Page 74 of Inflame

“She is stubborn like Angie, you know. The more you push them to see the light, the more they will attach themselves to danger. It’s a curse.” He gestures to me with his glass. “Trust me on this.”

My brother is right. I need to care less and quit interfering. Problem is—and I will never admit this to him—I am infatuated with his fiancée’s best friend. Taking her will be the easy part. Making her not hate me afterwards will be the hard part.

I keep telling myself I’d be doing her a favor—to get her away from the bastard. But I have to play the game well, so we both know the score.

“Up for some Hold’em? I need to clear my mind and refocus it on something productive.”

Graham’s eyes perk up. We are very competitive; always have been. It goes back to our wrestling days when we thrived on competition and got a thrill over defeating an opponent. “Limit or no limit?”

“No limit.”

“Sounds good. Let me text Angie first to let her know where I’ll be if she needs me.”

We make our way to the casino and get granted private access to the no-limit rooms, which have their own private bank teller and waitstaff. It is an exclusive area meant for the high rollers who usually spend so much that their future rooms get comped just as a perk to hopefully return to the tables. It’s not like the casino is suffering. They get a decent rake from every game played.

As expected, there’s a wait for a new table to form with a dealer. The minimum number of players must be present in order for a game to officially start. I enjoy a drink and lounge with Graham in the cushioned chairs, which are an upgrade from those out on the main floor. If we’d thought further ahead, we may have been able to join the waitlist for a tournament and buy in at the designated amount. However, for an impromptu game like the one we are about to start, we have no room to be picky.

“Can I join the table?”

I don’t even need to look to know that the man’s voice belongs to Ethan Maxwell. I inwardly groan, refusing to even acknowledge him. He may not be the most intuitive guy, but surely I made myself clear after brunch when I told him not to fuck this trip up for Angie and Graham. The bastard had the nerve to look shocked at my statement.

I sip my drink and avoid eye contact with him, while I think about the pros of him being at our table. Maybe handing him his ass will provide me with an ounce of satisfaction. Am I being immature? Sure. Is it warranted? I’d like to believe so.

I turn around and lift my chin once to Ethan. “Join.”

“Hope you brought your bank accounts,” he answers snidely.

“Hope yours is as big as your ego,” I mutter, mainly to myself, but if he hears it’ll be a bonus.

Within minutes, the table is complete and the dealer is handing out chips based on the buy-ins. Most people stick to around $10,000. With eight players, most of whom I have never played with before, I slow play my first hand of a jack-ten off suit. When the flop doesn’t help, I have no solid choice but to fold at the first line of bets. It isn’t until the fourth hand that I hit my flush on the turn and send two other players into going all in pre-river. I have the ace of clubs which should be enough to lock in my win.

The dealer burns a card and then flips the last one up onto the table. As predicted, I win a huge pot—probably the biggest thus far.

“Good hand,” Graham says, nodding in my direction.

I was able to secure the second highest chip lead, knock out the first player, and cripple a second. Feeling confident, I bluff on the next hand, taking the lead. Knowing that Ethan will be gunning for me, I play conservatively for the next few rounds, letting Graham take the lead. He bullies out the two underdogs.

When the dealer announces that it is time for a break, I use the restroom and order another drink. When I return to the table, Graham is making small talk with the dealer, who has been in this line of work for the past thirty years.

It is the sound of Claire’s voice behind me that makes me whip around to verify her existence. The person guarding the door allows her entry and she walks over to Ethan, rubbing his shoulders. He shrugs out of her touch, turning to glare at her.

“Quit distracting me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words come out so soft that if it wasn’t for being able to read her lips, I wouldn’t even know that she spoke.

“What are you doing here?” he asks suddenly. “This is a guys’ game.”

It is true that there are only guys playing right now. But there is no rule about gender. In fact, I have seen Claire play before and she has way better skill than the asshole who is disrespecting her.

She whispers something to Ethan, who dismisses her with a wave of his hand. How cold can he be? And why is she hanging around for this level of abuse? She is fucking gorgeous and shouldn’t be this desperate.

I want to growl. He is causing a scene and it is embarrassing that she is being put down in front of everyone—for the second time today. I glance over to Graham, who gets up from his seat and makes his way over to Claire. I watch the interchange and the frown form on her lips. Her hand goes up to say stop, while Graham pulls out some bills from his wallet.

When he returns to the table, I turn to him and ask, “What was that about?”

“Poor girl wanted to order some room service and her debit card bounced. Is he giving her a fucking allowance?”

“Yeah,” I snarl.

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