Page 19 of Destined To Fall

It’s a shame I don’t like gambling more, or maybe I should say it’s a shame I like sex so much. I could have had another“career” if circumstances were different.

We walk away with a few grand more than we started with and move on to a few craps tables. I love craps the most. It’s exciting and very much up in the air. It’s all in the wrist and luck, mostly. A few drinks under our belts later and a few hundred less, we’re feeling no pain. It’s then that I see an opening at the high rollers table.

“It’s playtime,” I whisper to Max, gesturing to the Texas Hold’Em game that just finished. He smiles widely and bobs his head.

“Oh, baby. Look!” I purr loudly, pulling on his arm.“I love Texans. Can we play?”

Max chuckles loudly in a deep, semi-drunken way. I’m not sure how much of that is for show or for real. He’s had a nice warm glow to his cheeks for the past two or three drinks. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea…

“Sure thing, baby girl.” He pulls me to him and kisses me, or I should say, smacks me with a loud, wet peck straight on the lips. He pulls back not even a second later, smiling, but his eyes are wide with what I can only gather is shock. I giggle stupidly and pull him again to the big table toward the back, fighting not to burst out laughing.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, sounding more sober than he did moments ago.

The dealer nods his head, his eyes fixed on me. I send him a megawatt smile, hoping he’ll let me stay close. He blinks as if blinded—well, that was easy—then rushes off to a closed table a few rows behind to return a moment later with another chair.

“Oh, gosh. You are so sweet. Thank you.” I beam, my stomach turning mildly at the sugary-sounding words coming out of my mouth.

“My…my pleasure, miss.” He moves the chairs a little wider apart at the end of the oblong table to make room for me next to Max. It couldn’t have been more perfect if I’d tried. I have a direct view of all the other players.Jackpot.

Everyone seats themselves, and therecentadditions to the tablesetup their chips in front of them as Josh, our dealer, explains the rules briefly, the blind and bid limits. I tune him out as I take in the others. The figures mean little to me. Max understands the game, and I’m just here to see that he plays smart.

I watch as the men around the table are dealt their hole cards. The first, a slender, weedy-looking man in his late thirties, possibly early forties, doesn’t even blink as he takes in his cards with a quick flick of his wrist, and I realize he was one of the men here when we joined the table. A quick glance at his chips before moving my eyes on to the second guy tells me he’s been here a few rounds and is possibly the one to beat.

The second man looks barely of age, with his pimpled face and oil-slicked hair. He looks as if he’d be far more comfortable sitting behind his computer screen than here in the presence of actual people. His eyes blink rapidly as he quickly checks his hand before fumbling slightly and putting the cards face down in front of him.

One of the waitstaff interrupts my perusal, and I order a martini with extra olives and a whiskey for Max. Max smiles at me sweetly before checking his own cards. He’s good, not great, but good. He has very few tells, just a slight flicker of his eyelashes as he takes in the two queens he’s holding. Beginner’s luck indeed.

I sit back and watch Max, our drinks arriving not long after. He’s at ease with himself now, and I was right in my observation. He did need a few drinks to relax, but now he’s in control, nothing like he was the first time we met.

The game progresses, and Max does well, not over-betting or showing his hand too early. It’s an easy first win, but he doesn’t push it, which shows the other players he’s not overconfident. It could also work against him, showing them he knows exactly what he’s doing. I lean forward, putting my elbow on the table, and pull the pick out of my martini, bringing it to my mouth.

“You won, baby.” I smile widely before popping the toothpick in my mouth,dragging one oliveoff. I catch sight of all the men at the table watching me in my peripheral vision, and it makes one corner of my mouth twitch.

Max, such a quick study, doesn’t miss a beat as he responds in kind.“How could I not, with my lucky charm here?” He grins, chucking the tip of my chin playfully, and winks.

The next hand is subsequently dealt, and Max bets more than he should, looking overeager, only to bow out two rounds later. He loses with a frustrated grunt and turns toward my pouting face, amusement sparkling in his knowing eyes.“Guess you can’t win’em all, huh?”

“I’ll make sure you win later, baby,” I respond, running my hand along his thigh.

Max tries to hide his stiffening response and gives me a wicked grin, holding my playful gaze until the dealer clears his throat, drawing Max’s attention back to the third game in play.

I turn my gaze to dealer-boy and pop the last olive in my mouth, slowly drawing out the toothpick. His eyes zero in, watching the movement with such fever. It’s not until my lips quirk up at the sides that his lust-filled gaze turns stunned and embarrassed as his eyes dart to my now smiling ones. Hisentireface flushes a deep shade of crimson, and I give him a salacious grin with a wink before he returns his focus to the game at hand.

The evening continues in much the same fashion for another few games, the stakes rising and the tension building each time. My earlier suspicions about guy number one, whom I now mentally refer to as Skeeze, were correct. He’s far from subtle in his endeavor to win, unlike Max, who’s still calm, cool, and collected. There’s no competition from the other three men, and by the sixth game, Pimple Face and one of the others have cashed out what few chips they had left, leaving Max, Skeeze, and one other—a fat, balding man who sweats too much.

By the eighth game, the tension is ripe. Max and Skeeze are even on the number of chips by the look of it, and the other guy, Baldy, is about to bust out at any minute. It’s last call, and the vein in Skeeze’s neck bulges. I can almost read his disdain at having to play by the rules, the desperation to go all-in shining in his beady eyes. Unfortunately for him, it’s pot limit. That thought makes me smile, and he catches it, licking his lips at me. I suppress the cringe his gesture causes and look away, feigning embarrassment. He matches the pot limit, his beady eyes turning to Baldy, whose sweating has been grossing me out for the past three games. He curses, throwing his cards down in defeat, and Skeeze gives a dark chuckle. Asshat. All eyes move to Max, but he turns to look at me.

We both know he can’t win this game—not with the jack and ten he’s holding. Not bad odds when there’s another jack and ten in the flop, but that’s only two pair. If Skeeze has a queen and a king, it’s game over. I suck in my bottom lip, and Max smiles.

“All in,” he bellows, and I giggle.Good man.

“It’s pot limit,”Skeeze scoffs.

“Oh, right.” He smiles sheepishly, withdrawing some of his chips.

Josh, dealer-boy, calls it, and Max flips his hole cards over. Whether he was meant to go first, I can’t recall. I have had one rainbow explosion and four, maybe five, martinis. He beams excitedly, and I add my little squeal to the mix. Skeeze all but jumps out of his skin, only mildly managing to keep it together as he turns over his hand, revealing the king and queen I presumed he’d been sitting on. Max’s face falls, rather comically I think, as Josh readjusts the flop, announcing the winning hand to Skeeze.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin. I thought I had that one,” he says, faking forlorn as he stands.

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