Page 12 of One Love

PIMFA:You look disappointed.

How the hell does this person know…?

Me:Fuck off.

I find myself actually growling under my breath, shoving my cell back into my pocket and focusing on Mr. Wright. Not being ten steps ahead of this fucking stalker is really getting to me.

The poker game is over now, a guy with an eighties porn ‘stache scraping up all the chips, so it’s time for me to move on or they’ll expect me to play the next game.

Hoping to move things along and make my current target leave, I decide to join him at the Blackjack table. My being near him is clearly a trigger if his earlier response is anything to go by. I just want to know why.

There are a few other people at the table, with only one seat left for me to take next to a couple at the edge of the half moon. They’re acting like newlyweds and an ache bubbles in my chest at how happy they are together. I’m happy for them, it’s sweet, but the realization that this kind of normal isn’t it for me makes me feel guilty for allowing myself to fall for Murphy again.

Sweet and normal are two words that perfectly describe the father of my child, but they’re not words I’d ever associate with myself. And I don’t want to, either.

There are a couple of women with short gray perms who look to be in their seventies laughing and joking together to my left, a bearded guy with a scar over his right eye next to them, and Mr. Wright on the opposite end.

The dealer hands out the first two cards to everyone before we all place our first bets or tap out. I use some of the chips I always have on me when visiting this place, because there’s no point cashing them all in every time. Saves trips to the cashier. All the players are invested as the dealer lays the third card for Mr. Wright first. He takes another hit, asking for a fourth card, which is where he stops, refusing any more cards. He hasn’t busted, but he also doesn’t move his eyes from the table, so I’m guessing he’s around the nineteen or twenty mark with his cards.

The bearded man is next. He takes one hit before he stands, and when he looks up across the table, his eyes captivate me. They’re unlike anything I’ve seen before; a green so pale they’realmost white, but there are flecks of gold dancing like a fire within them. I feel like he’s digging inside my mind for all my dirty little secrets before a dangerous smirk crosses his face, making the scar on his cheek lift a little. The harshness of the line over his eye just adds to the danger he’s emitting.

I should be on high alert. This is the kind of man that is unpredictable, but he doesn’t evoke the same kind of curiosity Mr. Wright did when I first met him. It’s different somehow.

The two women to the right of him both busted and now it’s my turn. I tap on the table to indicate a hit, swiping my hand out flat as soon as it’s placed down to indicate I’m done. Pulling my eyes to my cards, I see the queen of clubs is my third card, which gives me twenty-one when added to my three of diamonds and eight of spades.

I look back up and the scarred guy is on his phone, the attention he gave me gone as quickly as it came. I’ll need Glitch to look into him.

The young couple who are playing separately both bust, as does the dealer, leaving just three of us with a hand. We all show our cards and, as suspected, Mr. Wright only has nineteen. The scarred guy has twenty-one, just like me, and the dealer hands out the winnings before scooping up the cards and dealing another round.

It goes like this for about fifteen minutes before Mr. Wright finally speaks up.

“Why won’t you just go away? Stop following me, vermin.”

Rude. But I don’t react with anger. Instead, I ignore his jibe. Technically, he could be talking to anyone at this table.

“Why are you even here? You’re cheating again. I know it.” He’s louder this time, but I continue to starve him of a reaction, my eyes focused on the cards in front of me.

I win again, but Mr. Wright busts this time.

“Argh. Stop cheating, vermin!”

“Excuse me, sir, but you need to calm down or you’ll be asked to leave.” The dealer tries to reason with him, but he’s riled up now. I can see it bubbling under the surface of his skin, like he wants to crawl out of it and fuck me up.

Good luck trying, cunt.

“No! I won’t fucking calm down. This thing is following me. She’s cheating time and time again and she can’t be allowed to get away with it. I will take my business somewhere else, then we’ll see how happy your boss is, won’t we?” His rant causes the table to go quiet and the dealer scoops up the last round of cards before pressing the security button below his side of the table.

“Sir, please calm down—”

“I won’t!” Mr. Wright stands from his stool and moves to come around the table at me.

I’m ready, as usual.

But the scarred guy stands at the same time and stops him in his tracks, his fingers circling his wrist like a noose.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His deep voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it, too busy containing my anger at Mr. Wright, who is practically foaming at the mouth to get to me.

The words coming from his mouth are a garbled, angry mess, the veins in his head about to burst from his bright-red face. The scarred guy holds on to him with ease, beginning to lead him over to one of the security guards by the main entrance.

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