Page 93 of Why Cruise

Her eyes caught the light as she lifted the corners, her smile blooming exactly like I’d hoped. Justice watched us from across the table, that CEO brain of his clicking all the pieces into place. Our eyes met, and I saw the same dangerous amusement there. Hell yeah, we were going to teach these assholes a lesson.

“Oh Kenzie.” Daryl’s condescending laugh set my teeth on edge. “Watch out. I can always tell what she’s thinking. You might want to play it a little closer to the vest, Boo Bear.”

Boo Bear? Fuck no.

The flop came down garbage—seven of clubs, three of hearts, jack of diamonds. Mackenzie’s pair of fours would not get us there, but she played her part perfectly, practically bouncing in her seat as she called Daryl’s bet.

By the river, Daryl had his straight. He raked in the pot with an insufferable grin while Brock nodded like a proud parent whose kid just learned to walk.

“See?” Daryl said to no one in particular. “Some things never change.”

The fucking audacity to insult your omega in front of other alphas. The worse fucking part? Mackenzie wasn’t outraged. That told me all I needed to know.

Daryl and Brock were still riding high on their win, tossing knowing looks at each other across their stacks of chips. They barely glanced at Theo when he called Daryl’s opening bet.

Big mistake.

The flop came queen high, all hearts. Daryl bet. Theo called without hesitation, his face giving away nothing. Not bad for someone who probably learned poker from watching YouTube tutorials.

Turn brought the king of hearts. Daryl’s bet got bigger. Theo matched it.

By the river, Daryl was sweating. The pot had grown fat. He pushed in a stack of chips with confidence we all knew was fake.

Theo didn’t even blink. “I call.” He flipped over the ace and jack of hearts. The nut flush.

“Son of a bitch,” Daryl muttered, throwing down his cards.

“Oh, my god!” Mackenzie leaned across the table with her stage whisper. “Theo, that’s so much money.”

“I know, I can do that clickety clack thing with my chips.” He picked up a little stack and rhythmically dropped them. He had practiced.

“You’re buying dinner.” The Mackenzie who sat back in her chair, wasourMackenzie.

“I’m buying dinner.” Justice tossed the dealer a chip.

“Dinner. Panties. Whatever.” She said with jazz hands.

She glanced at me, then Daryl, then Justice.

C’mon baby girl, do the math.

I felt Mackenzie’s confidence building with each pot she dragged in. Theo was actually playing to win and holding his own. Poor Marshall, caught up in our drama, kept folding. Justice was very calculated about his losses. Folding on pots hethought Daryl would take, upping bets when he thought Daryl would lose.

When the next hand was dealt, I kept my touch light on her shoulder. She’d learned to check her cards without giving anything away. Seven and eight of spades. Workable.

The flop came down: nine of spades, five of spades, deuce of clubs.

Daryl’s bet was aggressive. “Two hundred.”

My fingers pressed gently into her shoulder. She matched his bet without hesitation.

The turn brought the six of spades. My heart kicked against my ribs. She had her flush. Brock couldn’t see it—he was too focused on his cards, too sure of himself.

“Three hundred,” Brock said, shoving chips forward with that desperation I’d been waiting for.

“Call,” I whispered into her ear. She only hesitated for a second. This was the biggest bet she had made yet.

“You won. He doesn’t know it yet. Take all his money.”

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