of the fact that my dad is standing right next to us, but I can’t look away. My mind supplies images of him leaning down to kiss me with those perfect lips. I’m hot all over, and when he removes his hand, a shiver runs through my body.

“It is,” he confirms. “Although, I see it more at the card tables than at these machines.”

“I don’t know how to play any of the table games,” I admit, feeling incredibly young and naive.

“I can teach you.” He looks over at my dad—my ever present father— and says, “I can’t believe you’ve not taught her anything.”

“I didn’t think she needed to know.”

Something passes between them, and I’m reminded of how little about my dad’s past I know. I wonder how they know each other. What happened in their past that Maxwell seems surprised at my lack of gambling knowledge? There’s no way I’m going to get my dad to tell me, but maybe I’ll be able to get the answers out of his friend.

“I’d love to learn,” I declare suddenly, grabbing both of their attention again.

“I’m not sure you should be spending a lot of time in places like this,” my dad counters. There’s something weird in his tone, and I think he can tell that I’ve got a little crush on his friend.

“I’ll keep her safe,” Maxwell promises, shaking his head. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to her if you’re not here.”

My dad grunts in acknowledgment.

“So…” I trail off, trying to avoid the tension that threatens to grab us. I start another round on the machine so I don’t have to look at either of them. “Are there any table games I can play with limited understanding?”

“Roulette,” Maxwell offers easily. “You just bet on a color.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Sighing when I don’t get a good return on my spin, I decide I’ve had enough of these machines. “Should we go?”

“Let’s,” he replies, sticking his hands in his pockets.

When I get up to follow him, my dad hangs back. He keeps his distance from the two of us, observing quietly. I wonder what he’s seeing and what he’s going to say when we get home. I doubt I’ll get lucky enough to escape some sort of lecture. He’s not a particularly strict man, but he’s fiercely protective over me. His protectiveness is almost obsessive which makes no sense considering we’re average people living in a small town that hasn’t seen crime since the fifties.

The casino was his idea, but I don’t think he thought this through. Bringing me here means exposing me to things he’s worked hard to shelter me from. There’s drinking, drugs, and men’s prying eyes. I feel his stare on the back of my head as we make our way to the roulette table.

Once we’re there, he relaxes significantly. Maxwell explains the rules, and I place my bet. We end up spending the rest of our night there. I’m introduced to people who know my dad and Maxwell, and I struggle to keep up. It’s fun, though. I feel absolutely invigorated. It’s so different from the way I usually spend my evenings—shut in my art studio elbow deep in oil paints.

“You getting tired?” my dad asks when I stifle a yawn after an hour at the table.

“A little,” I admit, though reluctantly, not wanting the fun of the evening to end.

He nods, putting a hand on my elbow and leaning into Maxwell. “I think we’re going to head out.”

“So soon?” Maxwell says, glancing at me and clearly catching the hesitancy in my face. He seems to know better than to challenge my dad, though.

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