Page 111 of The Winslow Brothers

Jude

Right in the middle of a table full of big, burly, poker-playing men, I find Sophie.

She looks so damn tiny compared to the rest of the table, but she also looks crazy hot. Her legs are crossed beneath a pair of cutoff jean shorts, and her badge-covered T-shirt stretches across her breasts in the most tantalizing way.

Ten fucking badges she’s earned thus far. And if all goes well, I’ll get her to earn another ten before we leave this town.

When she meets my eyes, her lips crest up into the kind of smile that creates one of my own, and I pick up the pace to close the distance between us. Once I’m standing directly beside her, I press a kiss to the side of her cheek.

“How’s it going, babe?” I ask as I pointedly make eye contact with all the men at this table, even the tall, gangly dude in the casino uniform and name tag that readsDealer.

It’s not so much that I’m marking my territory, but more that I’m making sure they understand that if they fuck with Sophie, they’re going to have to fuck with me.

Most men at the tables in the high-roller poker rooms at any of the big Vegas casinos are chill, but every once in a while, you get a real asshat who thinks he can push people around. Even if those people are women.

Luckily, no one gives off a dickhead vibe, and I move my focus down to Sophie’s chips.

“Babe,” I whisper into her ear, “I thought you said you were losing. That doesn’t look like losing.”

If my count is correct, she’s up a few hundred from what I handed her this morning before I left to meet with Electric’s investors over breakfast at The Palm.

She just shrugs, and her mischievous body language makes my bullshit detector goding-ding.

I narrow my eyes at her, and when she shoots an awkward but adorable wink in my direction, I know, without a doubt, something is afoot. I’m not sure what it is, but I’m pretty sure Sophie is up to no good.

More curious than ever now, I press another kiss to her cheek and step back and let her play the cards the dealer just dealt to the table.

Three of the men immediately up the ante, and two of them fold.

When it’s on Sophie to decide, she peeks at her cards once more, and it almost looks like she might throw in the towel, but when she playfully shrugs one shoulder and lets out a little giggle, she ends up matching the bet and hanging in the game for the dealer to show the flop.

Ten of Spades. Two of Hearts. And theAce of Clubshit the table.

A guy in a Hawaiian shirt makes the bet a thousand to play.

A man with a big ole white beard and crinkles around his eyes shakes his head, but then, he ends up matching the grand and staying in.

The play is on Sophie again, and she looks around the table, glances at the flop, takes one more peek at her cards, and once she does some kind of visible mental count in her mind, she shoves a thousand bucks worth of chips to the center.

Well, shit. I guess she’s going for it.

AJack of Clubshits the turn.

Hawaiian shirt guy makes the wager two grand to stay in this time, apparently a real fan of whatever cards are in his possession.

The old dude with the beard folds straightaway, but I’ll be damned if Sophie doesn’t shove another bunch of chips toward the center to stay in the hand.

Once the dealer is satisfied that everyone is all set, he flips one last card to make the river.

AnotherAce. But this time, it’s aSpade.

Hawaiian guy wagers five grand this time, but Sophie? Well, my girl just silently shoves all her damn chips toward the center of the table.

“Wait… Are you all in?” her opponent asks, and Sophie nods.

“I’m all in.”

“Looks like the little lady came to play!” the old guy with the white beard exclaims through a chuckle.

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